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Jesus Take the Wheel

“Good Lord. Jesus take the wheel!” Dani said, her eyes widening. “What did I miss?” asked Maggie, her lively brown eyes darted around, looking for the action, as she set their lunches down on the table at Common Grounds. She was well-aware of her friend’s new favorite sport of people watching and was always ready to add to her ever-growing pot of fertilizer for the Gladewater grapevine.

“That.” Dani pointed with her chin, trying to be discreet but failing miserably. Her eyes ogled the man who just climbed out of an old, faded red Chevy pickup, a truck that somehow looked familiar.

The man himself looked like he was hot off some cowboy romance novel cover. He was at least six foot four, his dusty, faded Wranglers were tight in all the right places and sported holes that she bet were put there from hard work and not by a designer. His white t-shirt was so tight it left little to the imagination. No wondering if there was a six pack under there, you could count every ab muscle. His bice
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