Free Whitehorse by Katherine Sutcliffe

dark highway again.
    "Looks to me like you ain't got much choice, lady. It's me or the road."
    "I appreciate the offer, but I really shouldn't leave my truck unattended. There's all of my supplies… I can't afford to have them stolen. Why don't you drive into town and send out a tow truck?"
    "I'd feel real bad about leavin' you out here alone. A lady was discovered murdered along here just last month. Cops ain't ever found out who done it…"
    Her scalp began to sweat. And her hands. She was tempted to wave the broken rusty pipe in the man's face as a warning that she would not go down without a fight, but the realization that he just might decide to use the pipe on her made her think again.
    "Relax," he said. "You're lookin' a little like a 'possum caught in the lights of an oncoming semi."
    "I … can't leave my truck."
    He took a step closer.
    She gripped the pipe more tightly. Go for the throat, the face, the eyes—the eyes were most vulnerable…
    A truck rounded the bend, its row of night lights across the top of the cab glowing like orange fireflies, as were the lights on the fenders over the double rear tires. The smart thing to do would be to step out into the road and wave her arms. The driver would be forced to hit her or swerve around her. Either way he could not ignore her. So why wouldn't her legs move?
    The truck slowed and blinked its headlights.
    The Ford dually emerged gradually from the dark, illuminated with enough white and orange lights to rival a carnival ferns wheel. A white dually. Like Johnny's. Only there were probably a thousand such trucks in the area. What were the chances that Johnny Whitehorse would be on this highway at this time of night?
    Slower, engine rumbling, ghostly in the dark, a guardian angel sent to rescue her from a man who probably was safe as a priest. Brake lights flashed; the truck stopped. A tinted window buzzed down, revealing Johnny Whitehorse.
    Leah sank back against the truck, vaguely aware that the pipe was dropping from her fingers. It hit her boot, then bounced to the asphalt, clattering in the darkness.
    "Hi," he said.
    "Hi," she mouthed, trying not to look relieved.
    Johnny glanced at the stranger. "Is there a problem here?"
    "A blowout," Leah replied. "Wheel's wrecked."
    "Seems every time I see that truck it's giving you problems."
    She nodded and crossed her arms over her stomach. "Seems to be the story of my life recently."
    "No joke." Johnny checked the rearview mirror, then did a U-turn in the highway, pulling up behind the 442. Leaving the truck running, he stepped onto the highway, shirttail out of his faded jeans, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tonight he was without his hat, allowing his dark hair to flow freely over his shoulders.
    The stranger made a sound, not quite a laugh, more like a grunt as Johnny moved toward him. "If it ain't Geronimo. I don't recall the lady sendin' up any smoke signals, chief."
    Johnny grinned. "Careful, Bubba. Just 'cause I haven't scalped anyone this week doesn't mean I can't be tempted."
    Leah closed her eyes, telling herself that Bubba would be foolish to pick a fight with a man nearly a head taller than him, with shoulders twice as broad. Johnny had not gotten the scar on his chin and over his right eyebrow by turning the other cheek … not during his angry youth.
    Bubba wasn't amused. But neither was he a fool, Leah surmised. Without a glance her way, he sauntered to the 442 and sank into its bucket seat. He gunned the engine before flooring the accelerator, tires screaming and stinking of hot rubber as he streaked off into the night, leaving her and Johnny standing in the bright pool of his headlights.
    She could not quite make herself look at his eyes, so she focused on the top button that was buttoned on his plaid shirt. A vee of dark skin was exposed to the middle of his chest. "I recall a time when you would have made cottage cheese of that creep's face for what he just said."
    "It's called Anger Management 101.