Читать книгу Stop The Wedding!: Night Driving / Smooth Sailing / Crash Landing - Lori Wilde - Страница 10

Wednesday, July 1, 4:45 p.m.

TARA HAD A MISSION. Cheer Boone up. Whenever he smiled, he dazzled, and when he laughed, well, she melted, gooey as chocolate in the hot sun. Unfortunately, he rarely laughed.

Why do you care? He’s not your problem. He’s not a project and you’re not chocolate.

No, but she was stuck in the car with him and she preferred sunshine to rain. They’d been driving for hours and they were almost out of Nebraska. Once they’d left the truck stop, taking an alternate route that the cowboy had suggested to avoid the bread truck smashup on the freeway, they’d made great time.

She slid a glance over at Boone. He was staring out the window at the Nebraska cornfields rolling by. His clenched fist rested on his right leg.

“Are you hurting?”

“What?” He blinked, turned to meet her gaze.

“Your leg. Do you need some pain pills?”

“It’s fine. I’ll live. I’m trying to taper off.”

“You don’t have to suffer. If you need a pill, take it.”

He shook his head. “I’ve been taking the easy way out. This thing with Jackie woke me up. I can’t keep stewing in pills and self-pity.”

“It’s only been three weeks since your last surgery. You’re still healing.”

He grunted. “Or maybe this is as good as it gets.”

Tara didn’t know what to say to that. She knew he was going to get better, but from his point of view things had to look a little dark right now. “I broke my leg once.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“When I was eleven.”

“How’d it happen?”

“Stilts accident.”

“Stilts?” An amused smile flitted at the corners of his mouth. “Now that’s unusual.”

“My brother Matt is a powerbocker.”

“A power what?”

“It’s an extreme sport where you jump and run on spring-loaded stilts, but that’s not the kind I fell off of. Matt experimented with all kinds of stilts before he discovered powerbocking.”

“Is he short?”

“Who? My brother? Yeah, kinda. Five foot six.”

“What kind of stilts did you fall off of?”

“Peg stilts.”

“What are peg stilts?”

“They’re also called Chinese stilts and are used by professional performers. On peg stilts you have to keep walking at all times in order to keep yourself from falling over.”

“No stopping, huh?”

“None.”

“Can’t stay in one place?”

“Nope.”

“How in the world do you dismount?”

“Therein lies the challenge that I was working on when Matt caught me and hollered. I started running to get away from him. Not smart. Seriously, do not run on peg stilts.”

“I’ll take that into consideration the next time I’m stilt walking. What happened next?”

“I stepped on some boggy ground—we’ve got a lot of that in Florida—and one of the stilts got stuck. I did the splits midair.”

“Ouch.” Sympathy tinged his voice.

She winced in memory. “It was not a pretty sight.”

“How long were you in a cast?”

“Six weeks. But shh, it was sort of humorous after I got past the initial pain. I didn’t have to do dishes and I got to be the center of attention, which is very important to the middle child in a family with six kids. I milked it for all it was worth.”

“Ah,” he said. “You’re one of those lemonade people.”

“Pardon?”

“Life gives you lemons, yada, yada.”

“There’s nothing wrong with lemonade.”

“I wish I could have seen you walking on stilts,” he mused, his voice softening. “Not when you fell, of course. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Really?” She canted her head, studied him.

“Just…well…you’re so graceful. I bet when you walked on stilts it was like you were dusting clouds.”

“Why, Boone, how romantic. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

He made a face. “Really? As I was saying it, I thought, ‘Come on, Toliver, this is way too cheesy.’”

“It might have sounded cheesy coming from someone else, but you do not throw around compliments, so when you say something like that, I know you mean it.”

A long silence stretched between them and Tara started fretting that she’d said too much.

“I don’t dislike you, you know,” he mumbled.

Her heart thumped strangely. “You don’t?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re not very friendly to me most of the time.”

“It’s because you scare the hell out of me.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

Tara gulped past the odd lump in her throat. “Why’s that?”

“Because I do like you.”

“Really?”

“That’s the problem,” he rushed to add. “I don’t want to like you.”

She felt a little hurt that he didn’t want to like her, but she pretended it rolled right off her shoulders. “Any particular reason why?”

“You’re hard to keep up with.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve got a quicksilver mind.”

“Is that a compliment or a complaint?”

“Just an observation.”

“What does quicksilver mean, exactly?”

“Changing unpredictably.”

“I don’t do that.”

“You do,” he disagreed.

“Oh, look.” She pointed at the red sports car that sped by them in the fast lane. “A Porsche Boxster. I always wanted one of those.”

“If you were in school these days they’d probably diagnose you with ADHD and put you on Ritalin.”

Tara pursed her lips in thought. “Probably. I took home all kinds of notes telling my parents I was a chatterbox who couldn’t sit still.”

That got a smile from him. It was small, but it was a smile and damn if she didn’t feel pleased as punch. “Some things never change.”

“Let me guess what kinds of notes you took home from school.” Tara tapped her index finger against her chin. “‘Dear Mr. Toliver, Boone dusts the erasers far too hard when he’s playing teacher’s pet.’”

“I didn’t get notes in school.”

Tara laughed. “Why am I not the least bit surprised?”

“You know,” he said, “this isn’t so bad.”

“What isn’t?”

“Being trapped in a car with you.”

“You thought it was going to be bad?”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted. “I mean, we don’t get along at the best of times and a cross-country road trip is definitely not the best of times.”

“What do you mean, we don’t get along? I thought we got along famously.”

“You did?”

“Sure.”

“Lemonade,” he mumbled.

“I know you don’t really mean it when you get all grumbly. You just don’t want anyone seeing you with your guard down so you push people away. I don’t take it personally.”

“You forgive everyone.” He sounded amazed. “Do you take anything personally?”

“Meredith Moncu,” she said.

Boone frowned. “I’m not following.”

“Meredith Moncu. I took her personally.”

“Who is Meredith Moncu?”

“My high school rival. She was always beating me out for everything. Head cheerleader—”

“You were a cheerleader?”

“Hustle! Get to it! Gators, let’s do it!” Tara cheered.

Boone groaned good-naturedly. “I had to ask.”

“Get fired up! Let’s go! Have at it! Let’s roll!” She clapped and pantomimed raised pompoms over her head.

“Hands on the wheel, Duvall.” He grabbed for the steering wheel.

She warded him off with her elbow. “I’ve got it under control. Settle down.”

“Not my strong suit.”

“What? Letting go of control?”

“Yeah.”

“You should work on that.”

“What else did Meredith Moncu beat you out of?”

“Class president.”

“High school politics? Seriously, you dodged a bullet.”

“She also stole my first boyfriend. Bobby Joe Harding.”

“Bobby Joe? Sounds like you dodged a bullet there, too.”

“He had a lot of muscles.” She turned her head to assess Boone’s biceps. “But you could have taken him in arm wrestling.”

“Good to know. Whatever happened to Bobby Joe?”

“Oh, he knocked Meredith up and they got married. They have four kids now and live in Buena Vista trailer park down by the railroad tracks.”

“See, you did dodge a bullet.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have gotten pregnant.”

“Knew a lot about birth control, did you?”

“Nope. I didn’t put out. Which is how Meredith stole him.”

“Really?”

“What part? Meredith putting out, or me not putting out?”

“You.”

“Don’t sound shocked. What? You think I’m Suzie Sleep Around?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your face did.” She shrugged. “I just wasn’t ready for sex when I was in high school. I wanted to be in love and I wasn’t in love with Bobby Joe.”

“I thought you said you’d never been in love before. If you’ve never been in love, does that mean…”

“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking. Cripes, Boone, I’m twenty-five. After a while…well…a girl has certain needs and her lofty ideals fall by the wayside.”

“I suppose they do,” he said, his voice turning husky.

“I’m old-fashioned, really.”

“You?” Boone hooted. “In what way are you oldfashioned?”

“I believe in marriage, for one thing.”

“Me, too.”

“Even though you’ve been divorced? Even though your mom flaked out on your dad?”

“Even though. What else do you believe in?”

“Waiting until you get married before you have a baby. For me, I mean. I wouldn’t presume to tell other people how to make their choices.”

The car tires strummed along the asphalt.

“You’re not quite what I thought you were,” Boone said after a while.

“The flakey hairstylist syndrome, huh?”

“What’s that?”

“When people hear you’re a hairstylist they assume certain things about you. That you’re arty and creative and impulsive and undependable and have scads of tattoos.”

“And you’re not those things?”

She notched up her chin. “I’m dependable.”

“Do you have any more tattoos? I mean, besides the dolphin.”

She felt the heat of his gaze roll over her. “Would you be disappointed or relieved if I said no?”

He shrugged, didn’t answer. Silence filled the car. Tara sneaked another glance over at Boone. He was studying her with a pensive expression on his face, as if she were as mysterious to him as a platypus.

“How come you don’t date?” she asked.

“With this?” He waved a hand at his knee.

“You’re using that as an excuse.”

“That’s because it is an excuse. Can’t perform bedroom gymnastics in a metal leg brace.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“No, I haven’t tried.”

“Then how do you know what you can’t do?”

“Because—”

“I get it. Performance anxiety. You’re afraid of rejection.”

“I’m not afraid of rejection.” He snorted.

“You know, if you had a girlfriend, you might not be so jealous of your sister Jackie’s happiness.”

“I’m not jealous of Jackie’s happiness!” he growled.

“Um, yeah, okay.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re traveling three thousand miles with a former cheerleader who makes you uncomfortable in a Honda Accord pulling a U-Haul trailer just to stop Jackie from marrying the man she’s madly in love with.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable.”

That gave Tara pause. She was glad she had a reason to keep her eyes straight ahead, but she could feel the heat of his stare. “You don’t have to be polite. If you don’t dislike me as you claim, how come you never came to my parties?”

“I’m not a party guy.”

“How come you shut your curtains when you see me coming across the street to your house?”

“I’m not good company.”

“How come you won’t ask me to drive you to the doctor or the grocery store? And don’t say pride, because I know you’ve let some of the other neighbors help you.”

“Because I have nothing to offer you,” he said so faintly she wasn’t sure she heard him.

She moistened her lips. The tension in the car stretched tight. His breathing was rough. Her breathing was none too smooth either. “I didn’t want anything from you other than to be a good neighbor. It’s not like I wanted to jump your bones or anything.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Well, maybe I wanted you to.”

WHY THE HELL had he told Tara that?

Her sharp inhalation filled the car. “You…you want to jump my bones?”

“I wouldn’t put it so crudely, but yeah, I’ve had a fantasy or two about you.” Shut up! Just shut your damn mouth right now. Don’t say another freaking word.

“Real-ly?” She sounded pleased. “I’ve had a fantasy or two about you, too.”

Boone felt as uncomfortable as a woolly sheep in a Swedish sauna. His body tightened in all the wrong places. Or all the right places. Depending on how you looked at it.

He moistened his lips. Traffic was slowing. Up ahead he could see a flashing roadside sign with an arrow indicating they should merge left.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Well,” Tara said breezily, “I think we’re admitting to a mutual attraction.”

“Not that. The road.”

“Oh.” She shifted her attention to the road and then glanced into the rearview mirror. She flicked on the turn signal and started edging over to the far lane. “Looks like we’ve run into some roadwork.”

“Dammit,” Boone swore under his breath, secretly grateful to have an excuse to get out of their conversation.

Traffic slowed to a crawl and then stopped altogether.

Boone shifted in his seat. His knee was achy—when wasn’t it?—and every muscle in his body was wound tense. He’d known that the drive to Florida with Tara would be a challenge. What he hadn’t expected was to turn into a damn chatterbox, confessing stuff he had no business confessing to her. His plan had been to keep his trap shut and simply endure. He’d shot that all to hell.

Tara hummed tunelessly, drumming her fingers on the dashboard. Long, slender fingers with nails painted the color of Pacific salmon. Bright and eye-catching, just like the woman wearing it.

Boone slid a melted-butter gaze over her, slippery and hot. He couldn’t believe how much she rattled him with that beguiling smile of hers and that chirpy go-getter attitude. She had the body of a professional dancer and she smelled like a strawberry patch—all ripe and juicy. Why did she have to be so damn appealing?

Stop thinking about her. It’s not like you can act on the attraction. No bedroom activities for you. Not with that bum leg. While you’re at it, stop staring at her.

He shifted his gaze out the side window, saw rows and rows of cornfields. Nothing in the scenery to distract him.

Think about Jackie. She’s the reason you’re here. You’ve got to make it to Key West before she marries that coastie.

It had been a while since he’d tried to call his little sister. Maybe she’d relented and turned on her voice mail. Maybe she’d come to her senses and realized getting married to someone she barely knew was a huge mistake. Resolutely ignoring Tara, who was stretching the kinks from her neck muscles, Boone took his cell phone from his front pocket and punched in Jackie’s number.

It rang and rang and rang. No voice mail picked up. Finally, after the twentieth ring, he hung up. His sister must still be royally ticked off at him. With a growl, he switched off the phone and stuck it back into his pocket.

They hadn’t moved an inch in the traffic jam. They were behind a white Chevy pickup truck loaded down with a small cement mixer. Tara had her left elbow propped on the door frame, the left side of her head resting in the open palm of her hand. She was still humming.

“Snow on a shingle,” Boone grumbled. “This is ridiculous. How long have we been sitting here?”

“Chill, dude. It’s only been five minutes.”

“Of not moving one inch. What are they doing up there? Rebuilding the entire freeway?”

“There’s nothing we can do about it. Might as well make the most of a bad situation. Wanna play a game? I spy with my little eye—”

“No, I don’t want to play a game. I want to drive. I want to get the hell to Key West. I want to sit down with my sister, face-to-face, and convince her to call off this crazy wedding.”

“Something red.”

“Marriage isn’t something to take lightly. It’s not a lark. It’s a commitment. You shouldn’t go into it thinking it’s going to be all pancakes and morning sex, because it’s not.”

“I spy something red and very close.”

“Divorce is painful and costly.”

“I spy—”

“I’m not playing the dumb game! It’s for children,” Boone roared, louder and more harshly than he’d intended. He wasn’t mad at Tara. He wasn’t even mad at Jackie. He was mad at himself. For not being there for his sister. For getting injured. For not taking care of himself properly and having to have more surgeries. For losing control. That’s what angered him most. How he’d lost control over his own life.

“Why not?” she asked calmly. “You’re acting like a big baby. You don’t get your way and you pitch a fit. I told you it’s not a good idea to travel when Mercury is in retrograde.”

“And you’re acting like a total fruitcake.” Boone snorted. “Mercury in retrograde. What a load of horse manure.”

“Horse manure, huh? What about the bread truck accident we narrowly missed? And now a big construction holdup. Mercury. Retrograde. It’s a thing. Look it up.”

“It’s coincidence. It’s got nothing to do with planetary misalignment. That’s nonsensical thinking.”

“And you’re the last word on what’s nonsense?”

“In this case, yes.”

“You’re getting yourself worked up over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Each detour is taking me farther away from my sister.”

“I don’t think distance is the only obstacle between you and your sister.”

“No?”

“The crux of the problem could be your sanctimonious attitude. Believe it or not, Boone, you don’t have all the answers.”

“Yeah? Well, you ignore the damn questions. You stick your head in the sand, pretending the world is a good place.”

“The world is a good place.”

“Wearing rose-colored glasses doesn’t change reality.”

“What would you have me do?” she exclaimed. “Sit on my porch and glare at everyone for the mess the world is in? Dwelling on problems and difficulties doesn’t make the world a better place. Bitching and griping doesn’t improve things. My positive outlook might not feed a starving child in the Congo, but it damn well makes my world a better place to live in. I light up people’s lives, that’s more than you can claim, Toliver.” She stared straight ahead, hands gripping the wheel, her chin quivering slightly.

Friggin’ hell, he’d hurt her feelings. Okay. He was a jerk. He admitted it. Why had he taken his anger out on her? She was an innocent bystander and he’d lashed out at the nearest person.

Well, what did she expect? He’d tried to warn her off. He was damaged. Couldn’t she see how messed up he was? Why did she try so hard to salvage him? He didn’t deserve her attempts. Why had he bitten her head off? He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. In fact, he’d wanted to do the exact opposite. Pull her into his arms. Kiss her until neither one of them could stop. He was a control freak know-it-all whose world had been knocked topsy-turvy. He was a lost cause and he resented her trying to save him.

“Sitting there spouting happy-happy, joy-joy mantras isn’t going to get us to Miami any faster,” he mumbled, ashamed but not knowing how to back down.

Tara jerked her head in his direction, flames flashing in her eyes. “You want out of this traffic jam?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Fine.” Tara set her determined little chin and whipped the steering wheel hard to the left. The Honda hopped onto the grass median, the U-Haul creaking and groaning behind them.

“What are you doing?”

“Making everything right in Boone’s dark world.” She jammed her foot down hard on the accelerator.

The Honda rocketed forward.

Boone grabbed the grip strap, clenched it in his fist. “You’re gonna get the cops after us. You’re gonna bust an axle. You’re gonna—”

“If you can’t say something productive, shut up!” Tara yelled, struggling to control the car.

Shocked, Boone clamped his mouth shut. They bounced and jostled over the uneven terrain. Cars honked at them. Tara’s gaze was fixed straight ahead. He had visions of the U-Haul getting stuck in the median, but miraculously, she traversed it and joined the flow of traffic headed in the opposite direction.

She changed lanes, easing over and taking the next exit.

He started to ask where she was going, but decided against it. He was afraid of what she might do next. She was quicksilver, unpredictable, and damn if that didn’t excite him.

At the intersection, which in Nowhere, Nebraska, consisted of nothing more than a two-way stop sign, she went back the direction they’d been traveling, but instead of merging onto the freeway, she took off down a one-lane dirt road that ran through the cornfields. She sped along, dust billowing out behind them.

“Happy now?” She glared.

“Tara—”

She raised a palm. “I don’t want to hear about it, Boone. You got what you wanted. We’re no longer stuck in traffic and we’re headed south to Miami.”

“Tara—”

“No, I’m not going to listen. I know what you’re going to say. I’m an airhead, a flake. It was a very stupid thing, jumping the median. I probably broke a dozen laws. I’m sure I screwed up something on the U-Haul and that’ll cost money, but you are on your way. You got what you wanted. So be happy. I don’t want to hear whatever criticism you’ve got loaded up for me.”

“Tara,” he insisted softly.

She heaved a big sigh and for the first time since she broke ranks from the traffic jam, she switched her attention to meet his eyes. “What? Just what the hell is it, Boone?”

“I’m sorry.”