over.
Hollywood star? Yeah, right. “You’ve got some serious misconceptions about California.”
“I know all I need to about the Golden State.” Now there was a cryptic statement. “So what about your leg?”
They bounced over to the left side of the road to avoid a pool of water standing in a washout. As they eased back over the stubby weeds in the middle, he caught a glimpse of something cream-colored dashing into the road.
The inquisition was forgotten. Nate grabbed the dash and leaned forward. “What’s that?”
“I see it.”
Jolene slowed the truck. Despite the reflective wall of rain in front of them, she turned on the headlights to give them a better look.
Too big to be a coyote. Too small to be a horse. Dancing back and forth too quickly to be a vehicle of any kind.
Jolene slammed on the brakes the instant the object came into focus. “Oh, my God!”
“What the hell?”
Crazy Texans.
Arms waved as the figure jumped up and down, a long filmy cloth slapping against bare shoulders with every jump. Nate cracked open his window. He could hear the shouting now. A blonde woman in a wedding gown and veil was out in the middle of the road, flagging them down.
“Help! Stop! Please! Oh, thank God.” She glanced over her shoulder toward a stand of tall, dead brown grass in the ditch behind her. “Wes!”
She looked barely old enough to have graduated from high school. The would-be, runaway—or on her way to a costume party—bride hiked up her limp skirt and dashed toward the truck.
Nate glanced across the seat as she approached. “A friend of yours?”
He was thinking along the lines of impulsive soul mate, but Jolene shook her head. “I don’t recognize her. She’s not from Turning Point.”
The bedraggled bride ran straight for the driver’s side of the vehicle. Hell. Instead of just rolling down her window to talk, Jolene was already climbing out. With a resolute sigh, Nate pulled his cap low on his forehead and opened his door.
“Hey, you okay?” Jolene squeezed the young woman’s outstretched hand.
“I am now. Can you help us?” Though breathless with panic, the young woman didn’t show any obvious signs of injury.
As Nate rounded the hood of the truck, it was impossible to tell if the streaks of mascara running down her face were from tears or the weather. But one thing was clear. Spots of rain had already dappled the back of Jolene’s overalls. Another few minutes outside like this, and she’d be just as wet as the bride. He needed to assess the situation and get them out of there as quickly as possible.
“You guys lost?” he asked, including the equally young man in a mud-splattered tuxedo who was climbing out of the ditch to join them. The kid seemed to be moving fine, under his own power. He carried a tire iron.
Nate felt no threat, though. Without the glare from the windshield, he could get a look at the dinged-up compact turned sideways in the ditch, its front fender pointed up at the sky, its back tires mired in the mud. He could make out what was left of a skid trail, now a trough of mud and gravel.
A flat tire. A blowout, most likely. The kids were lucky they hadn’t rolled the vehicle.
The bride jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at her groom. “Ask Wes. This was his idea of a shortcut.”
“Now, Cindy, when you saw how backed-up the highway was, you agreed with me.”
“I didn’t agree to this!” Cindy crossed her arms and leaned toward Jolene, giving her a conspiratorial, only-a-woman-could-understand glare. “I’m supposed to be on my honeymoon in San Antonio right now.”
The kid named Wes reached out to touch her. She stiffened and he pulled away. “C’mon, honey. I said I was—”
“Either of you two hurt?” Nate asked, cutting them off before the argument really got started.
Though the kid was caked in mud and streaked with grease, when Wes held out his hand, Nate took it. “No, sir, Officer. We popped a tire and ran off the road. I was
Hollywood star? Yeah, right. “You’ve got some serious misconceptions about California.”
“I know all I need to about the Golden State.” Now there was a cryptic statement. “So what about your leg?”
They bounced over to the left side of the road to avoid a pool of water standing in a washout. As they eased back over the stubby weeds in the middle, he caught a glimpse of something cream-colored dashing into the road.
The inquisition was forgotten. Nate grabbed the dash and leaned forward. “What’s that?”
“I see it.”
Jolene slowed the truck. Despite the reflective wall of rain in front of them, she turned on the headlights to give them a better look.
Too big to be a coyote. Too small to be a horse. Dancing back and forth too quickly to be a vehicle of any kind.
Jolene slammed on the brakes the instant the object came into focus. “Oh, my God!”
“What the hell?”
Crazy Texans.
Arms waved as the figure jumped up and down, a long filmy cloth slapping against bare shoulders with every jump. Nate cracked open his window. He could hear the shouting now. A blonde woman in a wedding gown and veil was out in the middle of the road, flagging them down.
“Help! Stop! Please! Oh, thank God.” She glanced over her shoulder toward a stand of tall, dead brown grass in the ditch behind her. “Wes!”
She looked barely old enough to have graduated from high school. The would-be, runaway—or on her way to a costume party—bride hiked up her limp skirt and dashed toward the truck.
Nate glanced across the seat as she approached. “A friend of yours?”
He was thinking along the lines of impulsive soul mate, but Jolene shook her head. “I don’t recognize her. She’s not from Turning Point.”
The bedraggled bride ran straight for the driver’s side of the vehicle. Hell. Instead of just rolling down her window to talk, Jolene was already climbing out. With a resolute sigh, Nate pulled his cap low on his forehead and opened his door.
“Hey, you okay?” Jolene squeezed the young woman’s outstretched hand.
“I am now. Can you help us?” Though breathless with panic, the young woman didn’t show any obvious signs of injury.
As Nate rounded the hood of the truck, it was impossible to tell if the streaks of mascara running down her face were from tears or the weather. But one thing was clear. Spots of rain had already dappled the back of Jolene’s overalls. Another few minutes outside like this, and she’d be just as wet as the bride. He needed to assess the situation and get them out of there as quickly as possible.
“You guys lost?” he asked, including the equally young man in a mud-splattered tuxedo who was climbing out of the ditch to join them. The kid seemed to be moving fine, under his own power. He carried a tire iron.
Nate felt no threat, though. Without the glare from the windshield, he could get a look at the dinged-up compact turned sideways in the ditch, its front fender pointed up at the sky, its back tires mired in the mud. He could make out what was left of a skid trail, now a trough of mud and gravel.
A flat tire. A blowout, most likely. The kids were lucky they hadn’t rolled the vehicle.
The bride jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at her groom. “Ask Wes. This was his idea of a shortcut.”
“Now, Cindy, when you saw how backed-up the highway was, you agreed with me.”
“I didn’t agree to this!” Cindy crossed her arms and leaned toward Jolene, giving her a conspiratorial, only-a-woman-could-understand glare. “I’m supposed to be on my honeymoon in San Antonio right now.”
The kid named Wes reached out to touch her. She stiffened and he pulled away. “C’mon, honey. I said I was—”
“Either of you two hurt?” Nate asked, cutting them off before the argument really got started.
Though the kid was caked in mud and streaked with grease, when Wes held out his hand, Nate took it. “No, sir, Officer. We popped a tire and ran off the road. I was
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