Miracle on I-40 Read Online Free

Surely, Paloma, who was supposed to work the supper shift would come in any minute, she thought, heading back to Cooper’s table with the coffee pot.
    “You goin’ or not?”
    Cooper’s voice startled her, and she splashed the coffee out of his cup. “Oh…I’m sorry.” She dabbed up the spill.
    They gazed at each other.
    Again she slipped down slipped down into the seat opposite him. “I know it’s an imposition, and I really hate to bother you, only…”
    “Look,” he said, holding his knife like a pointer, “I told Pate I’d take you. The deal is still on, just like before, and I’ll probably get you there a bit faster than Pate would have. I don’t make a lot of stops. It’s not like it was with Pate—I ain’t Pate—but it is a ride. Now, do you want to go?”
    Lacey stared at those buckeye brown eyes.
    “I’d be very grateful for the ride,” she said.
    He nodded. “Okay.” And he looked down at his chili and scooped a spoonful into his mouth, hot chili and hot pepper.
    Lacey sat there, gazing at him.
    After several long seconds, he looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.
    “Pate was going to pick me up at home at six o’clock tomorrow morning.” Why did this man have to be so purposely disagreeable?
    “You be here at the restaurant at five, and we’ll head out.” He returned his attention to his chili.
    Lacey opened her mouth, then closed it. “Fine,” she said at last.
    Rising, she walked straight-backed across the room and through the swinging doors. Oh, Lord, why did you let Pate break his leg?
     
    The Heart’s Desire
     
    At the exact moment that Lacey prayed for Paloma to arrive, the young woman came bouncing through the door, her arms laden with shopping bags, and singing Feliz Navidad.
    Lacey said, “Merry Christmas to you, too, my tables are all yours,” and whipped off her apron and unpinned her name tag.
    Growing a little frantic, with all she had to do racing through her mind like a pack of dogs chased by the dog catcher, she got her purse, threw on her coat.
    “Feliz Navidad!” Paloma called to her.
    “Honey, make it a good one,” said Jolene. “I love your face...here.” Jolene passed her a small black satin cosmetic bag. The name of Estée Lauder was printed on the side.
    “We agreed—no buyin’ gifts.” Lacey pushed the bag back at the woman.
    “I did not buy it. It came as my free gift for buyin’ the miracle wrinkle cream. Honest. Take it and enjoy.”
    Jolene gave a her a hug and a kiss. Gerald appeared with a pecan pie covered in plastic. The two of them waved her away at the back door, their wishes for a good trip and Merry Christmas echoing into the crisp dark night. Lacey hurried out past the dumpster and a beat-up Rambler with someone sleeping in it, and over to her old white sedan, which looked even more rundown in the silvery glow of the parking lot lights.
    She got in, set the pecan pie carefully in the passenger seat and pulled her coat collar up around her neck because the driver window was stuck down, which was why Anna had caught cold in the first place. At the turning of the key, the engine protested with a lot of whines and grinds, snorts, and pops, while Lacey whispered, “It will start…it will start…it will start.” It did, and Lacey revved it several times, then backed out of her space and headed in a chugging fashion past the restaurant.
    In the way of Universe arrangements, at the particular moment of Lacey’s passing, Cooper was coming out from the restaurant and heading for his rig, where he intended to spend the night. He saw the car jerking along with clouds of smoke puffing out the back of it. Next, with some surprise, he saw the gal—Lacey Bryant—at the wheel.
    He watched the pitiful car continue on to the entrance, where it paused before pulling out onto the narrow blacktop highway headed for town. It let out a loud backfire, then picked up speed and roared away.
    Cooper, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, strode