By His Hand: Truly Yours Digital Edition (2 page)

Mentally, he processed the chords and notes playing from the guitar. This song was perfect for his church’s worship team. He’d already ordered the sheet music and could hardly wait until it arrived at Lawton’s Christian Bookstore.

He glanced in his rearview mirror. A Suburban bounded toward him. His heart began to pound. “No.” He gripped the steering wheel. “Please, oh, please, no.”

Metal crunched against metal.

Victoria pushed the airbag away from her chest and face. Fanning the dust particles away with one hand, she coughed and opened the door. She scampered out and looked at the smaller car in front of her.

Please, God, don’t let the driver be hurt
. Memories of Kenny’s beaten body lying in the hospital bed replayed in her mind. She froze.
Please, God, make the driver come out
.

Nothing.

She inched closer to the little car. Her heart pounded.
Move, Victoria. The person may need help
. Tears swelled in her eyes. She’d nearly passed out when she’d seen Kenny the first time. She couldn’t handle blood. She hated pain.

The door flew open, and a man stepped out with no apparent injury.
Thank You, Jesus
. She let out her breath and swiped her eyes with the back of her hands.

“No!” The man blazed past her and stared at the back of his car.

“Oh, my.” She cupped her hands across her mouth. The impact had broken off the bumper and smashed the whole rear end of the little red Corvette. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew Corvettes were a good kind. Her daddy had one, once upon a time, and Thomas Thankful owned only the best of everything.

She looked at the front of her Suburban. The silver-rack-thingy had dented a bit, but that was the extent of her damage.

“I’m sorry, sir.” She peeked down at the overgrown, spitting image of the blond guy from
The Dukes of Hazzard
. Only this man’s hair had a red tint to it. He even dressed the part with his mechanic getup covered in grease stains. She wrung her hands together. “I’m glad you’re all right. I can’t believe I was so careless.”

The man stood to his full height, and she nearly swallowed her gum. He towered over her like a daddy to his toddler. Pointing to his chest, he growled, “I’m fine.” His jaw set, and he looked anything but willing to accept her apology. He pointed to the Corvette. “Look at my car.”

Victoria coughed back the need to duck her head, hide under the asphalt, and enjoy a good cry. She straightened her shoulders. The fault belonged to her, but she didn’t need to fall apart. “I’m sorry.”

He glowered at her, his eyes big as silver dollars. Disdain covered his face as he scanned her up and down.

Victoria’s confident stance faltered. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “My insurance will cover it, I’m sure.”

By now a crowd had formed. Heat rose up her back.
Stay calm
. Once her embarrassment reached her shoulder blades it was all over; her neck and cheeks would be a blotchy mess.

“Mary Ann,” the man whispered.

“I didn’t hear you, sir.” She leaned closer to him then noticed one of the men on the sidewalk pointed at her and the car as he whispered into a young girl’s ear. Two women stood to the left of them whispering at each other and shaking their heads.

The driver walked away and stood, shoulders slumped, next to the other side of the Corvette. He shoved both hands into his coverall pockets, and she took a few steps toward him. He knelt and picked the bumper off the ground. “Mary Ann.”

“Sir, my name is not Mary Ann.”

He glared at Victoria as if she’d grown an extra pair of eyeballs, a nose, and an additional head. “Mary Ann is my car.” The words spat from his lips much like Daddy’s elaborate sprinkler system shot water all over their plush lawn at midmorning and early evening.

“Oh.” She stared at her hands. She’d heard of men naming their cars but never understood the notion. “I
am
sorry.”

“Do you have any idea how many years I’ve worked on this car?”

His words were a whisper. Surprisingly, they didn’t hold anger. It was pain, and she felt them with more force than a slap to the face. Her heart beat faster.
Help me, Lord. What do I do? What do I say?

People chattered around her. She could hear them asking who she was and where she was from. “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t look at the man. The tone in his voice, the slump of his shoulders, everything about him made her feel as though she’d committed a terrible crime. “I know my insurance will pay …”

The screeching of a siren drowned her out. The car stopped and a sheriff stepped out. “What’s goin’ on, here?” The man hefted his gun belt higher onto his waist.

“She hit Mary Ann.”

“I can see that.” The sheriff scraped his jaw and shook his head. “She was lookin’ mighty good, too.”

“I’ve been standing here trying to convince myself she was just a car.”

“And I’m sure the lady didn’t aim to hit ya.”

The driver shook his head and exhaled a long breath. “All that work.”

That was it. She couldn’t handle any more.
The Dukes of Hazzard
fellow looked as if he planned to give the eulogy at his mother’s funeral. It was a car. It was an accident. There had been no injuries. Her insurance would, without a doubt, pay for the repairs.

“Mister, Sheriff, I’m truly sorry. Can we please hurry on with the report?” She glanced at the still-whispering crowd. “I’d like to get to my sister-in-law’s house before lunch.”

The sheriff pushed back his hat. “Oh sure. I just need your license, registration, and proof of insurance.” He addressed the other man. “Yours, too, Chris.”

She walked back to her Suburban, leaned through the passenger window, and popped open the glove compartment. She dug through paper after paper looking for her registration and proof of insurance. “Where are they?” She grabbed the whole pile and laid it on the passenger’s seat. Going through one piece at a time, Victoria felt heat rising up her back once again.

“Having a bit of trouble?”

The sheriff stepped next to her. Her shoulder blades burned and her stomach turned. “I’m just trying to find … here it is.” She picked up the registration and handed it to him.

“Yep.” The sheriff grinned. He already held the man’s papers in his hands. “Now all I need is your license and insurance.”

“I know.” Victoria shuffled through manuals, maintenance lists, and other papers. The murmurs of what had to be the entire town made her hands shake. Placing the last piece of paper in the glove compartment, she exhaled and smacked the side of her hip. “I can’t find my insurance.”

The sheriff smiled. “Don’t worry ’bout it. Just give me your license. I will have to cite you for no insurance, but just as soon as you provide proof to the judge, everything’ll be fine.”

“Judge?” The vein in Victoria’s right temple throbbed.

“Just a formality. Don’t worry ’bout it one bit.”

Victoria opened the passenger’s door. “Do you mind if I sit down a minute?”

“Course not.”

She climbed inside, then closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat. What did a real judge look like? The only ones she’d ever seen were the ones on television, and they were often angry and exasperated with the people before them.

Just don’t think about that right now
. All she had to do was sit a few moments and wait for the sheriff to fix up the paperwork. The leather rested cool against her neck, easing her discomfort a bit.

“I still need your license, ma’am.”

Victoria sat up. “I’m sorry.” She scooped her purse off the floorboard and rummaged through it. “It’s right here in my wallet.” She pulled the fuchsia accessory from her bag and snapped it open. Her ID wasn’t where it should have been.

“Oh no.” Dread filled her as she remembered not being able to find it when the grocery store’s cashier asked for it a few weeks before. She thumbed through each card, willing, praying for the card to reveal itself.

“What’s the matter?”

The driver had obviously grown tired of waiting. Victoria begged to be awakened from this nightmare as she went through each card in her wallet.

“She can’t find her license,” the sheriff responded, “or proof of insurance.”

Giving in, she leaned back against the seat. “I lost it a couple of weeks ago.”

“Then why were you looking for it?” The sheriff folded his arms in front of his chest. His expression transformed to one not so forgiving.

“I—I just hoped maybe I had overlooked it.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re driving without a license or proof of insurance. You’ve caused a wreck.” He shook his head. “I’m going to have to take you down to the jail until I can figure out your identity.”

“No! Please, my name is Victoria Allison Thankful. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I’ve lived in …”

“You any relation to Sondra Ward? Her name used to be Thankful.”

“Yes, yes. She used to be my sister-in-law. I’m here to visit.”

“Well, now”—the sheriff smacked his lips together and winked—“we can just give her a call, verify that you’re who you say you are, and we’ll get you on your way.”

“Thank you.”

“I hate to do it, but I’ll still have to cite you and impound your vehicle.”

“What? But how will I get to Sondra’s farm?”

“How will I get Mary Ann fixed?”

She glared at the man the sheriff had called Chris. How could he think about that car at this moment? Her life had already collapsed into pieces; now the pieces were shattering.

She dug the cell phone from her jeans pocket and grabbed the stationery from the seat. Dialing Sondra’s number, all she could think of was getting away from the crowd and this man. The phone rang. It rang again.
Please pick up. Lord, please let Sondra be there
.

“Hello.” Sondra’s voice sounded through the phone, and Victoria sighed in relief.

“It’s Victoria.” She swallowed, realizing anew how little she and Sondra knew of each other. “I rear-ended a car.”

“What? Victoria, are you all right? Was anyone hurt?”

“We’re all fine, but I can’t find my license or proof of insurance.” Perspiration beaded on her forehead. In any other circumstance, Victoria would have never called Sondra for help. They barely knew each other. “The sheriff is taking my Suburban.”

Victoria swallowed the golf ball that had formed in her throat. She couldn’t begin to fathom what her one-time sister-in-law must think. Why would Sondra want to help a Thankful anyway? The family had been nothing but cruel to her.

“Oh, honey.” Sondra’s voice sounded smooth as silk and filled with compassion.

“He wanted me to call you to prove who I am.”

“Whas madder, Mommy?” Victoria could hear the concern in her nephew’s voice. She wanted so much to scoop him up and squeeze him in a big hug. She needed a hug, too.

“Everything’s fine, Peewee. Go check on your sister. Victoria, let me talk to Troy.”

“Who’s Troy?”

“The sheriff.”

“Okay.” Victoria handed him the phone. She waited as Troy smiled and talked to Sondra as if nothing had happened.

He gave it back to her. “She cleared you. I’m sorry, but you still can’t have your vehicle.”

Focusing on staying calm, she put the phone back to her ear. “Sondra, I’m embarrassed to ask, but is there anyway you can pick me up?”

“I don’t have a vehicle, Victoria. My van’s in the shop, and Dylan took the truck to check on some cattle.”

“Oh.”

“Who’s there besides Troy?”

“Uh, everyone who lives in this town is gathered on the sidewalk, and the man I hit—I think Troy said his name was Chris.”

“You hit Chris’s car?”

“Yeah.”

“Mary Ann?”

What is up with this car?
“Yeah.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“What?”

“Just let me talk to him. Everything will be fine.”

Victoria walked toward the man who still knelt at the rear end of his car. “I’m sorry, but my sister-in-law would like to talk to you.”

He stood and took the phone. “Yeah … yeah … okay… okay.” He handed the phone back to her. “She’d like to speak to you now.”

Victoria grabbed the phone with one hand and twirled her diamond stud earring with the other. The whole ordeal had set her head to pounding in what Victoria felt sure could be considered a migraine, or at least the beginning of one. “Sondra?”

“Chris will bring you to the ranch.”

“What?” She looked at the overgrown man who had turned toward Troy. Victoria watched as the sheriff nodded his head to whatever Chris had said to him. “I can’t ride with him.”

“Yes, you can. Trust me. He’s a great guy. I’d come and get you in a heartbeat, but I can’t.”

“But …”

“Trust me. You’ll be fine.”

“But he hates me.”

“Chris Ratliff hates no one.” A crash followed by crying sounded over the phone. “Gotta go.”

Victoria pushed the Off button on her cell phone and glanced toward her ride. Chris stood with both hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes glazed and his jaw set in a hard line when he looked at her. Lifting one side of her mouth in an attempted smile, Victoria gave up the notion, walked to her Suburban, grabbed her purse, and popped open a bottle of pain reliever. She swallowed two tablets, struggling to push them down her seemingly swollen throat. Begging God to keep her from getting sick, she noted the scowling expression on Chris’s face. Victoria felt confident that Sondra had no idea what she was talking about.