The Curl Up and Dye by Sharon Sala Page B

explained the hunger pangs. He set the paint tray aside and headed for the kitchen.
    It wasn’t until he opened the refrigerator door that he remembered he’d eaten his leftovers for breakfast, which left him with less than a quart of milk and nothing but uncooked oatmeal to go with it. He couldn’t cook worth a darn and hadn’t eaten a real home-cooked meal since his ex, Laverne, disappeared with Buddy. Then he frowned. Every time he thought about Buddy and Laverne doing the dirty behind his back, he wanted to hurt someone. Then his belly growled again, reminding him that old news was poor fodder for an empty stomach.
    T. J. was in the mood for a burger and fries. He went to get his coat and car keys, then drove into Blessings with food on his mind.
    Everything was going according to plan until he was forced to stop at the edge of town. There was a three-car pileup, and the wrecker and the police car were already on the scene.
    When he recognized the woman standing on the side of the road as the hot redhead he’d seen coming out of Granny’s the other day, his pulse kicked. She’d been with a man then, but she wasn’t today, and in his mind, that was opportunity knocking. He got out of the truck and headed toward her wearing what he hoped was a concerned expression.
    ***
    Rachel was pissed. She’d stopped at the stop sign like she was supposed to, only to have some drunk ram her from behind at high speed, shoving her out into the intersection where the oncoming car hit her broadside. It was a blessing the last car was not going too fast, and she considered herself fortunate that she had been wearing a seat belt and was still able to walk. The drunk who’d rear-ended her car had hit his head on the windshield, and the only ambulance in town at the moment had already taken him to the hospital.
    The man who’d broadsided her was, unfortunately, driving without a license and still talking to the police. The upside was that she was alive and the only one who wouldn’t be ticketed.
    Bud was going to have a field day filing with the insurance companies. She’d probably get a new car out of the deal, which was great, but she was wondering what it would take to get a new husband with it. In her mind, she and Bud were a thing of the past. He just didn’t know it yet.
    She knew he was in Savannah, but when she had tried to call him, she figured out her phone had been broken in the accident. Now she was just waiting for the ambulance to come back and take her to the ER to get checked out.
    A sharp gust of air went down the back of her jacket. She shivered as she pulled it close while looking for a place to get out of the wind. Her neck hurt, probably from whiplash, and she was beginning to ache in all kinds of places.
    She heard another car pull up and stop and, when she looked up, saw the hotshot from the other day heading toward her with an intent expression on his face. She lifted a shaky hand to brush the hair from her eyes and hoped she looked better than she felt.
    T. J. knew she recognized him. Good. That meant he’d made as deep an impression on her as she had on him. He took off his hat as he approached.
    “Ma’am, my name is T. J. Lachlan. I’m Gene Bissell’s nephew. Are you all right?”
    The fact that he was related to a local suddenly made this less suspicious. She could work this to her advantage.
    “Well, I’ve had better days. I’m Rachel Goodhope. Thank you for stopping.”
    “Can I offer you a ride somewhere or have you already called someone for help? Your husband, maybe?”
    “My husband is in Savannah, and my phone broke in the accident. I’ll call him later, but I would definitely appreciate a ride.”
    “Do you need to go to the hospital to get checked out?”
    “I think so,” Rachel said.
    “Have you already given your statement to the police?”
    “Yes. I was waiting on the ambulance to come back.”
    “Sit tight,” T. J. said, and headed for the cop. “Officer, my name’s T. J.