“Such a funny man you are.” She shut the window and faced forward, a slight, happy curve on her lips.
Yeah, she wasn’t as hard and defensive as she let on. Tom rounded back to the VW, the rain still thick and heavy. If it took this to get to know her, to break down the barriers, he’d do it again. And again.
“Okay, Ginger, give this Beetle Bug some juice!”
The engine rumbled as she let off the clutch. Tom rocked the car, straining to dislodge it, adding his Marine muscles to the German horsepower.
Come on . . . He’d dealt with worse in Afghanistan. Lord, can You get us out of this?
The car lurched free, dropping a shivering, soaked-to-the-bone Tom into the mud. The red taillights beamed five feet ahead. Ginger tooted the horn in celebration.
Thanks, Lord.
Pushing out of the mud, Tom scrambled for the passenger door. But Ginger stuck out her hand as he started to sit.
“I just had the car detailed.”
“W-what?”
“And these are leather seats.”
“Y-you’re joking.” Meanwhile, rain slithered down his face, into his ears, and pooled at the base of his neck.
“Yeah, I’m joking. Get in here. You’re letting in the cold air.” Her laugh warmed his soul.
“You’re a regular riot, Alice.” He dropped into the seat with a squishy slosh. “Where’s a hero’s welcome when he deserves one?”
“You’re right. Thank you. Very much. The stallion of Rosebud to my rescue.” She shoved the heat slider to high and eased the Bug forward.
“Boy, you do remember everything. The stallions of Rosebud . . . I haven’t thought of that nickname in a long time.” He ran his hands though his drenched hair but there was no place to dry his cold, wet hands. “Sorry about this mess.”
“When you don’t have a life, you pay close attention to others.” She chuckled softly. “I can still see you, Eric, Edward, and Kirk Vaughn strutting down the school halls, three abreast, patting your chests on football Fridays, rapping some stallions of Rosebud song.”
Tom laughed. “Yep, ‘We’re the stallions . . . of Rosebud High . . . fear the name, we’re what we claim, when you’re not looking, we’re gonna crush ya . . .” He drummed the rhythm on the dash. “Ole Kirk, I miss him.” Kirk had gone pro but died in a small aircraft crash while doing mission work during the off season.
At his funeral, Tom’s heart first stirred toward full-time ministry. Something he swore he’d never do. He’d watched his father and wanted nothing of that life.
“Such a senseless death.”
“I can still hear Eric’s voice when he called to tell me . . . I couldn’t believe it.” Tom glanced at her. “But Kirk died doing something he believed in. At his funeral, I stood in the back of Brotherhood Community Center—there had to be a thousand people crammed in there—and bawled like a baby. That day changed me.”
“How did that day change you?” The VW nosed down again. Ginger urged the car with a bit more gas, trying to move quickly through the rut.
“I just knew. No more fooling around with God. I had to get serious.”
“Serious with God? Were you not serious? The preacher’s kid?”
“I was the opposite of serious.” The car hit another water patch and fishtailed sideways before listing to port, finding another rut and sinking. The engine gurgled and died with a tired sigh.
“No, no, no,” Ginger rocked in her seat, trying to reignite the engine. But the rain, ruts, and mud had won. “Matilda, we were almost there.” She pointed to a small light on the distant horizon before turning to Tom. “See if you can push.”
“Ginger, face it. Elements one, VW Bug with humans, zero.” Tom leaned out his door, looking under the car. “The back left is buried.” He ducked back inside. “We’re going to have to walk.”
“Walk? In this?” Ginger angled over the wheel, peering at the rain. “Maybe we can wait it out.”
As if the heavens heard, the clouds rumbled, lightning flickered, and the rain fell in double-time. The car sank a bit lower.
Tom offered her his hand. “I say we run for it. You with me? Do you have a flashlight?”
“Dear diary, Bridgett Maynard’s wedding was a blast. I got to run in the rain and mud.” Ginger popped open the glove box, producing a flashlight, then slipped the keys from the ignition and reached around behind the seat for her purse and small duffle bag. “I can’t believe this.”
“I was on a patrol like this one night in Afghanistan.”
“In a VW?” Ginger clicked on the flashlight, shot open her door, and stepped out. “Oh, wow, it’s cold. And muddy. Ew, I’m sinking.”
“No, in a Humvee. And hold on.” He sloshed his way around to her and without hesitating or pausing to see if she’d care, he slipped his hand into hers and pulled her past the car onto a piece of solid ground. “Better?”