His mother always said a woman was going to be his downfall and Marcy Dixon never worried about her oldest son, Merle.

But Daryl her second born? She worried and prayed over that boy all her life, he was the one she worried about.

He was the sweet one, the one who loved animals and every creature that walked this earth. In another life, he would have been an excellent veterinarian, but that wasn't the family business.
He was a soft touch and not made for this world. That was why she worried.

Daryl brought home every sick and injured animal, so much that at one time they had five cats and three dogs. It was a good thing Daryl's father died years ago; he would never have allowed it.

Marcy loved animals too; she supposed that was where he got it from. But she worried, he was always picking up strays.

She knew one day he would meet a woman that would go right through him and he would be hers forever, no matter what. Marcy wanted that for him, for both her sons.

She just prayed for the right woman; Daryl was a soft touch, and people might take advantage of that.

His mother just prayed he'd find a real woman, someday.

But at forty years old that hadn't happened for him. His mother was long gone, but he visited her grave often. Merle never went, but Daryl did, he talked to her too. He had loved his Ma, and ovarian cancer had taken her from him too soon.

He laid flowers at her grave on her birthday and mother's day without fail every year. He also brought them on his birthday and Merle's birthday. She was their mother; she gave them life, and that was his tribute to her.

Daryl and Merle still lived together, two bachelors living the life. That was what Merle said; Daryl wasn't all that thrilled, truth be told.

They both ran the garage, now that their mother was gone. Their Uncle Abe helped them just as he had helped their mother before them. The three of them had an excellent business going and they did well for themselves in the small Georgia town they lived in all their lives.

Merle worked on the bikes; there wasn't a motorcycle made that he couldn't work on. He took care of all the Harleys, Triumphs, Indians and any other bike in three counties. Daryl did cars and ran the tow truck.

He had just gotten done towing Hershel Greene's daughter Maggie's car again that night when he met her.

Maggie drove an old Jag that needed to be put down long ago. She wouldn't have it, though; she just had Daryl fix everything that went wrong with it.

Pretty soon it would be entirely rebuilt, Daryl supposed. It was a nice car if you overlooked the duct tape covering the rips in the seats and the rearview mirror that fell no matter how many times Daryl fixed it.

This time he thought it needed a total rear end job, this was going to kill his whole weekend, not that he had any plans. He never had any plans really, just to go out with Merle to the bar once in a while.

He never charged Maggie for labor; she dated his best friend, Glenn and that wouldn't be right.
The car was green too, another reason she wouldn't give it up.

He had just dropped Christine off at the garage and was on his way home. That was the name he gave the car, Christine, like the movie about the haunted car because he was pretty sure this Christine was haunted too.

Maggie even laughed when he told her that, a while ago. The interior lights on the dash were permanently on, including the check engine light.

Daryl had been over that engine with a fine-toothed comb. That light shouldn't be on, but it was.
Christine had a mind of her own and Daryl Dixon was not changing that.

So it was eight o'clock and Christine was at the garage, Daryl was driving home, and that was when he saw her.

She was hitchhiking, he couldn't believe it. A woman about his age, or maybe younger wearing a pair of cargo pants and a t-shirt. She carried a multicolored backpack.

That was what drew his eyes off the road in the first place, the bright colors in the bag she carried. That and her gorgeous long red hair, just the right shade.

Daryl had to stop, his conscious would never let him do anything else it would be dark soon, and this was a long stretch of highway. It could be dangerous for a woman out all by herself. He never picked up a hitchhiker before, but he was going to this time.

He stopped the truck and backed up to where she was, kicking up a little dust in the process.
She looked at him, with her hand shielding her eyes from the setting sun. She watched as he reached over and opened the door.

"Lady, are you nuts?" He said. "Hitching is dangerous, don't you know they're all kinds of psycho's out there?"

She didn't say anything, just walked a little closer to the door he had opened to speak to her. He was leaning across the seat of the tow truck and she was struck by his bright blue eyes.

"I'm not a psycho." He added and didn't know why.

She peered in the door and looked at him more, he was very good looking.

"Look even if you were Mister, there's no way you're worse than the psycho I just got away from."

And she got in tossing her backpack on the floor between them.