Hell on Wheels: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Karen Leabo

  Roan’s arm stole around her shoulders. “Easy, Vic, we’re gonna make it through this. I’m sure it sounds worse than it is.”

  Spoken like a true ignoramus, she wanted to say. He truly had no idea how much danger they were in. But oddly, perversely, she liked the feel of his arms around her. She wanted to duck her head against his broad shoulder, bury her face against his soft cotton T-shirt, lose her terror by losing herself in his masculine scent.

  And that’s exactly what she did. When the hail grew to golf-ball size, thunking against the roof of the van in a deafening barrage and cracking the windshield, she no longer cared whether she appeared foolish. She just wanted to believe in the myth that his strong arms could protect her. He tightened his hold on her and stroked her hair, murmuring soothing inanities.

  “I had no idea you would be so frightened,” he said when she’d stopped trembling. “Why do you chase storms if they scare you so much?”

  “It’s not for the thrill.”

  “Then why?” he persisted.

  She hesitated. It felt nice in the shelter of his arms, and telling him what he wanted to know would spoil it. Then she remembered that he was the one who’d gotten them into this mess. She wouldn’t have needed his comfort if he hadn’t delayed until their escape route had been cut off. Whether she wanted to tell him the whole dang story or not, she needed to. She had to make him understand, in a personal way, how close to harm they were. So she plunged ahead, her voice low in spite of the barrage of noise.

  “One spring afternoon, when I was twelve years old, we had a tornado. It was totally unexpected—we knew nothing about it until the sirens went off. I had to run out in the storm to warn my father. He was on his tractor, plowing, and he was almost deaf, so he wouldn’t have heard the warning.

  “I was only a few hundred feet away, trying to get to him in time.” She swallowed. “Then something hit me in the head—a piece of flying debris, maybe a tree branch. I was never sure. It knocked me out for a few seconds. And when I came to, the tractor was gone. My father was gone.”

  Roan said nothing. The only clue she had that he’d even heard her was the slight acceleration in his breathing, the almost undetectable increase of tension in his body.

  She hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to tell him. But talking took her mind off the current situation, so she continued, trying not to worry so much about whether she was revealing too much about herself.

  “As soon as the shock wore off, I became really angry that the Weather Service hadn’t warned us sooner. And then I started wondering why the twister took my father and left me alone. All of that turned into a sort of obsession with tornadoes. I wanted to learn everything I could about them, especially the prediction part, so that maybe my efforts could save a life someday. But no matter how many storms I go through—and I’ve been through a bunch—I always remember that day, the helplessness, the fear.…”

  He rubbed her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook off his attempt at comfort. “I’m not looking for pity. You wanted to understand, so I told you.”

  “What I understand is that you’re very brave.”

  “Oh, give me a break.”

  “No, really. I might do a lot of daring things, but that’s because I’m not afraid. You, on the other hand, do daring things despite your fear. That makes what you do a hundred times braver than what I do.”

  “I don’t care whether anyone thinks I’m brave or not.” She thought a moment, then added, “That’s where you and I differ. Markedly.”

  “You think I do what I do because I want people to think I’m brave?” he asked incredulously.

  “Isn’t that a big part of it?”

  He merely shook his head, but he offered no further argument.

  The storm had passed. The rain was now a gentle patter on the roof. The wind had died down, the thunder and lightning were reduced to distant rumbles. With the return of safety came the return of her sanity. She lifted her head from Roan’s shoulder and made a show of pulling away from him. Impulsively she picked up the road atlas and thumped him with it.

  He stared at her, his mouth hanging open. “What was that for?”

  “You almost got us killed, that’s what!”

  “Are you saying the tornado was my fault?”

  “I’m saying that if you’d gotten in the van when I first told you to,” she said in a calmer tone of voice, “we would have gone south and been out of the way in plenty of time.”

  He flashed his most beguiling smile. “Oh, now, there was really no harm done—”

  “Don’t you use that patronizing tone with me. You promised Amos, and you promised me that you would cooperate with me completely. You didn’t. And if you think there was no harm done—” She turned and opened the sliding side door of the van and hopped to the ground. “The roof has hail dents all over it, and the windshield is cracked. I promised Amos I wouldn’t let anything happen to the Chasemobile.”

  Roan climbed out of the van to survey the damage. “It’s supposed to have a few hail dents. As I recall, his old truck was peppered with them.”

  “This is different.”

  “How so?”

  “It could have been prevented.”

  “Do you want an apology? Is that what you’re angling for?”

  They stood in the light rain, staring at each other like a couple of cats ready to fight. Victoria’s hands were on her hips, Roan’s arms were folded.

  “An apology would be nice,” she said quietly.

  “All right, I’m sorry. I thought you were being overcautious.”

  As apologies went, it wasn’t the most gracious Victoria had ever heard. But she had a feeling those few terse words were all she was going to get.

  “Fine,” she said, walking around to the driver’s door. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Lubbock—at the first opportunity. Your storm-chasing days are over.”

  Victoria slowed the van down as they passed the part of the road where the tornado had come through. Roan had never seen tornado damage up close, and he stared out the windows wide-eyed as he surveyed the uprooted trees, the ripped-up fence … and the dead cow, lying in a ditch.

  “What …” Roan began to say, but his throat was so dry, he had to clear it and begin again. “What happened to the cow?”

  Victoria shrugged. “Probably hit by debris, poor thing.”

  Roan felt a chill move through him. If he had procrastinated another few minutes, even another few seconds, their fate could have been similar to the cow’s.

  “Victoria, I’m … I really am sorry. I had no idea the danger we were in. Besides that, I showed total disrespect for your knowledge, your—”

  “Groveling will get you nowhere, Roan. I’m taking you back to Lubbock.”

  He couldn’t blame her, not at all. “You don’t have to take me all the way to Lubbock. Just let me off anywhere and I’ll get back on my own. That way, you won’t have to interrupt your chase trip.”

  “I can’t chase alone anyway,” she said resignedly. “Maybe in a few days Amos will be feeling better and we can sneak in another trip before my vacation is over. That is if there’s anything to chase. Anyway, I don’t think Amos would appreciate it if I dumped off his favorite nephew in the middle of the road.”

  And that was probably all that was preventing her from doing just that, Roan mused. He’d really blown it, and all because he’d been so caught up in the beauty and power of the storm that he couldn’t tear himself away.

  When had he become so self-centered? It was bad enough he had almost convinced Victoria to bungee jump. But his behavior with the storm had been far worse. He had shown total disregard for his own life and Victoria’s. He ought to be horse-whipped.

  They listened in silence to the various radios as excited voices dissected the tornado, which had stayed on the ground at least twelve minutes and had caused considerable crop damage, alth
ough no one had been injured—not counting the cow. There was some desultory conversation about another promising storm a few miles west, but if Victoria heard it, she chose to ignore it.

  “Hungry?” she asked, the word clipped.

  “Sure,” he replied, though for once he really didn’t have much appetite.

  “I’ll drive north a ways and find some restaurant where there’s no chance of running into other chasers. I’m not much in the mood for chitchat.”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  She didn’t utter another word during the next twenty minutes. Roan knew she was mad, but he also suspected she might be a little embarrassed about confiding in him during a weak moment.

  “Does anyone else know you’re afraid of storms?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

  “Amos has seen me lose it a time or two, but he’s never asked any questions.”

  “And I should follow his example, right?”

  “Please.”

  They had entered some little town whose name never registered in Roan’s mind, and Victoria pulled the van into the parking lot of a motel with a restaurant next door.

  “At least we finally get to eat steak,” she muttered as they got out. Roan sensed a slight softening, a blur around the sharp edges of her anger. He decided not to risk further antagonizing her by teasing or cajoling. She would eventually come out of her temper if he gave her enough room. He didn’t think she was the type to hold a grudge for long.

  “Yeah, I’m looking forward to a nice porterhouse, or maybe a T-bone,” he said cheerfully, though he didn’t mean it. Food was the furthest thing from his mind.

  A waitress seated them in a booth at the back of the restaurant. Without opening the menu, Victoria ordered the smallest available steak, which turned out to be a petite cut fillet, and a loaded baked potato. Roan said he would have the same. But when their food arrived a few minutes later, he found he couldn’t stomach even one bite of the tender, succulent beef. He didn’t feel he deserved a reward of any kind.

  EIGHT

  By the time she’d eaten a good portion of steak and almost all of her baked potato, Victoria was feeling marginally better. She’d been much too emotional earlier, she decided. Consequently she’d blown the afternoon’s incident all out of proportion. Roan had behaved like an ass, but he’d realized his mistake and had apologized for it. She was convinced of his sincerity, and it would serve no purpose to spitefully punish him by returning to Lubbock.

  Unless he wanted to go back. Maybe now that he’d gotten some video footage, he was fed up with the whole storm-chasing thing. That thought filled Victoria with unexpected melancholy.

  “Do you want to split a piece of apple pie?” she asked, determined to put the unpleasantness behind her and start fresh with Roan.

  He met her gaze briefly, then looked away. “No, thanks.”

  “Not even à la mode?”

  “No. I’m full. But you go ahead.”

  Full? She studied his plate. He’d cut his steak up into tiny pieces and pushed it around on his plate, but he hadn’t eaten much of anything. “Are you feeling all right?” she couldn’t help asking.

  He managed a faint smile. “I’m fine, Victoria. Just not hungry.”

  Victoria. Not “Vicky” or “Vic.” And he hadn’t stumbled or hesitated over all four syllables either. Perversely, she missed the pet name. She’d gotten used to it. Had she finally alienated him for good? Had he given up teasing her? Where were his playful smiles, his brash, outrageous behavior?

  When she’d forced him to look at the tornado damage and acknowledge the danger they’d been in, she’d intended only to shake him up a little, not send him into a major depression. But there was definitely something wrong, something beyond fatigue and a loss of appetite. She’d only sensed a sadness in him before, but now she could see it in every line of his face, every gesture he made.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked impulsively.

  He looked up sharply, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, then flashed what looked to Victoria like a forced smile. “What’s there to talk about? I screwed up. I’ll suffer the consequences. It’s nothing new to me.”

  “Do you screw up a lot?” she asked, finding that hard to believe. Although at times he could be a pain in the butt, he never struck her as anything but utterly competent.

  “Doesn’t everyone? And the world’s not a very forgiving place.”

  She was shocked. No, she was beyond that. This was a side of Roan Cullen she’d never seen, had never suspected existed beneath the happy-go-lucky surface. Rather than being put off by his moroseness, she was intrigued … and maybe a little guilty for having heaped so much hostility on him when he was more vulnerable than she’d thought. She wanted to know what was at the core of his sadness.

  Not that she had any right to know. Just because she’d spilled her guts to him—what in the world had made her do that?—didn’t mean he had to follow suit. Whatever his deep secrets were, they were none of her business.

  Still, the fact that she had confided in him had created a certain degree of intimacy between them. She at least had a right to be concerned about him, if not privy to his thoughts.

  When the waitress returned to clear the table, Victoria ordered pie, hoping Roan would steal a few bites from her plate as he’d done during their first dinner together. But he showed no interest in the dessert.

  “I wonder what’s in store for tomorrow,” she ventured to ask. “Three tornadoes in three days. That’s pretty unusual. At this rate—and with a little luck—it could be a very successful chase trip.”

  “I thought a straight shot to Lubbock was the only thing on our agenda.” Roan eyed her warily.

  “Well, yeah, but if there’s anything really promising on the way there, I want to know about it. No sense foregoing a good storm if it’s close at hand.”

  Roan looked the tiniest bit hopeful. “I’ll take care of the check if you want to get a head start doing your computer thing.”

  “Thanks, I think I will.” She started to reach into her purse for some money, but he shook his head.

  “It’s my turn.”

  She wasn’t sure that it was, but it struck her that allowing him to pay might give him a small injection of machismo, and perhaps restore a little of his old spirit.

  By the time Roan had joined her in the van a few minutes later, she’d seen enough. The storms were all played out for the time being. She’d be willing to bet her last ten bucks that tomorrow there wouldn’t be a decent storm anywhere in Tornado Alley.

  So much for her only excuse for postponing the trip back to Lubbock. This would be the perfect time to get rid of Roan, when there was virtually no chance she would miss something.

  “Anything interesting?” Roan asked.

  “Not sure yet,” she hedged. She shut down the computer and stacked her scribbled-up maps in a basket beside the printer. “Let’s find a motel and crash. I’m beat. Maybe things will look more promising in the morning.” And she wasn’t just talking about the weather.

  Roan had to rub his bleary eyes as he waited for the motel clerk to give him a receipt. A night of tossing and turning hadn’t done his disposition any good. He’d relived yesterday’s events over and over, wondering if he’d really been as reckless as he remembered. And when he’d managed to fall asleep, he’d suffered vague, unsettling nightmares interspersed with erotic dreams about wrapping his naked body in long, auburn hair.

  The thirty seconds of hot water in the shower, followed by ice cold spray, had put a cap on his morning outlook. He had Victoria to thank for that. He’d spotted a perfectly charming bed and breakfast in town, but she had to have her cable TV. And this fleabag motel was the only local lodging that fit the bill.

  Immediately he felt guilty for his spite. Victoria had certain criteria she had to follow, and it wasn’t fair of him to begrudge her the Weather Channel. He supposed he was grouchy because she was sending him home in disgr
ace. He didn’t even want to think about how he would explain things to Amos.

  He couldn’t blame Victoria. Hell, he hadn’t even tried to talk her out of the decision, because he knew she was perfectly justified in giving him the boot.

  He was surprised at how disappointed he felt. After all, he’d gotten what he came for. He’d experienced a tornado and he’d captured what he hoped were some damn good photos. It was time to move on to something else.

  But he hadn’t realized how much he’d been looking forward to spending more time with Victoria. Even if he had promised he wouldn’t lay a hand on her, he still enjoyed her company.

  When she met him at the van a few minutes later, she was subdued, but not all tight and angry like she’d been the night before. She appeared rested at least.

  “Have you checked the data this morning?” he asked.

  She nodded glumly as she stowed her gear in the back of the van. “Looks awful. We don’t have a prayer of finding any action.”

  “Oh.” Hell. He’d been hoping for some little storm somewhere to distract Victoria from her goal of dumping him off in Lubbock. He’d thought that maybe, if he became a model of cooperation, she would relent. So much for that idea.

  “Do you want to go back to Lubbock?” she asked suddenly, reading his mind again. She amazed him with her ability to tap into his thoughts, and she didn’t even know she was doing it.

  He felt the urge to lie and save his pride. He almost said, Sure, whatever you think, as if it didn’t make that much difference to him. But looking at her, taking in those big hazel eyes, the petal-soft skin of her cheek, and her long, denim-clad legs, he couldn’t say he wanted to leave her. He couldn’t just toss off some careless rejoinder.

  “No,” he said slowly, deliberately, “I don’t want to go back to Lubbock.”

  “I thought maybe you’d be tired of storm chasing by now. It’s pretty boring sometimes.”

  “And I thought you were tired of me,” he countered, managing a grin.