Was the man she loved an enigmatic hitchhiker or a murderer?
To keep the bank from repossessing her eighteen-wheeler, Baby Blue, and putting her and her daughter, Tessa, on the street, Loretta Brennan takes a dangerous job driving it into Wyoming with a winter storm approaching. All alone she worries if she can make the deadline and navigate the roads since her driving partner husband died the year before in an accident.
On her way, she feels sorry for and picks up a hitchhiker. Sam Emerson. Charismatically handsome, his moodiness hides a dark past that includes a dead girlfriend and a murder charge.
Snow, a series of trucker murders and a sinister truck begin to haunt them on their route.
She suspects Sam’s aligned with the killer even as she experiences feelings for him. Is Sam a good man down on his luck or is she falling in love with a murderer?
In the end it’ll take a heroic show of love to prove to her that he is who he claims to be.
“What I need,” she said, waving a hand at the raised hood and the engine after she’d picked up the flashlight she’d dropped from the ground, “is a doctor for my truck. It’s sick.”
The man took the flashlight from her hand, walked over and peered into the engine. His fingers traced along the metal parts, jiggling something here, something there. He seemed to know what he was doing. “Yep, looks like you need a fuel filter.”
“You’re pretty knowledgeable for just a hitchhiker.” She forced herself to stop looking at him and his long legs and shifted her gaze to the buildings at the end of the lot. She’d been having strange thoughts about the man. When he’d come back from dragging off her drunken admirer she’d had the urge to throw her arms around him and kiss him. Which was crazy.
Even now she kept sneaking peeks at him because she wanted to see his smile again. The feelings were so unexpected they took her off guard. She never reacted to a man this way.
Ah, she sighed inwardly, what the heck was she thinking? He was nothing but a stranger. The man she was daydreaming about ambled over. There was a grease smudge on his left cheek.
“I used to drive a big rig,” the man was saying. “Five years for J.B. Hunt out of Illinois as well as a couple other companies. And I’ve worked on these babies since I was a kid.” He patted the side of Baby Blue fondly. “My dad was an over-the-road trucker all his life. He’d take me on the road with him in the summers and taught me everything I know. About trucking, that is.” His voice was gentle when he mentioned his father.
“Your father’s not driving anymore?”
“No. He’s not living anymore. He died a couple of years ago of cancer.” His eyes were taking her in and there was a curve to his lips.
“I’m sorry.” Her mother and father were both alive, in another state, but she saw them when she could and they were still close. Her mom called every week. They visited Tessa and her every Christmas.
“Don’t be sorry. Everyone has to die sometime. It was his time.”