June 16, 1962 should have been the best day of Gracie MacGyver’s life. After all, it was her wedding day. But the closer she got to the altar to marry Mr. Perfect, the more she realized she was making a colossal mistake.
So she bolted, leaving friends and family stunned. Taking her dad’s precious car Betsy, she headed south or west—she didn’t really care—wherever Route 66 took her. But the day went from bad to worse.
Instead of a honeymoon in Bermuda, she spent the night in a jail cell in Pontiac, Illinois. Instead of basking on the beach with Douglas, she picked up trash alongside Route 66 to fulfill her community service hours. To make matters worse, that poor excuse of a small-town sheriff seemed to derive great pleasure from tormenting her. She couldn’t help it if she was a big-city girl.
Thrust into a world where everyone knew her business, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to adjust to a slow-paced country life while working off her punishment. Certainly, her sojourn in Pontiac was just desserts for abandoning Douglas at the altar, or was it a gateway of opportunity for deeper relationships and a new love?