“Will you take me up the road as far as you’re going, please?” she asked. She brushed off her torn shirt sleeve. “I came through the woods, that’s why I’m such a mess. Some people dropped me, but they’ve gone. And I’ve got to get away.” She looked at the load of shrubs in the back of the truck. “Unless you’re delivering those around here? I could wait if you’d come back. . . .”
Fish Finlay pulled himself sharply out of his trance-shock.
“Sure,” he said. “Hop in.”
“Oh, good!” She ran around the front of the truck, yanked the door open before he could reach over to open it for her, climbed in and slammed it shut, an old hand at battered trucks.
“I’m so glad.” She sank down in the broken springs and skinned her hair back. “I didn’t know whatever I was going to do.”
“Where do you want to
