keeping pace with Star’s car.
“Looking good, stud!”
Star saw Dáire turn his head toward them and lower his Ray-Bans down his nose a
bit. He must have either winked or smiled at the girls for they were making more
catcalls, one going so far as to lean out the back window and pull up her T-shirt for him
to get a view of her naked, young breasts.
“Nice!” Star heard him compliment as she slammed her foot down on the
accelerator before he caused an accident. With expert handling, she maneuvered the
sports car past a semi and a truck towing a trailer, wanting to put as much distance as
possible between her and the randy teenagers.
Dáire looked over at her and grinned, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose.
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Starlight.”
Star snorted. “What of?” she countered. “Jail bait?”
“Gotta start somewhere,” he chuckled.
Star checked her rearview mirror—half expecting to see the girls speeding toward
her—but the little blue car was hemmed in behind the semi and the truck with the
trailer. She eased up on the accelerator because a minivan was riding alongside a
cement truck, blocking the inside lane.
“Come on, move it,” Star snapped. She was practically riding the minivan’s rear
bumper. “What the hell is he doing?”
“Sitting there with his thumb up his ass, trying to work things out,” Dáire replied.
“Flash him your lights.”
Star reached down to do so but the cement truck slowed down going up a slight
incline and the minivan passed it, swung into the truck’s lane almost immediately. The
blast of the truck’s horn made Star jump but Dáire just laughed.
“Where’s a smoky when you need one?” Star complained.
58
HardWind
Taking the FL-87S exit, Star pulled into the truck stop a few hundred yards down
the road and waited in the car for Dáire to get them both something to drink. While she
waited, she rummaged in her oversized handbag for the pills to help his headache.
“Jazzy little car there, mama,” someone said, and Star looked up. A man had come
out of the truck stop and was ogling her as he leaned his hip against the front of a
pickup truck that had seen better days.
“Ah, thanks,” she said, and continued looking through her purse.
“Bet it could get up to a hundred in a flash, huh?” the man asked. He pushed away
from the truck.
“Bet your head could too if you take one more step toward my woman,” Dáire said.
His menacing words had been spoken in a soft voice but the man to whom they were
directed instantly stopped in mid stride.
Though Dáire looked yuppified—as he and Jackson would have termed it—with
his white silk shirt, black trousers and black loafers—there was something very deadly
in the way he stood, the way his sunglass-clad vision was directed toward the man in
the frayed baseball hat, dirty T-shirt and rumpled jeans.
The trucker sniffed, ran his arm under his nose, tugged on the brim of his baseball
cap then spun around on his heel and went back into the truck stop.
“Get in the car,” Star said. She had a feeling the man had gone back inside for
reinforcements.
Dáire was hoping he had. Although his head was pounding, he would have
welcomed taking a few rednecks down a peg or two.
“Please?” Star begged, keeping an eye on the door to the truck stop.
Taking his time folding his tall body into the sports car, Dáire didn’t bother
directing his attention to the truck-stop door. If anyone were foolhardy enough to come
out to have a little dance with him, he would be glad to oblige. In the mood he found
himself, smashing his fist into a beer-puffed face might help to ease the tension.
Star didn’t give him a chance to find out. As soon as he shut the car door, she shot
out of the gravel-paved parking lot—gravel spraying under her wheels—and was back
on the highway, taking the on-ramp to the interstate before he could pop the tabs on the
cans of
“Looking good, stud!”
Star saw Dáire turn his head toward them and lower his Ray-Bans down his nose a
bit. He must have either winked or smiled at the girls for they were making more
catcalls, one going so far as to lean out the back window and pull up her T-shirt for him
to get a view of her naked, young breasts.
“Nice!” Star heard him compliment as she slammed her foot down on the
accelerator before he caused an accident. With expert handling, she maneuvered the
sports car past a semi and a truck towing a trailer, wanting to put as much distance as
possible between her and the randy teenagers.
Dáire looked over at her and grinned, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose.
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Starlight.”
Star snorted. “What of?” she countered. “Jail bait?”
“Gotta start somewhere,” he chuckled.
Star checked her rearview mirror—half expecting to see the girls speeding toward
her—but the little blue car was hemmed in behind the semi and the truck with the
trailer. She eased up on the accelerator because a minivan was riding alongside a
cement truck, blocking the inside lane.
“Come on, move it,” Star snapped. She was practically riding the minivan’s rear
bumper. “What the hell is he doing?”
“Sitting there with his thumb up his ass, trying to work things out,” Dáire replied.
“Flash him your lights.”
Star reached down to do so but the cement truck slowed down going up a slight
incline and the minivan passed it, swung into the truck’s lane almost immediately. The
blast of the truck’s horn made Star jump but Dáire just laughed.
“Where’s a smoky when you need one?” Star complained.
58
HardWind
Taking the FL-87S exit, Star pulled into the truck stop a few hundred yards down
the road and waited in the car for Dáire to get them both something to drink. While she
waited, she rummaged in her oversized handbag for the pills to help his headache.
“Jazzy little car there, mama,” someone said, and Star looked up. A man had come
out of the truck stop and was ogling her as he leaned his hip against the front of a
pickup truck that had seen better days.
“Ah, thanks,” she said, and continued looking through her purse.
“Bet it could get up to a hundred in a flash, huh?” the man asked. He pushed away
from the truck.
“Bet your head could too if you take one more step toward my woman,” Dáire said.
His menacing words had been spoken in a soft voice but the man to whom they were
directed instantly stopped in mid stride.
Though Dáire looked yuppified—as he and Jackson would have termed it—with
his white silk shirt, black trousers and black loafers—there was something very deadly
in the way he stood, the way his sunglass-clad vision was directed toward the man in
the frayed baseball hat, dirty T-shirt and rumpled jeans.
The trucker sniffed, ran his arm under his nose, tugged on the brim of his baseball
cap then spun around on his heel and went back into the truck stop.
“Get in the car,” Star said. She had a feeling the man had gone back inside for
reinforcements.
Dáire was hoping he had. Although his head was pounding, he would have
welcomed taking a few rednecks down a peg or two.
“Please?” Star begged, keeping an eye on the door to the truck stop.
Taking his time folding his tall body into the sports car, Dáire didn’t bother
directing his attention to the truck-stop door. If anyone were foolhardy enough to come
out to have a little dance with him, he would be glad to oblige. In the mood he found
himself, smashing his fist into a beer-puffed face might help to ease the tension.
Star didn’t give him a chance to find out. As soon as he shut the car door, she shot
out of the gravel-paved parking lot—gravel spraying under her wheels—and was back
on the highway, taking the on-ramp to the interstate before he could pop the tabs on the
cans of
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