It was a monstrosity. That was the only label that Strip could give the beast that he was staring at. He gulped and glanced back at the sheriff and judge of the little town he found himself in. Swallowing, he let his eyes wander over to Bessie, as they called it. She was the dirtiest thing he'd seen in a long time, and the bubbling steaming tar in the buckets was spilling over.
"I want my phone call." Strip muttered quietly.
"After you and Bessie take a ride." Sheriff grunted and escorted his prisoner over to Bessie.
"Don't quite know what I'm doing."
"Ain't nothing to it. Just get in the car there and start driving. Bessie will do the rest." Doc called after Strip with a slight smirk in his voice.
"I'm supposed to get one phone call!" Strip turned to narrow his eyes at Sheriff.
"Alright, but you'll have to wait. You might as well start paving,Hotrod."
Strip sighed as he slipped into the vehicle to pull Bessie. He wished he hadn't driven while sleepy. Resigned to the fact that he'd have to wait to make his one phone call the racer began to pave the road. Lyn was tucked back in the Cozy Cone after a bad bought with morning sickness. He felt like a heel for having to leave her alone. The boys were her only company, he felt uneasy about leaving his teen nephews with her. Over the course of the road trip the pair had become more at ease with one another, each day seemed to show how young Lightning was. It was as refreshing as it was terrifying. He shuddered to think of what kinds of pranks they would dream up.
Two hours passed with Bessie huffing and puffing. Strip was not in the best of moods when he stopped for a break. In fact, one might say he was down- right cross. He parked the monstrosity and scowled up at the burning sun. The racer wanted nothing more than to be with his wife and nephews. He was sick of paving. It was stuffy and hot, sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and between his eyes.
"Too hot for you, Hotrod?" Sheriff's voice floated over to him. He'd been supervising all morning.
"Can't say." Strip let his eyes fall on the officer. "Anything to drink? Can't refuse your prisoner the necessities."
"Hmmph." A sharp grunt was his response before a water bottle sailed through the air and hit him in the chest.
"Thanks." He twisted off the top and gulped down the water.
"Got a few more hours out there."
"I'm beginning to think that you just like my company." Strip grinned cheekily at Sheriff.
"Not quite." Sheriff snorted. "Just need our road fixed."
"Got a question for you. Mind answering?" Strip strolled over to sit down on the bench that Sheriff occupied.
"Don't have to answer." Suspicion slipped into Sheriff's voice. He glanced at the racer with narrowed eyes. "Better make it quick. You got work to do."
"It has to do with why we're here."
"Really now?" A sharp glance was spared for his prisoner. His lips thinned out into a grim line.
"Delanie Willard, who is she?"
Sheriff stiffened subtly at the name. His mind sped up to a dizzying speed and he carefully turned to look at his prisoner.
"Never heard of her." His face was set in stone. A carefully crafted poker safe masked his suddenly anxious mind.
"It's important to know who she is." Strip's voice became more serious. He leaned back against the bench.
"As important as it is. You still have work to do."
"Changing the subject won't stop me from finding out." Strip looked straight at the officer, unwavering in his resolve to find answers. "Dancin' around the truth ain't gonna change what you know."
Silence fell between the two men. It was a stiff stare off and for several moments it seemed that neither would cave. The racer and the officer were immoveable and silent.
"Delanie Willard." Sheriff finally caved and turned to stare at Bessie. His tone was heavy and there was a wistfulness to his face. It was a subtle look, but Strip caught it.
"Yes. She's connected with someone in my family."
"Hmmm." Sheriff seemed uninterested. "Been a long time since someone mentioned her to me." He sounded like he had swallowed gravel.
"I only heard the name this past week."
"Willard isn't the real last name. It's just an alias she used." A fondness crept into Sheriff's voice.
"What was her real last name?" Strip pressed again for answers.
"Don't reckon that's any of your business."
"You're getting awfully defensive." The racer narrowed his eyes. "What are you hiding?"
"What does she have to do with you, Hotrod?"
"I need to know."
"She was my daughter." Sheriff all at once snapped at the racer. "What do you want with her? She's been dead for years."
"I'm sorry." Strip swallowed a lump in his throat. Open mouth insert foot. Strip sighed to himself.
"Can't change what happened. What I want to know is why you're so interested in her." The law officer's glare deepened dangerously. "I want answers now." His hand shot out and grabbed Strip's wrist.
"She had a son." Strip's tongue ran away from him.
"Son?" Sheriff's voice tightened. "You're lying."
"I'm not." Strip held Sheriff's gaze firmly. "I wouldn't lie. Ain't no reason to lie about that."
"I'm…a grandfather." He sank back against the bench, his shoulders slumping. "Who did she marry? Where is my grandchild?"
"Let me finish this road…then we'll have a long talk." Strip stood wearily and stretched.
"Alright." He watched the racer head back to paving the road. His heart hammered angrily in his chest and his mind raced. The Hotrod had just decided to shake his poor world to the core. He sighed and raked a hand over his face in worry. How could life change so quickly?