like she’d hoped. She’d learned to shoot and to guard and to march wherever she’d been ordered, just to do more of the same.
“Let me know if I can help you.”
Knowing that was her cue to leave, Bekah stood. “Thank you.”
Dwight nodded.
Head high, ignoring the emotions sloshing around inside her, Bekah walked out of the restaurant and back into the heat of the day. She paused at the front of the building and dug in her pants pocket for change, then bought copies of the Oklahoman and the Murchison Gazette .
When she returned to her truck, she went down to the Beep ’N’ Buy to fill up the gas tank. As the pump cycled, draining her bank account of more money, she leafed through the classified ads and circled jobs that looked like something she could do.
She wasn’t going to give up. She had too much of her grandparents in her for that. But it felt like every direction she faced was uphill, like she was climbing out of a well.
Then she remembered something her grandpa had alwaystold her. “No matter how tough the way looks, little girl, all it takes is that first step to get you going. Just take that step.”
She took out her phone and started calling the numbers she’d circled in the Gazette . She’d start there, see how far she got.
The truck hesitated a few times on the old country road that led back to the Shaw farm. The engine coughed and sputtered and wheezed like an asthmatic.
Tired and frustrated, spent from a day relentlessly pounding pavement and talking to strangers about jobs that didn’t exist or required more experience than she had, Bekah stomped the accelerator. “C’mon. Don’t quit on me now.”
She gazed at the fuel gauge and saw that she had used just under half a tank. The heat gauge was well within range as well.
With a final spastic cough, the engine died completely and the power steering went out. Thankfully the brakes were manual. She stomped hard on the brake pedal and muscled the truck to the side of the road.
Resisting the urge to cry or curse, Bekah popped the hood and got out the small toolbox she carried behind the seat. Walking around to the front of the truck, she smelled gasoline and guessed at the problem she was going to find.
She loved the truck for two reasons: because her grandpa had given it to her and because she could work on it. They had rebuilt the engine together, and it had run like a top.
Until today.
The spark plugs and coil wires had been changed rightbefore she’d headed to Afghanistan for her last tour, so they should still be in fine shape. That left the carburetor or the fuel pump. Both of which were expensive. All the local auto shops and salvage yards would be closed up tonight, and tomorrow was Saturday. Most of them closed at noon, even in Murchison.
Disheartened, Bekah closed the hood and put her tools back behind the seat. She guessed she was still four miles from home. She did the only thing she knew to do: she called home.
“She give out on you, did she?” Clyde Walters, as big and affable as ever, climbed out from behind the steering wheel of his tow truck. He was tall and broad, and he looked like a wild-maned Santa Claus in overalls. A Texas Rangers ball cap held his white hair in place. The truck’s bright lights carved holes in the darkness that had settled over the deserted road.
“Yes.” Bekah tried to put on a smile, but she really wasn’t feeling it. She’d placed road flares around the truck, and the glow left spots dancing in her vision.
“Well, don’t you worry, little missy. We’ll get you and your truck home tonight. We ain’t gonna leave either one of you stranded out here.” Clyde started hauling chains from the back end of the tow truck. “Do you know what’s wrong with her? Got plenty of gas?”
“Half a tank. I think it’s the fuel pump or the carburetor.”
“You know how to fix those, right?” Clyde crawled under the back of her truck and started attaching the chains. “Big
“Let me know if I can help you.”
Knowing that was her cue to leave, Bekah stood. “Thank you.”
Dwight nodded.
Head high, ignoring the emotions sloshing around inside her, Bekah walked out of the restaurant and back into the heat of the day. She paused at the front of the building and dug in her pants pocket for change, then bought copies of the Oklahoman and the Murchison Gazette .
When she returned to her truck, she went down to the Beep ’N’ Buy to fill up the gas tank. As the pump cycled, draining her bank account of more money, she leafed through the classified ads and circled jobs that looked like something she could do.
She wasn’t going to give up. She had too much of her grandparents in her for that. But it felt like every direction she faced was uphill, like she was climbing out of a well.
Then she remembered something her grandpa had alwaystold her. “No matter how tough the way looks, little girl, all it takes is that first step to get you going. Just take that step.”
She took out her phone and started calling the numbers she’d circled in the Gazette . She’d start there, see how far she got.
The truck hesitated a few times on the old country road that led back to the Shaw farm. The engine coughed and sputtered and wheezed like an asthmatic.
Tired and frustrated, spent from a day relentlessly pounding pavement and talking to strangers about jobs that didn’t exist or required more experience than she had, Bekah stomped the accelerator. “C’mon. Don’t quit on me now.”
She gazed at the fuel gauge and saw that she had used just under half a tank. The heat gauge was well within range as well.
With a final spastic cough, the engine died completely and the power steering went out. Thankfully the brakes were manual. She stomped hard on the brake pedal and muscled the truck to the side of the road.
Resisting the urge to cry or curse, Bekah popped the hood and got out the small toolbox she carried behind the seat. Walking around to the front of the truck, she smelled gasoline and guessed at the problem she was going to find.
She loved the truck for two reasons: because her grandpa had given it to her and because she could work on it. They had rebuilt the engine together, and it had run like a top.
Until today.
The spark plugs and coil wires had been changed rightbefore she’d headed to Afghanistan for her last tour, so they should still be in fine shape. That left the carburetor or the fuel pump. Both of which were expensive. All the local auto shops and salvage yards would be closed up tonight, and tomorrow was Saturday. Most of them closed at noon, even in Murchison.
Disheartened, Bekah closed the hood and put her tools back behind the seat. She guessed she was still four miles from home. She did the only thing she knew to do: she called home.
“She give out on you, did she?” Clyde Walters, as big and affable as ever, climbed out from behind the steering wheel of his tow truck. He was tall and broad, and he looked like a wild-maned Santa Claus in overalls. A Texas Rangers ball cap held his white hair in place. The truck’s bright lights carved holes in the darkness that had settled over the deserted road.
“Yes.” Bekah tried to put on a smile, but she really wasn’t feeling it. She’d placed road flares around the truck, and the glow left spots dancing in her vision.
“Well, don’t you worry, little missy. We’ll get you and your truck home tonight. We ain’t gonna leave either one of you stranded out here.” Clyde started hauling chains from the back end of the tow truck. “Do you know what’s wrong with her? Got plenty of gas?”
“Half a tank. I think it’s the fuel pump or the carburetor.”
“You know how to fix those, right?” Clyde crawled under the back of her truck and started attaching the chains. “Big
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