We were in a bind. Halfway between nowhere much and someplace else – with a dead car.
The huge lorry that lumbered out of the thickening twilight seemed like a gift from the gods, and Maybelle ran out onto the track waving frantically.
A man leaned out of the truck.
“You looking for a ride?” he smiled and offered a helping hand.
Is not easy to drive a lumber truck when you’re barely five feet tall, but Maybelle managed. I sat in back with a Colt 45 stuck up the nose of the man who put his hands on my sister.
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