Читать книгу Detour Ahead - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 9
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ОглавлениеMARLEE was up early Saturday morning, stashing the last few necessities in her suitcase and keeping watch out the front window for her ride. She paced the living-room floor, stopping from time to time to stretch or to fetch some last-minute item to stow in her bags. Anything to burn off the nervous energy humming through her. She couldn’t wait to see Susan. And to meet Bryan’s friend, Craig.
He was probably a lot nicer guy than he’d sounded on the phone. After all, how much could you really tell from a few minutes’ conversation and a single e-mail?
They’d have plenty of time to get to know each other on this trip. She’d probably spend more time with Craig Brinkman in the next week than she had with the last four or five guys she’d dated. Men seemed to prefer her as a friend instead of a girlfriend.
Fine. She’d settle for a friendly relationship with the man who was providing a way for her to get to Susan’s wedding. A girl couldn’t have too many friends, could she?
A sleek black sedan turned the corner and she pulled back the curtains for a better look. A Beemer. Very up-and-coming professional looking. Not very imaginative, but it definitely looked better than a Greyhound bus, so she wasn’t complaining. The car parked at the curb and a tall, dark-haired man unfolded from the front seat. She let out a low whistle. Very, very nice. He wore loose-fitting jeans, a polo shirt that showed off broad shoulders and muscular forearms and dark sunglasses that added a hint of mystery. Why hadn’t Susan mentioned her chauffeur was so easy on the eyes?
He slammed the car door shut and headed up the walk toward the main house. Marlee’s shoulders slumped. Oh. So maybe this wasn’t the right guy after all. She picked up the oversize tote bag she’d stashed next to her suitcase and inventoried the contents once more. Should she take another bottle of water? More sunscreen?
She was in the bathroom searching for another tube of sunscreen when the doorbell rang. She checked the peephole and found Mr. Gorgeous himself on her front porch. She hurried to unfasten the multiple locks and chains. “Hello,” she said. “You must be Craig. I’m Marlee.”
He nodded. “You didn’t tell me you were in the carriage house.”
Ouch! Was that any way to start their trip? She purposely flashed her biggest smile. “I didn’t? Sorry about that. The main house is 112A. I’m in 112B, but quite a few people get the addresses mixed up.” See? It’s all your fault you went to the wrong door first. She held the door wide. “Won’t you come in? Can I get you a glass of water or a soda?”
“No thanks.” Sunglasses still hiding his eyes, he stepped into the living room and looked around. She wondered what he was thinking. She’d decorated the place herself, in what one friend had dubbed “eclectic kitsch.” A row of brightly colored papier-mâché cats from Guatemala lined the mantel over the small gas fireplace, a fuchsia shawl from India was draped over her Salvation Army sofa and a chipped marble garden bench served as her coffee table, while an inflatable palm tree left over from a photo shoot took the place of any living plants.
He frowned at the palm tree. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes. My luggage is right over here.” She started toward the bags she’d stashed to the left of the door.
He shook his head.
She looked at him. “What?”
“I should have known a woman would pack half her closet for just a few days.”
The words set her teeth on edge. She faced him, hands on her hips. “We’ll be gone over a week. Besides, that’s not half my closet. Not even close.” One of the best features of the carriage house was a huge walk-in closet. She’d filled the space with clothes to suit her every mood, all bought at bargain prices at the city’s best thrift and vintage clothing stores.
He frowned down at her luggage. “Three bags?”
Honestly. Just because a man could get by with one suit, two shirts and pair of jeans didn’t mean a woman could! “The big suitcase is clothes and shoes. The small tote is makeup and hair accessories. The larger tote has my laptop, books, snacks and emergency supplies.”
“Emergency supplies?”
“Band-Aids, aspirin, sunscreen, stain remover and, uh, other things.” She didn’t mention the condoms she’d added at the last minute. Not that she was planning anything, but you never knew….
He picked up the suitcase and the larger tote. She locked the door behind her, then followed him to his car. “Thank you for giving me a ride,” she said, determined to start off on the right foot with him, despite his less than pleasant demeanor. He was Bryan’s friend. She was Susan’s friend. There was no reason they shouldn’t get along. “Just let me know how much my share of expenses comes to.”
“I’ll do that.” He stashed her totebag in the back seat, then turned and handed her a CD case and a sheaf of computer print-outs. “Your job is to keep the tunes spinning, read this itinerary and schedule I’ve printed out, and keep quiet.”
She stared at him. So much for thinking they could be friends. The guy was a jerk. “You obviously have the wrong impression of me,” she said, barely suppressing the urge to rip his head off.
“What do you mean?”
She reached up and removed his sunglasses. He blinked at her. “Hey—”
“I like to look people in the eye when I talk to them,” she said. “Let’s get this straight. I am not some child or some servant for you to order around or patronize.”
Without the sunglasses, he looked less forbidding, though he was still frowning. “I’m going out of my way here to do you a favor.”
“And I’m doing you one.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m keeping you company and paying half the expenses.”
“I didn’t ask for company.”
“No? You agreed to do this, didn’t you? You could have said no.”
They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. He had eyes the color of toffee, a rich brown with golden flecks. The kind of eyes that could make a woman forget what she’d been arguing about….
He was the first to look away. “You’re right. I agreed.”
She suppressed a thrill of victory. A man who’d admit he was wrong couldn’t be all bad. “So if you have regrets about that, that’s your problem, not mine. That doesn’t give you the right to make us both miserable.”
He winced. “Right again.” He took a deep breath and straightened. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk. Let’s start over.” He held out his hand. “I’m Craig.”
Now this was more like it. The faintest hint of a smile replaced the scowl he’d worn earlier. Much better. The man was definitely easy on the eyes. She slipped her hand into his, warmth traveling through her at his touch like an electric current. “It’s nice to meet you, Craig. I’m Marlee.”
She didn’t know how long they stood there like that, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. She was dimly aware of traffic moving past, of the distant drone of a lawnmower and a slamming door. These were merely background noise for the fireworks going off in her brain. If she was writing dialogue for the commercial version of the encounter, the only word she would have been able to come up with was Wow!
He slipped his hand from hers and took a step back. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got a long way to go. We’d better get started.”
While he guided the car toward the Beltway out of town, she adjusted her seat, then flipped through the CD selection. Lyle Lovett, Shania Twain, Stevie Ray Vaughn. Filed alphabetically. Of course. The man had eclectic tastes. Nothing boring here. She slid the Lyle Lovett disc into the player, and flipped through the sheaf of papers he’d handed her. “What is all this anyway?” she asked.
“The itinerary for our trip. It shows driving directions, mileage between major intersections and the hotels where we’ll be staying. I’ve listed our rest stops, stops for fuel and food, along with local gas prices and information on highway conditions.”
She scanned the pages of close print and columns of figures with the horrified fascination of someone perusing an autopsy report. “You must have spent an awful lot of time putting this together,” she said.
“It’ll save us a lot of time later.”
Right. With a week to go until the wedding, they didn’t exactly have to race across country to get there in time, but Craig was obviously one of those guys who didn’t consider a day on the road worthwhile unless he could set a new record for distance traveled in the shortest time.
She slipped the itinerary under the seat. They could deal with that little problem later.
She studied Craig out of the corner of her eye, trying not to be obvious. He had a good strong jaw and short hair. His hands on the steering wheel looked strong, too, with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. No ring. Was he divorced? Involved with anyone? Not that she was interested, but she’d been playing the dating game so long such assessments were as automatic as locking her door behind her when she entered her house.
“How do you know Bryan?” she asked.
“We met in college. We were suite mates and both studying business and we really hit it off.”
Of course. He was obviously the serious, sensible businessman. Not a flighty artist like her. “What do you do now?”
“I’m a chef.” He glanced at her, as if gauging her response to this revelation. “Right now I’m in charge of the Senate Dining Room.”
Oh-ho! Not a dull businessman. Cooking was creative, wasn’t it? She leaned forward, suppressing a buzz of excitement. This trip might prove to be a lot more interesting than she’d anticipated. “I’m impressed. And I have to confess, a little intimidated by a man who can cook better than I can.”
His smile was definitely killer. “Not to brag, but I can cook better than most people I know. It comes in handy sometimes.”
Now there would be a nice twist—a man who could cook dinner for me, instead of suffering through my own uneven attempts at a meal. And then for dessert… She quickly pulled her mind back from the cliff it was about to dive off. Where had this rampant lust come from? Yeah, it had been a while since she’d had anything like a steady relationship, but since when did handsome strangers inspire such wild fantasies?
Deep breath, she reminded herself, inhaling slowly. Unfortunately, all she could smell was Craig himself, something herbal and spicy and definitely yummy.
She swallowed hard and leaned back in the seat. Slow down. Make innocuous conversation. “Do you enjoy your work?” she asked.
“The cooking part, yes. I’m thinking of opening my own restaurant soon.”
“You should do it.” She tucked one leg under her and arranged her skirt over her lap. This was more like it. Act casual. Just friends. “I’m a big believer in doing what makes you happy.”
He shook his head. “It’s not so easy. Opening your own place involves a lot of risk. Restaurants fail in this town every day.”
“Life is risky, though. Isn’t it?”
He frowned and she wondered if she’d overdone the Miss Mary Sunshine routine. People had accused her before of being too much of an optimist.
“What do you do that makes you happy?” he asked after a moment.
“I’m an advertising copywriter for a firm that specializes in non-profits.”
“I guess you like the work enough to bring your laptop on vacation with you.”
“Oh, I love the work. But the laptop’s not for that. It’s for my Web diary.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Web diary?”
“Yeah, I’m a blogger. I have a Web site where I post writings about what’s going on in my life.”
“Things like this trip?”
“That’s right. I figured I could make notes as ideas strike me during the day, then upload them at the hotel every evening.”
“And people read this? Strangers?”
“Yeah, I’m made a lot of cool friends that way. Fans.”
He shook his head. “You don’t think it’s a little odd to have people you don’t even know reading about your life?”
She shifted in her seat. “I’m not an idiot. I don’t put personal information on there. It just gives me a chance to work on my writing and…I don’t know. Make a connection. There are hundreds of bloggers. Thousands. It’s another kind of Internet community.”
He continued to look skeptical. “Does this diary of yours have a name?”
“It’s called Travels with Marlee. I write about places I go. Things I see.”
“Do you see that many interesting things?”
She nodded. “They’re out there, if you keep your eyes open. Every trip is a journey of discovery. That’s what the blog is about, really—sharing my discoveries with readers.”
“You don’t think sometimes you’re simply moving from point A to point B in the most efficient manner?”
“This may come as a shock to you, but there are people who think efficiency is overrated.”
He glanced at her. “You, for instance?”
“Haven’t you heard that getting there is half the fun?”
He shrugged. “And sometimes getting there is merely something you endure to reach your destination.”
She leaned toward him. “You wouldn’t be talking about this particular trip, would you?”
“Now why would you think that?” The corners of his mouth twitched and she relaxed. He was teasing her. She couldn’t help but like a man with a sense of humor, even if he kept it under wraps most of the time.
And she did like Craig, in spite of his scarily organized and exacting ways. She supposed there were advantages to having every journey—and the rest of your life—all laid out neatly. There were probably times when having an idea of what you’d be doing next week or next year was useful.
But what if while making all those plans you missed something even better? It seemed an awfully big risk to her.
“I take it you plan to write about this trip?”
His question interrupted her musings. “Well, yeah. That’s what I do.”
“Do me a favor and leave me out of it. I don’t want strangers reading about me.”
“Don’t worry. If I mention you at all, I’ll give you an assumed name.”
“What kind of name?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought of anything yet.” She leaned back and dug around in the tote that rested on the floor behind his seat and pulled out two apples. “Want one?”
“Thanks.” He accepted the fruit, bit into it, and chewed, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”
She laughed. “A lot of people say that. This time, I’m going to take it as a compliment.”
“Do you look on the bright side of everything?”
“You can either cry or laugh. I prefer to laugh.” She leaned back in the seat and took a bite out of her apple. Not that her life was one laugh after the other, but she did try to limit the tears. Anyone who micro-managed things as much as Craig seemed to could use a few more laughs in his life. Maybe she could oblige, and enjoy herself in the process.
But not too much. She shifted in her seat as her inner seductress sought once more to make an appearance. What was with her today? She’d have to check the ingredients on the power bar she’d had for breakfast. Maybe it contained some secret aphrodisiac.
She glanced at the man in the driver’s seat. He was intent on traffic, apparently oblivious to the effect he was having on her and her libido. That figured. She was lusting after Handsome here and he was figuring out the best route through Virginia. That was the story of her life, wasn’t it? They might be in the same car, but once again, she was headed in the wrong direction.
HERE I am on the road again, this time headed to California. My chauffeur is a man who wishes to remain anonymous, so I’ll be referring to him as “the Chef.” This trip is definitely shaping up unlike any other I’ve taken. Not to say the Chef is uptight or anything, but the man has a schedule planned down to the minute. When we stop for gas, he figures his mileage and records it in a little notebook he keeps in his glove compartment, along with the date and the price of the gas. When I suggested we make a little detour through Winchester, Virginia, to see the World’s Largest Apple (Red Delicious, natch!) he looked at me like I was a nut. I can see I’m going to have to educate him on the Travels with Marlee philosophy—never pass up a chance for adventure!
Hasn’t he heard the point of a vacation is to relax? Still, he’s a nice guy when he loosens up, and I appreciate him giving me a lift to Susan’s wedding. And who knows? I’ve got the next few days to convince him to slow down and make room in his life for adventure. After all, this wouldn’t be Travels with Marlee without a few detours along the way, would it?
MARLEE fell asleep shortly after they crossed into Virginia, her legs drawn up beside her, her head resting against the window. Craig glanced at her every few minutes, enjoying the view. She wasn’t what you’d call a stunning woman, but she had an intriguing, gamin quality—short brown hair and huge dark eyes set against pale skin. And that damned wide-eyed optimism of hers was coupled with an oversize self-confidence.
When she’d called him on the carpet this morning over his jerky behavior, he’d been struck dumb with awe. He couldn’t help but admire anyone who seemed so sure of herself.
He still wasn’t sure about spending the week traveling with her, though. The whole reason he was driving to California instead of flying was to have the time alone. He’d purposely set aside two weeks for the trip out and back and planned his route to give him plenty of time to get to the wedding and relax beforehand. He had some important decisions to make about his future and this would be a good time to sort things out in his head. The last thing he needed was a woman along. She’d throw off his schedule completely and he wouldn’t get a moment’s peace.
Quit your whining, Brinkman. You said you’d do this, so time to gut it up and do it. He had to admit he’d enjoyed Marlee’s company so far. He smiled, remembering all her talk about the importance of doing work you loved. That was certainly a different way to look at things. He wondered what his dad would say if Craig tried out that argument. Dad had wanted him to be a banker or an architect. To his way of thinking, cooking was something women did. He was still waiting for Craig to “come to his senses” and get a real job.
If only he could make Dad see that being a chef was a real job, and he had the potential to be a big success at it. It was all part of his five-year plan: establish a customer base and get on-the-job training working for someone else, then open his own place inside the Loop. He’d already completed the first part of his plan. After three years at the Senate Dining Room, he felt ready to strike out on his own. But it was still risky. He had to find the right location, design the perfect menu and make sure he had enough financial backing. He wanted to be certain of every detail before he made his move.
Marlee sighed and shifted in her seat, smiling to herself. What was she so happy about? And why did was he suddenly happier, just being in the same car with her? Obviously he’d been neglecting his social life too much if simply being with a woman he hardly knew could make him this lightheaded.
Not that he didn’t date when he had the chance, but he wasn’t in any rush to get involved in a long-term relationship. He certainly wasn’t rushing to the altar like Bryan.
He still couldn’t believe his best friend—his last single buddy—was tying the knot. What was the rush to get married all of a sudden? Bryan was the same age he was, twenty-eight. They had plenty of time.
The way Craig figured it, he’d get himself established in his career before he took on the added responsibility of marriage and raising a family. Say, around age thirty-five sounded right. Then he’d find a woman who was successful in her own right, someone capable and dependable like himself.
Eyes still closed, as if struggling to hold on to sleep a little longer, Marlee unfolded her legs and stretched her arms overhead. Her slow, sensuous movements made him think of lazy mornings spent in bed and languid lovemaking in tangled sheets, things he seldom indulged in. She arched her back against the seat and her breasts jutted against the thin fabric of her dress, and he felt an immediate physical response.
He forced his eyes away. He wasn’t going to get involved with this chick. She was sweet, but she definitely wasn’t his type—and the last thing he needed in his life right now was any more complications. He had too much else to think about. He’d get his career on the right track, and then he could work on the relationship side of things.
“Where are we?” she asked, her voice soft with sleep.
“Somewhere outside of Roanoke, Virginia. I’m hoping to make Kingsport, Tennessee by dark, but the traffic around Fairfax put us behind.” Too far behind for his liking. They’d have to make up some time to get back on schedule.
“What time is it?” She leaned toward the dashboard clock, squinting in the glare.
“Lunch time. I’ve been looking for a place to stop, but there isn’t any.” And they weren’t anywhere near his planned stop. The last town they’d passed had been little more than a post office and a service station. Since then, the view had been mostly trees and fields.
“That’s okay. We can have a picnic.” She reached back into her bag and began taking out items and piling them in her lap. “I’ve got some cheese. Crackers. Summer sausage. Grapes. A chocolate bar.”
He suppressed a laugh. Any minute now he expected her to pull out half a roast chicken and a bottle of wine. She turned to him once more. “It’s enough to tide us over until we can have a real meal.”
“Sounds great. I’ll look for a place to pull over.”
A few miles farther on, they spotted a sign for a roadside park. “Pull in there,” she directed.
He parked under a shady oak and they carried the food and two bottles of water to a picnic table. The air smelled of freshly mown grass and the wild irises that bloomed on the bank of a stream running through the little park.
While she arranged the meal on the table, he walked over to the stream and stooped to rinse his face and hands. He spotted bunches of watercress growing at the water’s edge and picked some.
“What’s this?” she asked when he offered her the greens.
“Watercress.” He tore off some of the crisp herb and popped it in his mouth. “The same stuff they use to make fancy tea sandwiches.”
She grinned and helped herself to the greens. “I guess if we run out of food, you’ll be able to forage for us. Do they teach that kind of thing in chef’s school?”
“The Culinary Institute didn’t take field trips to pick wild greens, no.” He took a seat on top of the picnic table, his feet on the bench below. “I learned about this stuff on my grandparents’ farm.”
“And where was that?” She sliced off a thick round of summer sausage and offered it to him.
“Arkansas. I spent every summer there.” He grinned. “I couldn’t wait for school to be out so I could go.”
“Where was home the rest of the time?” She topped a cracker with cheese and popped the whole thing into her mouth.
“New Mexico. A little town not too far from Farmington.”
“Is your family still there?”
He nodded. “My mom and dad and two sisters.” He grinned. “I’m the black sheep, moved all the way out to D.C.” His tone was light, but the words weren’t too far from truth. He’d always been the different one in his family, the one who was never satisfied.
“That’s practically on the way to San Diego, isn’t it?” she asked. “We should stop and say hello.”
He shook his head. The last thing he wanted right now was to see his dad and have to listen to another lecture on getting his act together. If he told his father he was thinking of opening his own restaurant, the old man would have a stroke. No matter that Craig knew exactly what he had to do to make this work. “We don’t have time for that.”
“Sure we do. The wedding’s almost ten days away.”
He helped himself to more sausage. “Where is your family from?” he asked, anxious to change the subject.
“Dimmitt, Texas. Can you believe it? They’re all horrified that I’ve gone off to the big city to consort with politicians and lobbyists and other evil-doers.” Her eyes widened in mock horror and he laughed again. In fact, he’d laughed more in the past three hours than he had in the past three months.
“You have a nice smile,” she said, helping herself to a grape. “Much better than that scowl you showed up with this morning.”
“Yeah, well…” He looked away. “I guess I wasn’t looking forward to this trip much.”
“Because of me…or for some other reason?”
“For a lot of reasons, I guess.” He rolled his shoulders. “Bryan’s my last single buddy. Makes me feel…I don’t know. Out of step.”
“Yeah.” The wistfulness in her voice surprised him. He looked at her again. She rolled a grape back and forth between her palms, seemingly unaware of the movement. As if she felt him watching her, she looked up. “Are you seeing anyone? I mean, anyone special?”
Something in her voice sent a prickle of awareness down his spine. “No, you?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.
She shook her head. “Nope.”
The atmosphere was charged like the air under a high-voltage line. Suddenly they weren’t only two people on a trip together, but a man and a woman. Both unattached. The word itself implied something unfinished. Two halves looking to be made whole.
Now where had that thought come from? He launched himself off the table, eager to put some distance between himself and these disturbing feelings. But she was right behind him, running past him to the creek, where she kicked off her shoes and began wading in the shallows.
He followed, the cool water lapping at his ankles, gravel massaging his toes. Holding her arms out like a tightrope walker, she picked her way across a half-submerged log toward the middle of the stream. “Careful,” he called.
She looked back over her shoulder, eyes bright, teasing. “Come on,” she called. “It’s fun.”
He shook his head. The log was green with moss. Probably slippery as hell.
She walked out farther, and struck a ballerina’s pose, balanced on one leg. His heart pounded as she teetered back and forth. He checked the water—it looked deep under where she stood. Did she know how to swim? Would he have time to save her in the swift current? “Come back before you fall,” he said, his voice gruff.
She laughed, a musical sound in harmony with the cadence of the tumbling water. Sunlight spotlighted her hair and touched her skin with gold. “Come and get me!” she called.
He told himself he wouldn’t let her bait him. He would turn around and go back to the car and wait for her to follow. They didn’t have time for silly games like this.
But the next thing he knew, he was taking one tentative step out onto the log, and then another. The moss was cool and slick beneath his feet, but he could feel the rougher bark beneath it. He kept his eyes on her, telling himself not to look down. She beckoned, like some wild water sprite. “We’d better go,” he said, even as he continued feeling his way toward her. “We have a lot of miles to cover.”
“We needed a break.” She turned her back on him and walked even farther out on the log.
He decided he really would turn around now. What did he think he was going to do when he reached her anyway? He’d already decided giving in to the desire she stirred in him was a bad idea.
He started to pivot to face the other direction, but as he did so, he felt the log shudder, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of windmilling arms.
In an instant, he lunged forward and caught her, steadying her against him even as he fought to stay upright himself. Heart pounding, breath coming in gasps, he clung to her until they were both still. The only sounds were the rasp of his own breathing and the gurgle of the creek as it slid beneath their makeshift bridge.
She smiled up at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. “Thanks,” she said. “I guess my sense of balance isn’t much better than my sense of direction.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?” he asked.
She nodded. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She had movie-star eyes, dark and impossibly luminous. Looking into them, he forgot all about the miles they had to cover or the disaster they’d narrowly avoided. All his senses were focused on the feel of her in his arms. She was the stuff of bedroom fantasies and early-morning dreams.
“Are you going to stand there staring, or are you going to kiss me?”
Her voice was breathy, as beckoning as her gestures had been moments before.
His lips were on hers before she’d finished speaking. She tasted like fresh fruit and peppery watercress. She rose on tiptoe, angling her lips more fully against his, opening to him, her tongue teasing across his teeth. He slipped both hands behind her neck, his fingers sliding up into her hair as he deepened the kiss, losing himself in the sheer pleasure of the moment.
The sound of a car door slamming shattered the spell she’d cast over him. He flinched, and braced one foot behind him on the log to keep from falling. Marlee opened her eyes and blinked. Voices were approaching. “Looks like we have company,” he said.
She nodded, and slipped out of his arms, avoiding his gaze. A blush stained her cheeks the color of ripe strawberries. Still clutching her hand, he led the way off the log, but she broke away from him as soon as they were on land again, and headed for the picnic table, where she began gathering the remains of their lunch.
He stopped to collect their shoes from the bank, then followed more slowly, letting himself cool down a little. What exactly had happened back there, other than the closest thing he’d ever known to spontaneous combustion?
