Vintage Woman

Chapter 1Cory “f**k!” Cory Wolff slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the white-clad figure that stumbled into her path. The trailer fishtailed, making the whole rig swerve before it shuddered to a halt. Cory loosened her fingers from the steering wheel she’d clutched with all her might to keep the truck from skidding into the next lane and peered across the dashboard into the semi-darkness in front of her. Nothing. The white-clad figure had disappeared. Cory scanned the sidewalk next to the boarded-up building. Again, nothing. Cursing under her breath, she turned the emergency flashers on and got out of the truck. Ever since she got out of bed this morning it had been one shitty thing after the other. If only she hadn’t vowed all those years ago to— There! “Can’t you f*****g watch where you’re going? You goddamned—” The word i***t got stuck in her throat because the woman—if it was indeed a woman—was swaying unsteadily on her feet. She was wearing what looked like some kind of overalls or painter’s outfit that was filthy. Damn drug addicts! The city really ought to—! Except the woman, who now was holding herself up by leaning against the grille guard of Cory’s truck, had heels on, one of which was broken, and her hair was styled, if in a weird, old-fashioned way. “Help me, please!” The face that turned towards her was young and beautiful and not at all what she’d expected. Blood trickled out of a long gash in the woman’s forehead, and the woman brought her hand up as if to wipe at it. “No, don’t!” Because the woman’s hand, well-manicured as it was, was as filthy as the rest of her. Several of her long, painted nails were freshly broken off, as if she’d just clawed herself out of—“No, don’t touch that!” Cory grabbed the wrist of the woman who instantly cowered, making the most pitiful little moaning sound she’d ever heard. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” Having gentled her voice as though speaking to an injured animal, Cory slumped her five foot, eight inch frame into a less intimidating position. “I just thought—well—you’re probably going to need stitches and it’s best to keep it as clean as possible for that and—” Goddamnit. She was babbling. A car honked, reminding her they were still standing in the middle of a road in downtown San Antonio. “We’ve got to get out of here. Blocking the street, you know.” Cory gestured toward another driver that passed them only to cut in front of the truck so he could turn to the right as the detour sign suggested. “Are you parked somewhere close by? Or were you going to call an Uber?” “I…I…” The woman looked around her. “I don’t…what’s an…” She moaned and raised her hand to her forehead again. “Ow, my head is really pounding.” She swayed and grabbed onto Cory’s arm. Shit. She’d have to take the woman to a hospital. Either that or call 911, but then she’d be stuck here until they showed up, with no place to park her rig or even to pull over, never mind the whole accident report mess she’d have to go through. How the hell she could’ve hit the woman with her truck in a way that would have caused that gash to her forehead was beyond Cory, but she’d been driving with a clean record for a couple of years now and was enjoying the bonus on her insurance enough to not dither. “Come on, let’s get you into the truck.” The woman didn’t protest as Cory steered her to the passenger side. She didn’t let go of Cory’s arm either, hanging rather heavily on it instead, which wasn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling. “Big step, now.” Glad she’d had running boards installed right after she bought the Dodge, Cory watched the woman gingerly climb up and into the seat, where she settled with a sigh. Finding the box of tissues her niece was forever needing had slid off the seat, Cory picked it up from the floor, pulled the top one out, and handed the woman the next, cleaner one. “Seatbelt,” she reminded the woman, and when the woman didn’t react, Cory yanked the metal clasp down in front of her and clicked the belt shut, which made the woman cringe. Hopefully she didn’t have any broken ribs. Cory pushed the door closed and by the time she went around and got in, the woman had leaned back and closed her eyes. The suspension in the truck wasn’t the best and Cory took care not to jolt the woman more than necessary as she pushed the truck from first gear into second and then third. Hitting the highway was a breeze once she’d turned the next corner and as she sped up on 281, Cory debated where to take the woman. Bypassing two urgent care clinics in favor of a larger place, she remembered the Baptist facility where her sister had given birth to Sebastian, and once she hit 1604, followed the signs to the hospital. Parking was going to be iffy with the trailer, but if she let the woman out by the door to the emergency room she could—Nope, not happening. Never mind that it was past ten and that she’d have to be at work early tomorrow to open up the store, she wasn’t just going to drop the woman off and drive on home. Yeah, yeah, always the sucker for a damsel in distress, that was her all right. A lot of good it had done her, too. Why else would she be out on a Saturday night by herself, on her way back from ferrying her sister’s kid and her horse around, with no one to accompany her or to go home to? Eschewing the parking lot right outside the ER for the bigger one off to the side, Cory found a double space for the truck and trailer easily enough, pulled through, and killed the engine. “Ma’am? Do you think you can walk in? Or do you need me to get someone with a wheelchair or something?” “Where are we?” She sat up in her seat, her eyes wide. “You aren’t leaving me at a mental hospital, are you?” “What? No, of course not. I just meant you needed to get your head checked out, because—” The woman shrunk back, making Cory instantly regret her wording. “For your injury,” she amended hastily. “The cut on your forehead. I’m pretty sure it needs stitches.” “Is it that bad?” She tried to see herself in the sideview mirror. Frowning, she looked down. “I can’t go in there looking like this. What is this get-up, anyway?” Now what? Cory got out, went around to the other side and opened the door for her. “You’re a little dirty, that’s all. And your one shoe’s broken. But I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” The woman sat up straight and pulled the neck of her painter’s coveralls away from her body a bit and let out her breath after she looked down inside them. “Oh, good. I can take this thing off. I was worried for a minute that I didn’t have anything…” Her face flushed a deep crimson. “You’re wearing other clothes underneath?” “Um, yes, I am. If you can call this—” she pulled at the coveralls, “an item of clothing. That must have been quite a bump I took. I cannot for the life of me remember why I would be wearing such a costume. But I’m not wearing it in public.” She tried to get out of the car, apparently forgetting about the seatbelt. “Hold on! Let me help you.” Rather than point it out to her, Cory reached around the woman again and undid the seatbelt, an action she preferred not to think about at this moment. She helped her down as well, something she didn’t even do for her mother. Holding onto Cory’s proffered arm, the woman unzipped the coveralls and carefully stepped out of them, tossing them in the back of the truck. She teetered a little on her one good shoe, though it seemed like it would be a lot more convenient if the spiky heel had broken off both of them. Even with the easily three-inch heel, her head only came up a little past Cory’s shoulder. The woman bent a bit to fluff the rumpled but still full skirt that hung from a skin-hugging top and tiny waist, and Cory’s eyes were drawn to the perkiest boobs she’d seen on anything other than a mannequin. Resting at the base of her slender neck was a string of pearls. Whew. Talk about a costume!