Marshall's Bar 2

Colts transportation of choice was a bright red lifted Dodge four by four. As soon as Blaine saw the monster she fell in love. Colt heard a small satisfied sigh escape from Blaine as she opened the passenger door and stretched on her toes to grip the handle with her left hand, in her right, the whiskey. Colt watched her prepare for the leap and offered a hand. She shook her head and he walked to the driver's side, quickly opening the door and swinging himself into the seat in one smooth motion. Looking to his right, he watched Blaine pull herself up, the light from the bar illuminating her figure and defining her muscles.

He couldn't help but to stare for a moment, watching the way her hips rocked as she stepped up, one foot higher than the other. She placed the bottle between her feet as she adjusted herself in the seat, gripping her arm she hissed as fresh blood oozed out from under the cloth. He looked away from her and shifted the truck into gear, eager to get her to the hospital as soon as time would allow. The engine came to life and purred, almost growled at him, awakening his senses. A car, a bike, anything with an engine made his body tingle, his greatest dream to race in NASCAR.

"No fucking way." Blaine looked at the dash as if she could see through it. "I'd recognize the sound of a hemi anywhere."

He had almost forgotten she was there.
"You know your cars?" The question was more a statement.

She nodded, eyes still focused wide on the dash.
"Yeah..." She said slowly, and then shook her head, seeming to come back to reality.
"Yeah I own Cutters."

"The garage up the street?" He backed the truck out of the gravel parking space and onto the dirt road.

Again, she nodded. "Been that way for near six years now."

"Was it your 'pa's?"

"My 'pa's?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, 'Cutter', it's not your last name, so I figured it to be a first."

She laughed wholeheartedly. "No no, it's mine. Built it from the ground up with Marshall when I was 'bout seventeen."

"Then who's Cutter? Husband?"

She heard the disappointment in his voice and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ah, Cutter is a little Boarder Collie I've had since he was a pup."

The smile returned to his face as he flicked the windshield wipers on. It had begun to rain a little.

She picked up her bottle and took a long drink, wincing the whole way through. The cloth on her arm had been entirely soaked with blood, so much so that it dripped down her arm and she had to wipe it away with a finger. Blaine looked at her leg, the bleeding seemed to have slowed for the most, and the pain wasn't all that noticeable.

The engine crane was old, and she had neglected getting a new one for far too long. She was pumping the lever as always, and the alternator had gotten stuck under the radiator. Keeping one hand on the lever, she stretched to push the engine back, freeing it from the radiator. She had used it for a weight much to heavy for the crane she owned and the chain had broken on one side, sending the alternator, sharpened after cutting it open with an oxy acetylene torch, into her arm.

Blaine made a grab for the broken end of the chain, to at least slow it down so the impact didn't damage the engine too much, but the motion only forced the engine to swing, the flywheel catching on her pants pocket. She jumped away in time so that the whole thing didn't come crashing down on her, but the engine was old, the fan belt snapped and sliced open her leg where her pants had already ripped. At that, her composure faltered and she let go of the chain, and the engine came crashing to the ground, taking most of her pants and a good chunk of skin with it.

Blaine took another big swig of whiskey and shuttered at her stupidity.

Placing the bottle back in between her feet, she gripped the bottom of her shirt and tore upwards, a little too forcefully as the tear went past the bottom of her bra.
"Shit." Blaine muttered, and then ripped the material sideways all the way around until she had a long strip of cloth completely detached from the shirt. Colt glanced out of the corner of his eye, looked back to the road, and then fully turned his head to look at her. A good one-fourth of her smooth black bra poked out from underneath the shirt, her entire stomach bare and flawless. He turned back to the road out of courtesy, but couldn't help but to glance out of the corner of his eye every once in a while. She had taken the blood soaked cloth off her arm and placed it in her lap. Colt got a good look at the large gash in her arm and pressed a little harder on the gas. That made her smile, and even made her look more comfortable with the pain.

Wrapping the cloth around her arm, she placed one piece in her mouth and knotted it. When she was done with her makeshift bandage, she leaned back and sighed.

The hospital was a good forty-five minute drive from Marshall's, but behind a hemi, she guessed she had about twenty minutes to rest up.

Either the whiskey or the loss of blood, or both, were getting to her. Her head was spinning and she was feeling very tired. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and sighed.

"Remind me to buy a new crane..." She managed before she dozed off.