Crimson Highway by David Wickenhauser (brene brown rising strong TXT) 📗

could inspect the miracle that a shower and a clean set of clothes had worked. She had put on the plain running sweats and T-shirt, but on her they looked like they were custom fit for her trim figure.

Hugh had not known that underneath all those dirty, bulky layers of old men’s clothes she actually had a very slim, well-proportioned body. He was definitely aware of that now.

The main miracle, however, had been worked with her dirty, unruly mop of hair. She had definitely taken his advice to wash it. Her naturally wavy, blonde hair bounced, just touching her shoulders as she moved about in the cab's small sleeper area.

She had a beautiful face—clear complexion, not a blemish, except for a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks.

The whole package, if one had to put a name to it, reminded Hugh of Meg Ryan as a young actress.

“Wow!” Hugh exclaimed. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my truck?”

They both laughed at that. It was awfully good to hear laughter after the strife of their earlier encounters.

Hugh glanced outside the windows, and saw a crowd gathered around his truck. They were stealing glances inside Hugh's truck, trying not to act obvious. But it was clear that they were attempting to catch a glimpse of this beautiful girl who had just walked through the parking lot.

He tsk, tsked at them, and drew the side window and windshield curtains shut that closed them off from the world, and gave them privacy. As he did that, a cheer went up among the crowd.

“What’s that all about?” Jenny asked.

“Nothing. Must be something happening outside. Don’t worry about it.”

He stood there for a full minute, looking at her, trying to think of something to say.

Becoming uncomfortable, they both decided at the same instance to break the awkward moment by saying something. “What’s for dinner?” she asked. But her question got stepped on my Hugh’s “Let’s eat.”

They both laughed nervously. Then Hugh motioned for her to sit on the bottom bunk while he turned on the microwave to heat their hot dogs.

“Sumptuous fare, m’lady,” Hugh said, bowing. But he felt stupid saying that, because he didn’t ever talk that way. He definitely needed to bring himself under control.

“Why, thank you, brave knight,” she said, nodding at him, playing along.

There was awkward silence again between them. This was getting downright ridiculous.

“Listen, Jenny,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. You obviously aren't the same girl that I picked up earlier today. Who are you … really?”

“I’m someone who has made a decision. And I’m very happy about it,” she answered. “And, thank you for the clothes, and for the shower, and just for being you, Hugh Mann,” she said shyly, and with an affectionate tone.

She continued, “You picked me up off of that awful highway. And, even though I really did act like a first-class bitch, you bought me clothes and things, and paid for this shower.”

But, Jenny wasn’t finished. “You really are a good man, not what I expected. And I’ve decided to behave better,” she said.

Hugh didn’t know what to say to that. He covered his confusion by busying himself preparing their dinner.

Serving the hot dogs, he cracked open a couple of cold soft drinks. Then he heated up the beans.

They sat close together on Hugh’s bottom bunk, lightly touching thighs, hips and shoulders so they could “doctor” their hot dogs with the plastic throw-away utensils that Hugh used. The proximity of this beautiful, freshly showered, clean-smelling girl sitting on his bed next to him was extremely unnerving.

To break the uncomfortable silence between them, Jenny asked Hugh to tell a story about his early days of driving.

“You really want to hear more?” he asked.

“Yes, I do. Please.”

Hugh thought for a moment, and then remembered one of the most embarrassing days he had ever had in his almost fifteen years of driving.

“It was my second day of driving after I had gotten hired by a freight company. I was a brand new rookie driver, scared to death. I was sent to pick up a load down in Southern California, but when I got there I discovered that one of the trailer tires was flat. So, I called my company, and they directed me to a truck tire repair shop that was fairly close to where I was.”

“You can drive with a flat tire?” Jenny asked.

“Yeah, a trailer has eight wheels, and if you go slow, and only a short distance, you can drive it, sure,” Hugh answered.

“So, I’m making my way over to the repair shop, but I’m noticing that the trailer is handling funny. I thought it was just the flat tire.

“I turned into the repair shop driveway, pulled up alongside the repair bays, and went in to get the work order setup. They took down my information, said it would be a little while, and told me to just go ahead and wait in my truck.”

“So, I’m sitting there for only a couple of minutes when the shop owner comes up to my window. He’s pretty pissed off. And I’m wondering what is going on?”

“What happened?” Jenny asked.

“Well, he wanted to know if I was the wise guy who ran over the water main valve on the grass strip next to his driveway. Naturally, I didn’t think I did it, and told him so.”

“Did you do it?” Jenny asked.

Hugh nodded. “He let me know in no uncertain terms that the wet tire tracks from the broken water main, which was gushing twenty feet into the air by now, led right to where my truck was parked.

“Obviously, it was me. I must have cut the corner too tight, and hit the valve. This guy was really angry. Not only was there a