Red line

Even doing a hundred and thirty, the hours out here passed with nothing but desert scrub. Plenty of time to think about her waiting. She’d said he should come. It didn’t mean she was convinced. He didn’t know, himself, for sure.

After the split and all the accusations and hurtfulness he’d stayed clear of female company. He went through the DTs in an abandoned shack on a lonely road. Then he rode on through to a town where no one would find him. He took a job at the meatworks—saved what he’d could from eighteen months slaughtering everything from cattle to wild horses.

And he’d tried not to think too much. But trying not to think just made the whole thing ring out through his head, all mixed up. Now he was thinking again. He’d see the twins at last. Could she get along with him the way she once had. Before the rage. The betrayal and who knew what had come first anymore and two years in that place and…

In anger he let the engine slip up past the red line. Jet plane fast. A stab of sunset glare hit his mirror, blinding him momentarily.