you’re ready to go?” I asked, being super careful as I put the boots away. They must have been inlaid with gold under that leather to justify the price.
“Whenever you are.”
“Did you decide on the boots?” the salesman asked. “This buckle would look mighty fine with ’em.”
I smiled. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to pass.”
“Are you sure? We’re having a sale. Buy a pair of boots and the second pair is twenty percent off.”
I hesitated, looking longingly at the boots, then Devon gave me a shove out the door.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I muttered. “Just looking at them, that’s all.”
“Of course you were,” he said.
We headed into the convenience store part of the building and I used the bathroom, then grabbed a soda and a bag of potato chips while I waited for Devon. Tinny country music played over the speakers and bright fluorescent lighting lit the aisles.
Wandering around the place, I saw they had all kinds of kitschy souvenirs and knickknacks, though why someone would want to buy a two-foot-tall metal chicken made out of recycled Coke cans was beyond me. I paused by the dream catchers, done in every color of the rainbow. Now those I could’ve used a few months ago.
Three truckers were milling about the coffee machines, chatting. Wearing worn denim, baseball hats, and various stages of facial hair, it wasn’t hard to peg their occupation. I couldn’t help half tuning in to their conversation as they sipped from their steaming Styrofoam cups.
“. . . bear in the bushes up the road a ways,” one of them said.
I paused in my browsing, the term catching my attention.
“Shit. All the way out here?” another asked.
The first man nodded. “Yeah. Word is smokeys are as thick as bugs on a bumper. Gotta be in Louisville by mornin’ and I can’t waste time with a brake check.”
The door to the convenience store opened and a cop stepped inside.
I sucked in a sharp breath, freezing in place.
What if he recognized me? There was nowhere to go. I couldn’t even leave the store because I’d have to pass him to do it. I was trapped.
“Easy there, missy,” one of the truckers said to me in an undertone. “Look somewhere else. You’re about to give yourself away, staring at him like a deer in headlights.”
My startled gaze met his. He gave a little nod and nudged me toward the candy rack. I took the hint, dropping down to hunch by the candy and pretending to give much consideration to Kit Kat versus Snickers.
The men casually stood close, their legs obscuring my view of the rest of the aisle.
“Evenin’, officer,” one of them said. I heard the officer mumble something in reply. A few seconds later, the truckers moved back.
“He’s gone,” the same guy said.
I got to my feet, my knees a little too shaky for my liking. “Thank you,” I said.
“There’s a lot of smokeys out there looking for somebody,” he said. “I reckon that might be you?”
It was rather obvious by my reaction so I didn’t bother lying and just nodded. “But I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I swear. I’m not dangerous.”
One of the men snickered. “You got that right,” he said, his voice gruff. “You look about as dangerous as my Aunt Mae.”
The others seemed to agree, with rounds of “Yep” and “No shit.”
“You headed down 65?” he asked. I nodded. “You traveling alone?”
“No. I’m with a . . . friend,” I replied, not really wanting to call Devon my “boyfriend.”
“Where you headed?”
I thought about not answering, but decided they might be able to help. After all, they already had. “Florida.”
“You got a CB?” he asked. I shook my head. “Get one. It’s a good way to keep up with what’s ahead of you. My handle is Slackjaw. This here’s Meatloaf.” He jerked his head to the first guy. “And Kentucky George.” The last of the trio. “You can keep in touch with us. We’re all headed down south.”
Given the names, I assumed
“Whenever you are.”
“Did you decide on the boots?” the salesman asked. “This buckle would look mighty fine with ’em.”
I smiled. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to pass.”
“Are you sure? We’re having a sale. Buy a pair of boots and the second pair is twenty percent off.”
I hesitated, looking longingly at the boots, then Devon gave me a shove out the door.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I muttered. “Just looking at them, that’s all.”
“Of course you were,” he said.
We headed into the convenience store part of the building and I used the bathroom, then grabbed a soda and a bag of potato chips while I waited for Devon. Tinny country music played over the speakers and bright fluorescent lighting lit the aisles.
Wandering around the place, I saw they had all kinds of kitschy souvenirs and knickknacks, though why someone would want to buy a two-foot-tall metal chicken made out of recycled Coke cans was beyond me. I paused by the dream catchers, done in every color of the rainbow. Now those I could’ve used a few months ago.
Three truckers were milling about the coffee machines, chatting. Wearing worn denim, baseball hats, and various stages of facial hair, it wasn’t hard to peg their occupation. I couldn’t help half tuning in to their conversation as they sipped from their steaming Styrofoam cups.
“. . . bear in the bushes up the road a ways,” one of them said.
I paused in my browsing, the term catching my attention.
“Shit. All the way out here?” another asked.
The first man nodded. “Yeah. Word is smokeys are as thick as bugs on a bumper. Gotta be in Louisville by mornin’ and I can’t waste time with a brake check.”
The door to the convenience store opened and a cop stepped inside.
I sucked in a sharp breath, freezing in place.
What if he recognized me? There was nowhere to go. I couldn’t even leave the store because I’d have to pass him to do it. I was trapped.
“Easy there, missy,” one of the truckers said to me in an undertone. “Look somewhere else. You’re about to give yourself away, staring at him like a deer in headlights.”
My startled gaze met his. He gave a little nod and nudged me toward the candy rack. I took the hint, dropping down to hunch by the candy and pretending to give much consideration to Kit Kat versus Snickers.
The men casually stood close, their legs obscuring my view of the rest of the aisle.
“Evenin’, officer,” one of them said. I heard the officer mumble something in reply. A few seconds later, the truckers moved back.
“He’s gone,” the same guy said.
I got to my feet, my knees a little too shaky for my liking. “Thank you,” I said.
“There’s a lot of smokeys out there looking for somebody,” he said. “I reckon that might be you?”
It was rather obvious by my reaction so I didn’t bother lying and just nodded. “But I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I swear. I’m not dangerous.”
One of the men snickered. “You got that right,” he said, his voice gruff. “You look about as dangerous as my Aunt Mae.”
The others seemed to agree, with rounds of “Yep” and “No shit.”
“You headed down 65?” he asked. I nodded. “You traveling alone?”
“No. I’m with a . . . friend,” I replied, not really wanting to call Devon my “boyfriend.”
“Where you headed?”
I thought about not answering, but decided they might be able to help. After all, they already had. “Florida.”
“You got a CB?” he asked. I shook my head. “Get one. It’s a good way to keep up with what’s ahead of you. My handle is Slackjaw. This here’s Meatloaf.” He jerked his head to the first guy. “And Kentucky George.” The last of the trio. “You can keep in touch with us. We’re all headed down south.”
Given the names, I assumed
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