Chapter Three

Daisy was quiet as she rode in the front passenger seat of Wyatt's shiny black pickup truck. It was well-maintained, but also clear he used it as a work vehicle. And the callouses she noticed on his big, strong hands told her he was no stranger to hard work. So that truck was probably put to daily use.

Her car was being taken to the nearest town by a tow truck not too far behind them.

Still hugging Hedy, Daisy said, "Mr. McCall?"

"You can call me Wyatt," he reminded her in an easygoing tone. "What's up?"

"I didn't even see you pull into that bar. Were you already there?"

"No. I was passing by. I saw those fellers giving you a hard time, though."

"Thank you for stopping."

"I won't stand by while anyone harasses a lady. That's for sure."

They drove on in silence for a few miles. Rolling, green pastureland punctuated by the occasional tree line stretched along both sides of the road.

She kept staring out the window—trying hard not to turn and gawk at him—and said, "You must live around here."

"How'd you know? My Georgia accent that thick?"

She laughed. "Oh, it's thick. But no thicker than my Tennessee drawl."

"Where you from?"

"Just over the line. Chattanooga."

"Pretty city," he said.

"It wasn't your accent that gave you away, though," she continued. "It was your name. I've never heard it before. But those scary men sure had. They turned white when they realized who you were! Why is that?"

It took him a few moments to answer. Finally, he said, "Oh, I reckon I'm known around these parts. I spent some time overseas. And this is a small community. Stuff like that, well…"

"You're a hero," she said.

She glanced at him to see he was keeping his eyes on the road and was clearly uncomfortable with that description. He offered a half shrug but didn't take his hands off the steering wheel.

"You know how stuff like that goes," he said. "Gets embellished and all that. Folks around here are patriotic. Any small-town boy who joins the military gets a lot of attention. No big deal."

He didn't offer any further explanation. She didn't press for one, either.

Daisy found herself disappointed when they pulled into the parking lot of the mechanic's shop. She didn't want her time with Wyatt to end. Just riding next to him in the cab of that pickup had her feeling safe.

Surely those scary guys wouldn't follow them here. They weren't just hanging back, waiting for him to drop her off. Right?

She dismissed the notion as quickly as it had come. They'd been scared of Wyatt. They wouldn't press their luck.

The garage doors were raised and a man in oil-spotted coveralls smiled and waved as he stepped out and waited for Wyatt and Daisy to exit the truck. Once they were out, he said, "Howdy, Wyatt. What can I do for y'all?"

Hearing the tow truck pulling in behind them, Wyatt jerked his head toward it and said, "This young lady has a shredded tire. Spare had a puncture in it, too."

"I'll have a look-see when they get ‘er down," the mechanic said. "In the meantime, y'all are welcome to wait in the office there."

"Thanks," Wyatt said before escorting Daisy toward the office attached to the garage. They were halfway there when he stopped and looked back toward the car. "Do you want to get your stuffie out?"

She blushed and shook her head, stifling a giggle.

She loved how he was talking to her. It was just like a Daddy would. She combatted a sigh.

If only…

Inside, the air conditioning felt nice. It was October, but in Georgia, that didn't mean much. It was still a degree or two over eighty without a cloud in the sky.

"You want a Coke?" Wyatt asked, eyeing the old-fashioned red vending machine. Someone had taken great care in restoring it, and it looked plucked right out of a bygone era.

Her eyes lit up but then her expression changed. "I'll pass."

"My treat," he said. "I insist."

She smiled. "Thank you, sir."

He smiled, too. He'd already told her she didn't have to call him that, but it still sounded cute hearing it. He didn't correct her and instead focused his attention on putting some money in the machine. He opened the door, a cold blast of air greeting him as he pulled the bottle from the slot. He repeated the process until they each had one.

"Thank you," she said, taking the drink from him once he'd popped the lid off. She took a swig, looked at the machine, and said, "How old do you think that is?"

"Oh, I reckon from the Fifties. Maybe early Sixties at the latest."

She drank some more of her Coke. The cold, carbonated liquid burned slightly going down. "Coke just tastes better out of a glass bottle!"

"Amen to that," he said, raising his in a toast.

She met him in the middle and the bottles clinked as they bumped each other.

"Ma'am," the mechanic said, entering from a side door that led to the garage. "Good news is that your rim is just fine. The bad news is that all your tires are in rough shape. Do you have far to travel?"

"I'm still about six hours away from my destination," she said with obvious panic in her voice.

"Well, they might get you there. But they might not." The mechanic had a very serious expression on his face when he added, "Ma'am, if you were my daughter, I wouldn't let you drive on these tires. You've got one on the back that's so bald you can almost see the threads. And the other two aren't much better. And of course that shredded one is no good, but you already knew that."

She looked pained as she rubbed the back of her neck. "How much would a new set cost?"

"I have some used ones that'll save you some money," he said. "They're not like new, but they'll get you down the road for another year or so. That'll be—"

"Just put some new ones on," Wyatt said. "Charge it to me."

"Sir! I can't—" Daisy started.

Wyatt put a hand up, stopping more protest, saying, "Hey, my farm does so much business here. Between tires and farm trucks and even fixing our tractors, we keep ol' Vern so busy that he gives us a special rate. Just makes sense for us to do it this way and save you the money."

"He's right, ma'am," the mechanic said. "We'll have you fixed up in no time. Just give me about forty-five minutes or so."

"That's enough time for us to step across the street to the diner and grab something to eat," Wyatt said. "Do you like burgers?"

"Yes, sir!" Daisy said.

"Well, then you're going to love the diner. They have the best burgers in Georgia."

"Does the place have a name?" she asked.

He shook his head with a grin. "Nope. We all just call it the diner."

She laughed and walked side-by-side with him toward the street. She was about to step off the curb when he stopped her. "Whoa there, little lady. I don't think you looked both ways. You were going to just dart right out into the street."

"There isn't anyone coming," she said.

"But you didn't stop to make sure of that. You see that little hill," he said, pointing his eyes in the direction of the street's low rise.

"Yes, sir."

"Cars dart over that thing awfully fast. That's why it's important to stop and check. Now, hold my hand while we cross. I'll show you how it's done."

Daisy's whole body was tingling with excitement as she grabbed Wyatt's strong hand. He looked left, right, and then left again before they strolled briskly across. She was disappointed when they stepped up onto the opposite curb and he let go.

It was over now, but for a few moments, she'd been able to experience his big hand engulfing hers, making her feel safer than she ever had before.

Inside, Daisy found that the diner was clearly old but well-maintained. Just like that Coke machine, it was a throwback to a bygone era. There was a stool-lined counter that ran nearly the length of the restaurant's back wall. Behind it was an older man moving down the line of customers—about every other stool was occupied—refilling coffee cups and checking on folks.

He looked up and smiled, "Hey, Wyatt. You want the usual?"

Wyatt led Daisy to a booth and they both slid in, sitting across from each other. "You bet, Sam." In a quieter tone, he said to Daisy, "How do you want your burger?"

"However it comes."

He nodded. "Two, please," he called out.

"Comin' right up," Sam hollered back.

They were about to start talking when Sam approached and dropped two sweet teas off. Apparently, that was included in Wyatt's regular meal.

Daisy had already had plenty of sugar with that Coke, but she wasn't going to pass up a tall glass of iced tea. She took a sip to find that true to the drink's southern roots, it lived up to the sweet part of its name.

Once it was just the two of them again, Daisy said, "Thank you for everything. You're being so kind to me."

He studied her a moment and then said, "You say that as if not everyone has been."

A torrent of memories flooded over her mind. She did her best to push them aside, but she still felt some of the sadness they always brought. She managed a smile and said, "Not everyone has been."

She left it at that.

He gave her a thoughtful nod but didn't press for more.

"You know," she said, after another drink of sweet tea, "I felt funny pulling into the parking lot of that bar. I didn't really have a choice, though. But somehow, I just had this feeling inside that told me it was dangerous."

"You should listen to that feeling. Always," Wyatt said. "If something feels off, it probably is. Trust your gut."

"Sometimes I feel guilty doing that," she said. "Like I'm judging people."

"It's not about judging them," Wyatt said. "But your safety is more important than anyone's feelings. Including your own. Even if you feel guilty, trust your gut. Always remember that."

She tucked that little bit of advice away, hoping she never needed it, but realizing she probably would. The world could sure be a big, scary place. Especially for Littles like her.

She smiled as she realized she was trusting her gut now. She'd known Wyatt was safe from the moment she'd laid eyes on him. There was just something overwhelmingly protective about his presence.

Too bad you're going to say goodbye soon, Daisy. Because he sure seems like the Daddy you've always dreamed of. Right down to that protective nature. And those strong, broad shoulders and that dimpled smile.

She told herself not to focus on saying goodbye and just to live in the moment.

It was a moment she'd always remember.