“He’d climbed out of his tractor cab by the time Megan made it down the steep embankment and reached the semi with a flashlight. At least fifty and overweight, his hand trembled as he reached for a pack of cigarettes in the breast pocket of his shirt. “Are you in any pain, sir?” He ran a hand over his thinning hair. “Bumps and bruises. No blood.” “Chest pain? Difficulty breathing?” “No. I’m just plain angry at that fool in the pickup who tried to kill me. And look at what happened to my truck.” ...His voice rose. “That’s my own rig. It’s how I make my living. I’ll never forget that man’s face. Never.” “I need you to sit quietly until help arrives. Maybe over here—on this log?” “I need to take a look at my truck first. If—” “Sir, you need to stay quiet. It’s always possible to have internal injuries after something like this, and we don’t want to aggravate anything now, do we?” He grumbled, but finally let her lead him to a place to sit down.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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