Free Never Let Go by Deborah Smith

still loved her.
    Five
    "I never thought I'd be so happy over thirty dollars," Dinah admitted. "Minus ten for gas." She folded the remaining bills and tucked them into Rucker's shirt pocket, then leaned back on the truck seat and watched the Tennessee hills pass by.
    "I was nineteen years old the last time I earned so little for so much work," he grumbled.
    "Hmmm. Was that the summer you worked at the dog-food factory?"
    "Yeah. I didn't have enough money to go back to college, but I had a lifetime supply of dog treats."
    "You joined the Army that fall, didn't you?"
    "Yeah."
    "I was ten years old. I think that was the summer Mom and Dad took me to Europe."
    "Lord, Dee, you and I are a strange pair."
    His second use of her nickname subdued them both. Rucker's thick brows drew together in a pensive expression.
    "Thank you." she said quickly. "I've missed it. You can even call me Deedee ."
    "Nah. You never liked that."
    "I pretended not to like it."
    "How many other things did you pretend about?"
    Dinah inhaled sharply. Despite the companionable mood created by their morning's work, his anger and pain still lay just beneath the surface. She stared resolutely out the window.
    "When are you gonna tell me where we're headed?" he asked in a grim tone.
    "When we get there."
    "Very funny."
    "Did it ever occur to you that Jeopard may be listening to everything we say? It's unlikely, but possible. You wouldn't believe the sophistication of electronic listening devices—some are the size of postage stamps— and he could have put them in the seams of your clothes, your boot heels, your wallet. He'd plant bugs on you just in case I contacted you, and you'd never suspect it."
    "You realty think Jeopard's got me bugged?"
    "Probably not. Otherwise, we'd be in custody by now. But I can't be certain. I won't risk it."
    Rucker popped the truck into a lower gear as they hit a steep grade. The engine made a straining sound. "Hope it's not all like this. We won't make it."
    Dinah's reply was troubled. "We have to make it."
    A half hour later, Boaz Halfacre's old truck climbed to a mountain plateau, decided enough was enough, and choked to a halt.
    After inspecting under the hood, Rucker came back to the cab and muttered, "Jeopard, if you're listenin', you sneaky bastard, would you call Triple A?"
    "What's wrong with the engine?"
    "Probably the carburetor. I can't be sure, but if I had a decent toolbox I might be able to fix it."
    Dinah stepped out, braced a hand on the door frame, and began to push. "Then we'll find someone who can loan us one."
    "You've got the spunk of a blind ant tryin' to move an elephant. Take it easy."
    She looked across the cab at him and said softly, "After you hold Katie in your arms, you'll understand."
    His green eyes burned into her blue ones for a moment. "Katherine Ann," he murmured pensively. "All right. I'm gonna believe in her."
    Rucker put his shoulder against the door frame and shoved the truck into motion.
    ***
    The farmhouse was small, weathered, and inviting. It sat back from the road with towering mountains for a background and a maple grove for close company. A barn and other outbuildings surrounded it. A dozen red-and-white Hereford cattle grazed in a pasture nearby.
    By the time they pushed the truck up the rutted gravel driveway, Dinah was panting and sweat ran down Rucker's face despite the day's cool temperature.
    A small, golden-haired woman walked out on the front porch of the house, smiling shyly. She wore a heavy beige sweater under a blue jumper. The jumper ballooned over what must surely be an advanced pregnancy. An anxious, aching emptiness stirred under Dinah's rib cage. When she looked at the pregnant woman's face, she knew that she wasn't much more than a child herself.
    "Hi, folks," the blonde said in a sweet voice laced with an accent that made Rucker's sound cosmopolitan. "Can I help y'all?"
    Rucker cleared his throat and spoke politely. "Ma'am, I'm Abe MacLane and this is my wife . . .