Rosemary Gleason started down the hill into Knoxville, then realized she was going too fast. "Oh no!" she wailed, and pumped the brakes, but to no avail. She knew they were faulty, but had decided to take it to the garage, though Wayne told her not to drive it. She looked up to see that she was headed straight for a classy red sports car, and crashed into the left fender

Rosie hung her head, tears springing to her eyes. She couldn’t face this person, much less her husband, Wayne. He would be furious with her.

"Look what you’ve done!" a loud voice bellowed.

Rosie cringed, looking up at the red-faced man, his blond hair springing up wildly. His dark blue eyes flashed in anger, and his knotted fists told her he might like to use them on her.

"I’m all right. I’m sorry about your car. I’m taking ours to the garage in Knoxville to get the brakes fixed."

"Evidently you’re an incompetent driver on top of everything else. I expect full restitution for the repairs to my Porsche. I don’t even have a hundred miles on it."

"I said I’m sorry. My name is Rosemary Gleason, and I’ll tell my husband, Wayne, and let him handle it. I’m sure our car is insured with the business trucks."

"Gleason…as in Gleason Trucking? What do you plan to do now?"

She nodded, hating to look at him again. "Why, get the cars untangled and be on my way, I guess."

"Just like a woman." He gave her a cold look, then said, "How am I to get mine to the garage?"

"You back up and see if it’s drivable, the same as I’ll do," Rosie replied, hoping the man would just go away.

"Here’s my card. Have your husband give me a call as soon as possible. I don’t like this one little bit, Mrs. Gleason." He stalked back to the car and seated himself behind the wheel.

Rosie glanced down at the card in the palm of her hand, still feeling the hot prickles. An "Oh no," escaped from her. He was Max Winthrop, the wealthy and eccentric bachelor that everyone mentioned with their tongue in their cheek.

She heard him start his car, back up, then drive away. She sat stunned, too horror-stricken to move. Wayne would do more than call her an incompetent driver. How could she explain this to him?

Taking several deep breaths to calm herself, Rosie had to face reality. An accident like this was something to upset anyone. It could only have been with this rich man who thought he owned the world.

Thinking they had a perfect marriage, Rosie well remembered how irritable Wayne was lately. How, just this morning, he jerked a letter with feminine handwriting on it from her hand, telling her he would take care of it. It wasn’t the first time a letter from Nashville came to the house, and he ignored her when she asked about it.

Still, thoughts of the red Porsche and the angry man flashed through her mind. That was an expensive car compared to her two-year old Chevy. She started the car, but when Rosie tried to turn the wheel and pull back onto the road, a terrible scraping noise came to her.

She didn’t want to damage the car further, so she stepped out and surveyed the situation. The fender was bent down onto the tire, causing it to impede the turning of the wheel. If she ruined a tire, too, Wayne would be more than furious. She entered the car again and pulled it to the side of the road as best she could, hoping she hadn’t damaged anything further.

Rosie dreaded the two-mile walk back to her house, but saw no other avenue open to her. She could go by the trucking yard, but she wasn’t ready to face Wayne. She would call the garage and have them send someone out to pick up the car. Rosie started walking, glad she had sense enough to wear low-heeled shoes. She couldn’t even appreciate the lovely countryside as she strode along, her heart too filled with remorse and dread.