CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sherry Simpson didn’t like how close the car was following behind her pickup truck. The driver had been behind her ever since she’d turned into the rural route that led to her family’s farm. Now he had pulled up a lot closer, actually tailgating her.
It made her uncomfortable. It wasn’t unusual, of course. Ever since she was a teenager, country boys sometimes did this to get her attention.
Back then it had been kind of fun. She’d gotten a kick out of driving away and leaving them in the dust. She knew these back roads very well, and it wasn’t hard to get away from them. But now that she was in her late twenties, it wasn’t fun anymore—especially at night.
She was driving home late because her bridge club had stayed to gossip longer than usual after their game was over.
