She was the prettiest thing I ever laid eyes on, standing there on a dusty road with a sea of golden wheat grass framing the scenery and the horizon just about neck level. She toted beside her a white beat-up suitcase that looked like it had seen a lot of life.
I drove right up to her in my rattling blue Chevy that complimented the flower prints on her lemon chiffon dress. She paid me no mind, staring in the opposite direction with a fuss of wind underneath her dishwater-blonde locks.
I pulled up alongside her and leaned across the passenger seat. “You need a lift?”
She slowly peeled that neck of hers around and stared through me with cold-duck blue eyes. “Why, you going my way?”
“… I’m going wherever the devils roam,” I said with a snicker. “Why don’t you hop on in.”
She stood there silent, examining the metal on my vehicle from the front nose to the tail end. I liked the way her collarbone flexed when she did that.
“You ain’t no serial killer are you?” she said, resting her palm on the car door.
“I’ve been called a lady killer a time or two, I reckon. But I ain’t no murderer,” I chuckled under my breath.
She smiled. I could tell my humor was tickling her fancy. She sensed that I was an all right fella. She hopped right in, lining the air with violets and lavender. She threw her suitcase into the backseat and put her feet up on the dashboard.
“I’m Casey Lynn.” She stretched out her hand.
“Hello there Casey Lynn. What a pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m Charles Andrew Flincher III, but you can call me Charles.”
She chuckled under that there breath. “Okay, Charles.”
I slid on down the highway, dust kicking under the tires making a cloud that trailed us.
“Where ya headed? You from around these parts?”
“Oh Charles, … I’m headed to nowhere and I’m from everywhere.”
I choked out a laugh. “My kind of woman!”
She closed her eyes and titled her head back. I watched the hem of her dress slide down her velvety legs. ...
I drove right up to her in my rattling blue Chevy that complimented the flower prints on her lemon chiffon dress. She paid me no mind, staring in the opposite direction with a fuss of wind underneath her dishwater-blonde locks.
I pulled up alongside her and leaned across the passenger seat. “You need a lift?”
She slowly peeled that neck of hers around and stared through me with cold-duck blue eyes. “Why, you going my way?”
“… I’m going wherever the devils roam,” I said with a snicker. “Why don’t you hop on in.”
She stood there silent, examining the metal on my vehicle from the front nose to the tail end. I liked the way her collarbone flexed when she did that.
“You ain’t no serial killer are you?” she said, resting her palm on the car door.
“I’ve been called a lady killer a time or two, I reckon. But I ain’t no murderer,” I chuckled under my breath.
She smiled. I could tell my humor was tickling her fancy. She sensed that I was an all right fella. She hopped right in, lining the air with violets and lavender. She threw her suitcase into the backseat and put her feet up on the dashboard.
“I’m Casey Lynn.” She stretched out her hand.
“Hello there Casey Lynn. What a pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m Charles Andrew Flincher III, but you can call me Charles.”
She chuckled under that there breath. “Okay, Charles.”
I slid on down the highway, dust kicking under the tires making a cloud that trailed us.
“Where ya headed? You from around these parts?”
“Oh Charles, … I’m headed to nowhere and I’m from everywhere.”
I choked out a laugh. “My kind of woman!”
She closed her eyes and titled her head back. I watched the hem of her dress slide down her velvety legs. ...
