Jenna Lyons knew it would happen. She had come to count on it as something that was fated or, perhaps, due to the alignment of something more astrological in nature. From the moment dread began to weave itself into a heavy cloak around her body, tightening its grip on her until she felt suffocated and out of breath, she knew she was hurtling toward the crossroads of a major turning point in her life, just as sure as she was driving down a desolate stretch of Missouri highway. She’d traveled for long miles and equally long minutes without seeing so much as another car or house in the distant fields, let alone a sign or exit ramp that would lead her to a gas pump. So when her little toy of a car began to sputter, it came as no real surprise. She coaxed the car to the shoulder of the road with finesse, threw it in park, and wondered, not for the first time, what the Hell she was doing so far from home.