The drive back to her car was uncomfortably quiet. That kind of quiet that makes a person want to break out into song, even if they’re tone deaf, just so that some sort of noise was being made.

Couldn’t the radio be playing something truly awful, like She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy? Or The Watermelon Crawl?

She knew she was desperate if she was willing to listen to The Watermelon Crawl.

But the radio was painfully silent and Stetson was painfully silent and the only noise was the swish of the wipers on the windshield and the growl of the engine and the spin of the tires as the rain-softened road slid and gave way beneath the giant tires of the truck.

Which had the unexpected side effect of making her feel slightly better, because if this...

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