Free Connected Hearts - Four Lesbian Romance Stories by Jae, Joan Arling, Rj Nolan Page B

nasty surprises. You wouldn’t believe what kind of life-threatening junk you were handed at times: worn tyres, haywire electrics, brakes working only on one side. On more than one occasion I had declined to take the contraption out on the road. That had caused a mighty stink, because I had insisted on being paid expenses at least, the sad state of the trailer not being my fault.
    When I finally returned, Rita was firmly asleep, her hands folded under her head on the headrest as a make-do pillow. I hated to, but I had to wake her up; if I needed to suddenly brake, she’d be thrown around like a rag doll. Her smile, as she opened her eyes, made my heart miss a beat.
    I had the CB radio on by habit. Not that I’d be able to follow the babble in German. It caught my attention, though, when someone mentioned “Kind” and “Standstreifen” and Rita took a sharp breath. I looked at her, and she translated, “There seems to be a child playing on the emergency lane ...,” she listened some more, “somewhere beyond Limburg Nord.”
    “Shoot, that’s the next exit!”
    Traffic was quite dense. Already, impatient drivers were overtaking slower cars on the right lane, ignoring the risk of a collision. If that happened in the kid’s vicinity ... I had to do something about this. I handed Rita the microphone, pulled into the second lane, and accelerated. When we were even with the truck to our right, I gestured the driver that we wanted to speak.
    He reached for his microphone. “Wegen dem Kind?”
    Rita asked, “How do I operate this?”
    “Just press the button when you want to speak.”
    “Ja, genau. Augenblick ... ”
    “Tell him we’ll try to block the road when we see the kid.”
    “Können wir die Bahn blockieren, wenn wir das Kind sehen?”
    “Machen wir. Sag deiner Pilotin, ich bremse jetzt ab. Denkt an den Warnblinker!”
    “He’s going to slow down now, and we shouldn’t forget the ... emergency signals? Blinkers?”
    I’d already switched on the hazard lights. We slowed to about twenty miles per hour, and before long, Rita pointed. “There!”
    We brought the trucks to a stop. Rita hopped out, walked over to the girl who watched the trucks with wide eyes, and took her by the hand, talking to her in quiet tones.
    Behind us some idiot was blaring his horn, obviously under the impression that we were doing this as a practical joke. Jeez.
    Rita lifted the little girl into the cabin, and we started rolling again.
    “Guten Flug!” That was from the fellow who had helped stop the traffic.
    Rita looked a little puzzled.
    I grinned at her. “No, we’re not going to lift off. That was just German trucker slang for ‘Have a good trip’.”
    On our way to the next police station, Rita befriended the little girl, Elise, who seemed to take a liking to playing truck driver and had no idea of the danger she had been in. When we handed her over to the authorities, the officers looked like they were torn between applauding our action and being irritated at our “Eingriff” in the running traffic. You see why I prefer the French autoroutes?
    “You know what this reminds me of?” Rita giggled as we were on our way again. I looked at her. “ Convoy , the movie starring Kris Kristofferson.”
    “Oh God, I hope you are not under the impression that driving a truck is anything like that.”
    “Ah, too bad. But that’s a nice story, isn’t it? You just love to hate Sheriff what’s-his-name―Lyle.”
    “Certainly. But I’d rather think of Ali MacGraw. Now she’s a sight!”
    “You’ll hear no argument from me. But ...” She paused dramatically. “Can you take the brutal truth?”
    I nodded. What was she getting at?
    “Neither you nor I will ever get under her sheets.”
    “Sigh.”
    “Yes, let’s have a good sighing session together.”
    “On the other hand, how old is that film? Wasn’t it released sometime late in the seventies? That would be thirty years ago. She probably has a plump belly by