Page 1 of Rush Turner
1
Jessa
Of course, Ethel’s radiator died here, in the middle of nowhere, dusk creeping in, my phone had a one-bar cell signal, and a random sign that readDEAD MAN’S GULCHabout a mile back. Because fate hates me. Who the hell would stop atDEAD MAN’S GULCHfor crying out loud the name was enough to scare anyone away.
I kicked my front tire for the fifth time. It made absolutely no difference, but it felt amazing.
“Stupid car. Why did I buy you? I know why, because she’s a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air. I saved and did without to get this vehicle. I will fix her when I get more money. My stupid life was crazy right now. Stupid—”
Headlights flared in my rearview. I froze. Then I did what any rational, single woman who binges too much true crime would do: I grabbed my pepper spray and my keychain alarm shaped like a kitten.
The truck behind me idled, rumbling like a beast that ate smaller cars for breakfast. Then the door swung open andhestepped out.
Tall. Broad. Ball cap pulled low, black T-shirt stretched across what I was positive was a chest sculpted by actual Greek gods.
Murderer. Absolutely a murderer.
He raised a hand like I was a wild animal he didn’t want to spook. “Hey there. Trouble?”
My voice squeaked. “Stay right there! I have pepper spray!”
One eyebrow lifted. He stopped a respectable distance away, hands spread. “I see that. Would you mind pointing it somewhere else?”
“Touch my car and I swear I’ll turn you into a walking jalapeño.”
His mouth twitched — a smile? Serial killers didn’t smile like that, did they? “I’m Rush. Rush Turner. Not a murderer. Just a mechanic. And you’re about to blow your head gasket if you keep running it dry.”
I scowled, flicking my eyes between his face and the steam hissing from under my hood. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“You don’t,” he said calmly. “But if I was a murderer, I’d have better ideas than fixing your Bel Air in broad daylight. Will almost night. She’s a beauty.
Okay. Fair. Still suspicious. I brandished the pepper spray an inch closer to his face just to make my point. “One wrong move. I love Ethel, I've saved forever to buy her. She needs some work, but I’ll have to wait on that. I’ve been putting Band-Aids on her for now.”
“Understood.” He cocked his head. “You got AAA?”
I blinked. “No.”
He sighed, bone-deep patience wrapped in six feet of temptation and worn boots. “Figures. Pop the hood, sunshine.”
RUSH
She was a mess — a cute, pissed-off, ready-to-fight mess with a death grip on a travel-size pepper spray. It probably didn’t even work.
I’d met cartel gunrunners less twitchy than this woman.
Still, I leaned over the Bel-Air, and everything looked original. I ignored the hiss of the radiator as I twisted the cap with a rag from my back pocket. She hovered behind me, narrating every move under her breath.
“Don’t try anything.”
“Stop humming. It’s creepy.”
“Are you hotwiring my car?!”
I bit back a laugh. “Sweetheart, you want to help or just stand there judging me?”
She bristled. “It’s Jessa. And I don’t trust you enough to help. If I had my tools I could fix her myself. I forgot to put them in my trunk.”
Fair enough. Ten minutes later, I had the radiator patched just enough to crawl back into town. I closed the hood and turned to face her.
