Free A Nashville Collection by Rachel Hauck Page A

brakes.
    Freedom’s Song fishtails and hydroplanes into the next lane. My heart bucks as I brace for the crunch of metal against metal. But by God’s grace, I miss two passing cars by a hog’s hair and manage to get control before spinning into the guardrail.
    With my heart thundering and my head throbbing, I drop my forehead against the wheel and gasp for air. Was there really a woman standing in the middle of the right lane?
    Tap, tap, tap.
    I roll down my window. A little wisp of a woman stands beside my truck. “Thank you for stopping,” she says, rain dripping from her short, brown hair onto her heart-shaped face.
    â€œDon’t mention it.” It dawns on me I’m facing south in a northbound lane, and headlights are closing in. At a quarter to ten, there’s still a good bit of going-to-work traffic. I clutch and shift. “Let me get out of the road.”
    I whip the truck across the lanes and park behind her car on the berm. All those Saturdays doing donuts in wet fields around Freedom? Priceless.
    With my shoulders hunched up against the cold May rain, I get out and walk toward the little woman’s car. “What’s the trouble?”
    â€œI don’t know.” She kicks the car door. “Stupid piece of junk.”
    â€œCan you pop the hood?” I’ve looked over Daddy’s shoulder enough times to know my way around an engine. I can find obvious problems.
    Steam rolls from the radiator as I lift the lid. “You know, you gotta water these things.” The putrid odor of a dry radiator stings my nose.
    â€œI just get in and drive.” She fans the steam away from her face.
    â€œThis is what gives girls a bad name. Car ignorance.”
    She laughs. “Guilty.”
    The rain thickens, and I drop the hood. It’s a nice vehicle— a Saturn. I know people who’d give their eyeteeth for a piece of junk like this.
    â€œI have radiator fluid in my truck,” I say, “but we need to wait for the engine to cool.” I motion for her to follow me.
    She jogs alongside, shivering. “What woman drives around with radiator fluid?”
    â€œOne who doesn’t break down on the highway and almost gets herself killed.”
    â€œI like you.” She shovels her wet bangs out of her face and goes around to the passenger side door. Inside the truck cab, water drips from the ends of our hair and puddles on my clean seats.
    â€œWhen the engine cools, I’ll pour in some Prestone. Hope you’re not in a hurry.” I reach in the glove box for my stash of napkins and pass half of them to my passenger.
    She looks at me with really blue eyes. “Nope, no hurry. I’m free as a bird.”
    I’m not surprised. “What’s your name?”
    â€œMallory Clark.” She rubs her wet hair with a napkin. “Thanks for stopping.”
    â€œRobin McAfee, and you gave me no choice.” I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She’s reapplying mascara. I grin. Bet her story is a doozy.
    Putting her makeup away, she settles back in the seat, propping her wet Reeboks on my dash. I know it’s an old Chevy, but it’s my old Chevy, and Ricky just cleaned it. “You mind?” I flick at her dangling shoestrings.
    â€œSorry.” She drops her feet to the floor.
    â€œAre you on your way to Nashville?” I squeeze the last of the water from my hair with a soggy, shredding napkin.
    â€œYeah, going home.” Mallory fluffs her short hair, making the ends stand up. “Just getting back from a vacation in hell.”
    I make a face. “How was it?”
    She laughs. “I knew I liked you.” But her merriment quickly fades. “I chased my boyfriend to Florida where he promptly introduced me to his new girlfriend.” She collapses against the seat with a heavy sigh. “I’m twenty-two and still chasing boys like a stupid schoolgirl.”
    â€œNo accounting for love,