Claire heard the familiar low-thunder rumble of Baby's engine idling, but only after shutting off the tap water. Shaking her hands dry, she peered out the window of her small, but quaint house that faced the road out to the woods, and sure enough, Dean was there.
Her brows knit, watching him just sit there, then abuse the wheel in a sudden fit. Whatever that was, it couldn't be good.
She swallowed the irrational spike of panic and forced herself out the front door, onto the old porch that needed painting, making her way toward the driver window, still barefoot.