HeadlightWithFoley_mixdown

A woman named Lisa is driving from Reno to Sacramento to help her sick mom. She stops at a gas station and meets a cowboy named Trace. They exchange numbers and plan to meet at a line dance lesson. As Lisa continues driving, Trace follows her and starts acting aggressively. He eventually forces her off the road and attacks her. However, it turns out that Trace was actually trying to protect her from a man hiding in her back seat. The police arrive and Lisa realizes that she has developed feelings for Trace. I'm driving my lumpy old car from Reno to Sacramento to help my mom. It's late because I had to work late. Felicia called in sick, so I had to work my shift, and then, because it's Friday, I had to vacuum the office, empty trash, and try not to cry. I stopped for gas and coffee at Boomtown. It's one of the last couple miles of the Nevada Highway before hitting California. I start putting gas in the car, but I can hardly wait for the coffee. I know I shouldn't, but I'm in a hurry, so I leave the gas pumping and run in with my travel mug, heading straight to the Wall of Java with about a dozen coffee choices. I take the dark roast with a splash of hot cocoa on the top. I pay the guy and jet back to my car before the pump finishes. Damn, I'm good. Hey, sugar, what's your flight plan tonight? Nothing fun, cowboy. I've got appointments, and I'm already late. He's a good-looking cowboy, tall, lean, nice truck. Of course it's a truck. This is Reno. Well, give me your number, then. I promise I won't call for at least 24 hours. But can you take no for an answer? No. He grins. He must be desperate. I look a mess, no makeup, need a shower and a change of clothes, but I have to hurry. My mama's sick, and she won't take care of herself. I bet every dish in her house is dirty. Well, you'll have to take no for an answer to that, padna, I say with a country twang the best I can. Thanks for the ego boost. It is nice to have a polite and considerate gentleman cowboy talk to me. Aw, you're just painting your bullets pink so my heart won't break so hard. Okay, here's a compromise. You know the line dance lesson at the lodge every first Tuesday? Yes, ma'am, I do. I'll be at the next one. Fair enough. And you wear comfy shoes. I love to twirl a pretty girl. Well, there'll be lots of us. Um, I pause to get his name. Trace. Trace Bowen. He says, holding out his hand. It's warm, and it feels good. Warm and strong. And I start to weaken. Perfect. Your name's Perfect? Lol. No, yours is. Cowboy Trace Bowen in shoot number three, riding the bull Widowmaker. Lol. Using my twang again. My name's Lisa. Alright, alright, Lisa. See you Tuesday. Oh, yeah. This is the last weekend of the month. Four days from now is the first Tuesday. I put the cap on my gas tank and start to climb into my car. See you, Trace. Take care. I pull away from the pumps, and Trace already has his big blue truck rolling behind me. I like him. He's big, and confident, and nice. He let me push him right where we both wanted to go. I'm a lot more cheerful, turning right onto Highway 80 westbound, and I see Trace is right behind me. Well, that's probably okay. I didn't know which way he was headed. He could live in Truckee. Or maybe Tahoe. Right on the lake. Boy, that would be cool. A cowboy from Lake Tahoe. And it was love at first sight. Trace is blinking his lights. Uh, no, cowboy. I'm not changing my mind. I pass the last exit in Nevada and cross into California, and he's not giving up. Every few minutes, he blinks his lights. Damn it. Well, all the charm is worn off now. Take a hint, cowboy. I'm saying no. I'm considering my options. Truckee is quite a ways off, and I don't want to pull over here. It's late, and there aren't many cars. I don't know if anyone would stop anyway. I drive a couple more miles, and I can see the glare of the blinking lights in my rear view mirror again. Holy hell. How messed up is this? I have a sorted date with a guy I only met twenty minutes ago, and now he's doing this? I check the rear view, and he's changing lanes into the inside lane and speeding up, coming alongside me. I stare rigidly straight ahead, gripping the wheel with white knuckles, my teeth clenched. I'm furious. His horn. Now he's honking his horn? Still alongside my car. I look up at him, and he's pointing. He's shouting something and pointing at my car. His face doesn't look angry or friendly. He looks scared. What the-? I push down hard on the gas, trying to get away, and he drifts back behind me, still blinking his lights. Floriston. A small town. The next exit. Finally. It's a tiny place with just a few homes. No services, but I can honk and wake them all up. He's right behind me, blinking, honking. I'm angry, confused, and scared to death. I'm slowing for the exit, but I'm not going to stop. I'll just run the stop sign, drive straight into a neighborhood, and- He's hit my car. His massive truck spins my car to the left. I floor it, and my car starts to pull away from the truck, but he's hitting me again, pushing me further into a turn to the left. And now I'm driving straight at the curb. I lay on my horn. His headlights are the same height as my windows, so my little car is filled with glaring light. We're a crashing, honking disaster in the middle of a freeway exit intersection. I scream when Trace tears open my door. Ah! Trace! Get out of the car. Clutching fingers grab at my throat, but it's not Trace. It's someone in my back seat. Trace is grabbing my wrist now, pulling me from the car. His hand is like a vice. He sees the hand on my throat, reaches behind my head, and I hear the person howl in pain. I feel jostling and thumping behind me, and Trace swears as he pulls me clear. I'm astonished at him jumping into my car, and I hear a brief struggle and some thumps. Police are arriving now. Trace climbs out of my car like a huge bear coming out of a small cave. I called 911 when I saw the guy hiding on the floor of your back seat, but it was too late to stop you, so I followed. Every time he rose up from the floor, I'd blink and honk so he'd hide back down again. He's got to be nuts, some kind of maniac. I'm stunned, scared, relieved, and a whole lot happy again. I hug Trace tight. Tears run down my cheeks. See, Lisa? This is all I wanted all along, he says in a humorous, strong, warm, and gentle voice. I think I love you, Trace.