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Minutes later they were back on the road.
    Tawney's arms were wound tightly around herself, again reminding him of armor, as if she were trying to ward him off.
    He pulled into his garage and cut the engine.
    "No need to walk me over," she said, opening her door. "Thank you for the ride home."
    She ran across the driveway; a second later the lights came on in the cottage. He waited for a minute, for what he didn't know. He'd made a fool of himself in front of her. How did he explain his PTSD to her when he didn't fully understand himself?
    Curious about the blown tire, he removed it and set it on his workbench.
    The rubber had blown apart. He'd run over rocks last week, probably doing damage. The tire had been compromised by rocks, not a gunshot. He really was losing it.
    He had to get it together. He thought of the police department shrink, Marion Best. The woman had tried to help him, but he'd been unreceptive. She'd warned him that if he didn't deal with his emotions the trauma could resurface at any moment.
    Well, Marion had been right.
    No one was trying to shoot him. He was safe here.
    Safe.
    He knew it, yet long after he'd turned in for the night, the pop of the blown tire stayed with him, leaving him restless, reminding him of everything he was running away from.
    *    *    *
    The following afternoon, Tawney started her shift at The Junebug with a headache—the product of poor sleep. She'd replayed Rick's reaction to the flat tire over and over in her mind. His reaction had not been normal. For crying out loud, she was the one with the reason to be spooked. She expected Fox Lassiter to shoot at her. After all, she had run off with his expensive emerald ring. Worse, she'd pawned that ring. It was bad enough she'd skipped town, but to do so with the ring, well, right now she didn't know what she'd been thinking. She did know Fox was capable of anything. She had no idea how his twisted mind worked. Finding out they'd only had a flat tire had been a huge relief.
    Tawney started the coffee pot, then poured two beers, taking them over to a young couple who'd come in for lunch. The Junebug had great food, bringing in locals who didn't come there to drink, but to eat. Made for a nicer crowd as far as she was concerned. After being in Vegas, the clientele at The Junebug was tame. Tawney smiled.
    "Nice party last night," June said. She sat in her usual place at the end of the bar.
    Tawney freshened up June's coffee. "It was fun. Rick drove me home last night. We had a flat tire. Did he tell you?"
    "Really? A flat tire?" June asked with interest. "On the highway?"
    "Yes." Tawney slid the cream to June. "Rick had a pretty strong reaction to the pop."
    "What kind of reaction?" June gave Tawney her full attention now.
    "I'm not sure. It was almost like he froze, like he couldn't hear me."
    "Order up," Roy called from the kitchen.
    Tawney grabbed the two orders and left the food with the young couple.
    "So," Tawney said to June, "why do you think Rick reacted like he did?"
    "Rick's been through a lot," June said. "His stories aren't mine to tell. You should ask him."
    "Star told me that he'd been shot and beaten," Tawney said, wanting to know more. "Is that true? Is that why he left his job?"
    June smiled. "Be gentle with my boy."
    "Okay." Tawney wondered about the circumstances of the shooting. Did she really want to pry into Rick's life? Probably not. She sure didn't want him prying into hers. He still had police connections, the kind of connections that could dig up dirt on anyone. Not good.
    "Hey," Rick said.
    Tawney swung around as Rick closed the door behind him. "Hey." She shivered at the burst of cold air that followed him in.
    Dressed in his black jacket and blue knit cap, he passed her, heading for the back room.
    "He's early," June said.
    Tawney busied herself with the customers, refilling drinks, topping off coffee, delivering orders. Rick took the seat June had vacated.
    "Order up," Roy called again.
    Tawney