Читать книгу Snowbound Sweetheart - Judy Christenberry - Страница 11

Lindsay glared in her rearview mirror at the impatient driver behind her. Not that she could blame him, but she didn’t like his rude reminder.

It made her think of the man sitting next to her.

She inched the car forward. “Why did you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“I didn’t know you’d been married before. Kathy never mentioned it.” She reviewed their conversations about Gil. Kathy had raved about her wonderful brother, but a sister-in-law had never been mentioned.

“You and Kathy discuss me?” His question was abrupt, clipped, as if the idea of her discussing him offended him.

“No, I don’t discuss you, but Kathy talks about you a lot.”

“Maybe the subject didn’t come up because Kathy hated my ex. Especially after the divorce.” He stared out the window. “Madison is just ahead.”

His reminder irritated her even more. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Nothing more was said until after she, along with a number of other cars, made the turn onto Madison, but their speed did pick up from a standstill to a slow crawl.

“Why do I remind you of your ex? Kathy and I get along just fine,” Lindsay said.

“You remind me of my ex because you’re wearing a dressy suit to make a fifteen hour drive in less-than-pleasant circumstances.”

Lindsay stared at him. “Your ex-wife made a lot of long drives in suits?”

“You can go now,” he said, nodding to the road in front of them, not answering her question.

Lindsay kept her gaze on the road, determined not to be caught lagging again.

She was startled when he actually answered her question. She hadn’t expected him to.

“My wife didn’t make long drives. But she always insisted on being fashionably dressed no matter what the circumstances.”

Lindsay thought the man was being rather hard on his ex-wife. After all, there was nothing wrong with wanting to look one’s best. But she wasn’t going to argue with him about it.

“Look at the map and figure out which road it would be best to take to get to the highway,” she suggested, keeping her gaze on the traffic. “The sooner we get on the interstate, the better off we’ll be.”

“And you’re willing to take my word for it?” She ignored the temptation to glare at him. If she did, she’d get honked at again. Or barked at by her companion.

“Yes.”

He studied the map and suggested she take the next crossroad, Central Avenue. It only took a couple of minutes to reach the intersection and make the turn, but she gasped as she swung the car into the appropriate lane.

“What?” he asked sharply, staring at her.

“The snow’s here,” she muttered, watching a large flake settle against the windshield.

After a moment of silence, he asked, “Want to turn back? Have you changed your mind?”

“No! I’m going on, but you can change your mind, if you want.”

“Not me. I want to get home.”

“Why did you come to Chicago if you hate it here so much?” It wasn’t that she didn’t understand his attitude toward big cities. Her brothers all reacted the same way, even to Oklahoma City, which couldn’t compare to Chicago for traffic jams and hordes of people.

Even she—But she shut that thought away. She couldn’t afford to admit her annoyance of Chicago, even to herself.

“Do you know Brad, Kathy’s husband?”

The non sequitur surprised her. “Of course I do.”

“What do you think of him?”

She studied him out of the corner of her eye even as she paid attention to the traffic. “Why?”

“It’s a simple question.”

“Don’t you know Brad?”

“Barely. I’ve met him a couple of times. Once at the wedding, and a couple of hours last Christmas.”

“And you don’t like him.” She wasn’t asking a question. The man’s attitude toward his brother-in-law was evident.

“I don’t know him.”

“And that’s why you asked my opinion? A woman who reminds you of your ex?”

“Forget it.” He turned to stare out his window again.

But she couldn’t. “He seems nice enough. Devoted to Kathy.”

“Yeah?” he asked with a big frown. “He hasn’t—hit on you?”

“Me? You think he’d hit on me, living across from his wife?” She was astounded. Even if Brad had been the type to mess around, she wasn’t. “Even if he had, I would never—”

“Kathy called me yesterday. Crying.”

“And you thought—”

“I didn’t know what to think. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. I flew up this morning to see if there was anything I could do. She still wouldn’t tell me. But you heard her. She didn’t want to tell Brad I’d come.”

She should’ve known. He’d already reminded her of her brothers by his dress. Now he reminded her of her brothers with his protectiveness, his smothering of his sister.

“Look, all married couples go through some rough patches. They have to work things out themselves. You can’t fix everything just because she’s your little sister.” She tried to keep her voice calm, but she heard it tightening as she finished speaking.

“Thank you, Dr. Joyce Brothers.”

His sarcastic reply only irritated her more. If it had been left to her brothers, she would’ve sat upon a silken pillow all her days and never even learned to walk, much less fend for herself. That’s why she’d been forced to leave home. She hadn’t realized she and Kathy had that much in common.

Time to concentrate on her driving. This cowboy wouldn’t appreciate her opinion any more than her brothers had.

“Have you ever heard them fighting?”

“No.” In fact, she’d been a little envious of Kathy. Not that she was attracted to Brad, but she was attracted to the devotion the two shared, the closeness. Since she’d moved away from home, she’d sometimes longed for a relationship that could lead to marriage.

As long as the man understood she wouldn’t be smothered.

She was glad she was concentrating on her driving when they got up on the interstate. As she increased her speed, her tires began to spin and the back end of the car skidded a little. She immediately eased up on the gas.

“Better keep your speed down,” her companion advised.

“Really? Are you sure I shouldn’t go faster?”

His head snapped around to stare at her.

“I was being sarcastic,” she pointed out, as if speaking to a slow learner.

“Oh. Thanks for explaining.”

She shrugged her shoulders. Okay, so two could be sarcastic. Maybe she’d deserved that kind of answer. She turned her windshield wipers up to high speed as the snow began coming down faster. She’d be glad when the highway turned farther south. It was their only hope of outrunning the storm.

Gil didn’t make any more attempts at conversation. It had been foolish to try to soothe his concerns about Kathy by asking Lindsay questions. Like he’d trust her evaluation anyway. A woman who dressed in a designer suit to drive in a snowstorm.

His ex-wife had been impressed with anyone with money. Their morals, or intelligence or even their warmth had no value compared to their bank account.

He knew Brad made a good living. But he wanted his sister to be happy, not well dressed. He wanted her husband to love her, not buy her things. Well, he wanted him to buy her things, too, but that wasn’t the most important. He didn’t want Kathy to wind up in the same kind of loveless marriage that he had.

As Lindsay carefully steered the car, Gil studied her hands. They looked smooth, soft, but he was surprised by her nails. While well tended, they weren’t long, and the polish was clear. She only wore one ring, an opal with diamonds.

“Nice ring. A gift?”

“Yes.”

Aha. So she had some man on a string, willing to buy her expensive things. He remembered when he’d first fallen for Amanda. He’d prided himself on buying her what she wanted. Until he realized that was all she wanted. Real emotions—even love—meant nothing to her.

When Lindsay gasped again, he brought his attention back to the road. A car that had just passed by them went into a spin. It narrowly missed going over the side as it came to rest against the railing.

“You okay?” he asked, studying her to determine whether she would be able to continue driving.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “Should we stop to help them?”

“There’s not a lot we could do. Unless you want to call 911 for them.”

“My cell phone is in my purse. Could you call for me? I want to concentrate on my driving.”

He found the phone and called in the near accident. After hanging up, he said, “They promised to send a cop to check on them.”

“Thank you.”

“They were going too fast,” he added.

She sent him a look that told him she got his less than subtle message. But, in truth, she was keeping her speed down. In fact, she was doing a good job with her driving, though he hated to admit it.

He checked his watch. It was already after three. They’d been driving almost two hours and hadn’t gotten out of Chicago yet.

She must’ve caught his movement out of the corner of her eye because she asked, “What time is it?”

“Almost three-thirty.”

Though she frowned, she didn’t say anything.

He settled more comfortably in his seat. “If you get tired of driving, I can spell you.”

She didn’t answer for a minute. Then she said, “They don’t get much snow in Oklahoma.”

So she doubted his skills? “I lived in New York for almost ten years.”

“In New York City? I didn’t think many people drove in the city.”

“We had a house in upstate New York, spent weekends there, particularly in the winter because of the skiing.” He’d enjoyed the skiing. But he hadn’t enjoyed the collection of people his wife invited to join them. They’d been her friends, not his.

“I guess you don’t get much skiing in Apache.”

“Nope. But I’ve made several trips to Colorado since I moved back.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Ranching.”

“In New York City?” she asked, her voice rising in surprise.

“No, not in New York City. I was a stockbroker there.” And he’d been one of the best. Which had made it possible for him to come back to Oklahoma and buy his ranch, even after the divorce.

“Do you miss being a stockbroker?”

“Nope.” Which was the truth, but he didn’t mention that he still bought and sold stocks, managing his personal fortune. He was also doing some investing for Rafe, his ranch manager, who had become a good friend and a mentor. Gil wanted to make it possible for Rafe to achieve his own dream.

Staring out the window, he realized the snow was getting thicker. “Can you still see well enough to keep going? Maybe we should stop while we can still find a hotel and wait until morning.” He didn’t want to do that, but he also didn’t want to become a frozen Popsicle on the side of the road.

“No, I want to keep going. I have snow tires on my car.” She leaned forward to concentrate on her driving, and Gil figured she’d be sore before too long. The tension would make her ache.

He said nothing. She’d probably offer to dump him out on the closest sidewalk if he protested. And he had to admit they could still maneuver fairly well. But he wasn’t sure how long that would be true.

An hour later, they were still struggling along, the snow several inches deep. He’d pulled his sheepskin-lined jacket into the front seat and draped it over himself. Lindsay, though occasionally shivering, said nothing.

He felt like a cur, sitting back and warm while she shivered and drove through the storm, but he’d offered to drive. And he’d asked her about her coat. And she’d responded to both those questions with a snarl.

So he kept quiet.

“I’m sure we’ll be clear of the snow if we can just get to St. Louis,” she said suddenly.

“I won’t argue with that,” he agreed, but he had his doubts about making it that far.

“Or even Springfield,” she added, sending him a hopeful look.

He stared straight ahead. Then they passed a sign showing an exit for a town named Pontiac. “How far is Pontiac from Springfield?”

“I’m—I’m not sure.”

He opened the glove compartment and took out the larger map covering the Midwest. After a brief calculation, he looked at her. “I believe it’s over eighty miles.”

She pressed her lips tightly together and said nothing.

Neither did he, but he didn’t think they’d make it eighty miles before midnight. Not when they were only going about fifteen miles an hour.

Finally, he said, “I’m willing to pull over and find a place to stay to wait this out, whenever you’re ready. You know we’re not going to be able to drive straight through at this rate.”

She shook her head. “We’ll be able to go a lot faster as soon as we outrun the snowstorm.”

Stubborn woman. He couldn’t argue with her statement. In fact, he totally agreed with her. The disagreement came in exactly when they’d outrun the snowstorm.

“Mind if I turn on the radio?” he asked. “We might get some weather news.”

“No, of course not. That’s a good idea.” She reached for the radio herself.

“I’ll handle the radio, since you’re driving.” He thought he’d put that tactfully, and her hand returned to the steering wheel, leaving it to him to find a station.

“This is a weather bulletin,” the announcer said. “Forecasters say the storm will still intensify for the next few hours. However, the snow should taper off by morning.”

“By morning!” Lindsay exclaimed.

Gil said nothing. He didn’t think urging Lindsay to give up would be effective. The hardheaded woman would probably refuse to do so because she didn’t want to give in to a man’s advice. He understood a woman’s resistance to male domination, but not in the face of common sense.

“Lindsay, the snow’s almost half a foot deep now. We’re not going to be able to go much farther. Don’t you want to look for shelter while we can?” he finally asked.

She said nothing, leaning farther over the steering wheel, her gaze glued to the road in front of them.

Gil sighed.

Abruptly, she put on her blinker light, taking him by surprise. “You’re stopping?” he asked.

Though her face remained grim, she nodded. “There’s a small town here, according to that sign. I guess we’d better stop while we can.”

“Good thinking,” he agreed, as if it had been her idea. He didn’t care who got credit for stopping, as long as they did so.

The exit road was downhill and they skidded several times negotiating it. When they reached the bottom, they discovered another sign, pointing out that the small town they’d sought was another four miles down the road.

“Rats!” Lindsay exclaimed, frowning fiercely.

“We can make it,” Gil assured her. Four miles on level road would be a hell of a lot better than trying to go uphill to get back on the freeway.

“We don’t have much choice,” she muttered, not looking at him.

“Want me to drive?”

She glared at him. “No.”

He drew a deep breath and leaned back, trying to give the impression of complete relaxation.

Half an hour later, they reached the city limits of Witherspoon.

“Where is it?” Lindsay demanded in frustration.

“I think I see a few buildings. Keep going.”

He was right. They discovered a filling station, obviously shut down, a Dairy Queen, no lights on, a couple of houses and finally the red fluorescent light appeared through the snow, flashing OTEL.

“I think we can assume that should say motel,” he said with a chuckle.

“I hope you’re right.” She turned off the road into the parking lot.

Gil studied as much as he could see of the motel and figured they’d be lucky to get a room. The parking lot was almost full.

“There’s the office,” he said, pointing to their right.

She eased the car through the crunchy snow and stopped as close to the office door as she could.

“If you’d like, I’ll go see what they’ve got available. I’ve already got my coat out,” he offered, careful to couch his idea as a suggestion.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

Surprised by her acquiescence without argument, he hurriedly got out into the storm before she could change her mind.

The cold sting of the snow attacked his exposed skin as he hurried toward the door, trying not to slip.

As soon as he got inside, closing the door behind him, he shook off the snow that covered him and stepped to the counter.

No one appeared to be on duty, but there was a button to push for assistance. After he’d followed directions, he heard footsteps. Then, a door behind the counter opened and an elderly man appeared.

“Evening. Didn’t hear anyone arrive. Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, a genial smile on his face. “We don’t usually do this much business.”

Gil would guess not. So far he hadn’t seen anything in Witherspoon that would attract travelers. Of course, he hadn’t seen much in the snowstorm, so he could be wrong.

“You’re in luck,” the man said. “I’ve got one room left. You want it?”

Gil frowned. “Only one room? We need two.”

“Sorry, young man. But one’s all I got. If you don’t want it, someone else will probably come along.”

Gil felt sure he was right. “Is there another motel in town?”

“Nope. This is it.”

The sound of another vehicle on the road just barely penetrated the room above the sound of the wind. Gil didn’t want to do any more driving in the storm. He hurriedly agreed to the one room, pulling out his credit card.

“We, uh, had to up the price a little, because of the storm, you know. Had to hire extra help to get all the rooms ready.” The man avoided Gil’s cynical gaze.

He wasn’t surprised to discover price-gouging. It happened all the time. In fact, he figured the man had a hard time making a living wage most days.

He waited for the man to run his credit card, thinking about the reaction he was bound to receive when he announced to Lindsay Crawford that they were going to share a motel room.

The man handed over an old-fashioned key. None of those fancy plastic cards that the hotels used these days. Gil almost smiled as he pocketed the key. Just as he put his hand on the door to venture out into the storm, he looked over his shoulder. “This room does have two beds, doesn’t it?”

The man stared at him, and Gil got a sinking feeling in his stomach.