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PROLOGUE
“No, no, no, no,” Jolene Alpuente begged, her green and blue eyes locked on the gauges of her navy blue, 1990, C1500 pickup truck, Beulah. Across her dashboard, all the warnings she recognized and even some she didn’t, were flashing bright red as she felt Beulah lose power. She’d had the little truck since she was in her late teens, and even though they’d faced many tough times together, Beulah had always come through. This time, though, Jolene feared that her trusty engine was taking its last breath.
With what little juice it had, she carefully steered her dying truck into the first and only gas station she’d seen for miles. The moment her front tires gently nudged the cinder block in front of the parking space and she threw it into park, the engine gave a loud shudder and died before she could even switch off the ignition.
“Hell in a handbasket!” she exclaimed, pulling the keys out of the ignition while throwing open her door. She popped the hood to investigate and was met by a rush of smoke. Jolene stepped back, coughing, and felt the stress of her day compound even more. Her trip to Folly Beach was supposed to take twelve to thirteen hours according to the map, but she’d been driving almost sixteen hours straight now and still had a good chunk to go. She was beyond exhausted, thirsty, and she’d eaten her last bag of chips hours ago.
From inside the gas station, an older man in a stained, button-up shirt and faded, blue overalls walked out, heading towards her at a slow pace.
“You havin’ some trouble, miss?” he asked, shuffling over as he chewed on his tobacco.
“Lord knows it’s more than some,” Jolene replied sarcastically, shaking her head as she stepped back to lean against the brick wall of the gas station.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do. My phone’s dead. My truck’s shot. I’m hungry and I got a pain in my left butt cheek from drivin’ too long.”
The older man chuckled as he walked up to the engine and began to look around.
“Well, we can get some of that sorted,” he replied, busying himself with his inspection.
“My boy and I run a garage out the back. We can see what we can do about your truck. As for food, if you go into the store and tell the beautiful honey behind the counter your troubles, I have no doubt she’ll open up the kitchen and scald ya some chicken.”
The man stepped away from the engine, wiped his hand on his overalls, and stuck it out to Jolene.
“Name’s Cliff Stevens. The honey behind the counter is my wife, Glenda. Don’t you worry. If you had to get stuck, at least ya got stuck here.”
“Wow,” Jolene replied, her dark brows going up in surprise, “that’s really kind of you, thank you.”
“Sure thing,” Cliff replied, holding out his hands for the keys. “When you go in there, tell the missus to get Willie out here, will ya? I’ma need his help I suspect.”
Jolene agreed as she handed him the keys, and after grabbing her duffle bag and purse from the cab, she headed into the gas station. As promised, she found an elderly woman with brownish-gray, permed hair sitting behind the checkout counter with a portable fan in one hand and a romance novel in the other. Jolene read the cover of the book and smirked.The Lover’s Brink.
“Whatever it is you need, it’s gonna have to wait until she finishes that chapter,” someone said from behind her just as Jolene was about to say excuse me.
“I just got one more page, hold your horses,” Glenda replied, not taking her eyes off her book.
Chuckling, Jolene turned around to see who was talking. The six-foot-four man in dark jeans, black boots, a black cowboy hat, and a black t-shirt gave her a side smile as she looked up at him. His dark eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and matching trimmed beard made him like a cross between a biker and a professor.
“Thanks for the warning,” she replied.
“You wouldn’t be Willie would you?” she asked, pointing toward the door. “Because I think your daddy needs some help with my truck.”
Just as the man was about to open his mouth to speak, Glenda snapped her book shut and grabbed both of their attention.
“Whew! That was intense! Thank y’all so much for bein’ patient,” Glenda replied sweetly, eyeing them both up.
“Now, what did you just say about Willie? You need to me call him? All right, baby, you sit tight. I’ll give him a ring. Then, sir, if you stay right there, I’ll get your chicken dunked in a minute.”
Jolene turned back to the attractive stranger as Glenda walked over to the old corded phone that hung on the wall behind the counter.
“So, you’renotWillie, then,” she said with a meek smile. The man chuckled and shook his head.
“No, ma’am. I’m Jasper, Jasper Lazer.”
“Jolene Alpuente,” she replied, reaching for his outstretched hand. “Well, Jasper, I hope you’re havin’ a better night than I am,” she said with a sigh as their hands dropped to their sides. Jasper harrumphed.
“Well, ma’am, I doubt it. I’m tryin’ to reach Folly Beach, but I keep getting turned around.” Together they walked over to a plain, wooden table that had a napkin holder and a small vase of fake roses in them, and sat down.
“Normally, I’m not a man that gets himself turned around, but after passing this place three times, I finally decided to stop in and ask for directions.”
