The pick-up roared up behind them on the country road and honked several times in rapid succession, but instead of moving over to let it pass, Burke tapped his brakes, slamming his wife against the pull of her seat belt.
She reached for the grab bar to steady herself, but kept her tone even. "You've been doing that a lot lately, Burke, and it scares me. I'm afraid we'll get rammed."
Her husband's face hardened and he slowed his pace to a vengeful crawl. "Tapping your brakes is a common courtesy of the road," he announced. "It's a polite way of letting a driver know he's tail-gating."
Suddenly the driver veered to the other side of the road, cut back in front of Burke, and tapped his own brakes.
"Damn asshole!" Burke rolled down his window and extended his middle finger.
The pickup driver climbed down from his truck and strode back toward them.
Burke froze for a second, then gunned his engine and swerved around the pickup, leaving the driver waving his fist in the dust.
"Maybe I'd better start packin'," Burke said, glancing in the rear view mirror as he turned onto the highway and pushed the car up to eighty. "That guy had a bad case of road rage."
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