by Linda Opdyke
Firmly in her hands, behind her back, she held the black leather biker cap that Robert had grown so fond of wearing when he thought no one knew. Where she’d gotten it, Jack could only imagine, but his guess was that it involved wheedling some poor soul into revealing where Robert kept it stashed. That leather cap was the central piece of the full biker garb that Jack knew beyond doubt that the stoic, very correct Robert wouldn’t want anybody else aware that he loved to strut around in during his ‘down time’ and at every biker rally that he now attended as Big Bob.
And he knew Kelly Jo was using every ounce of her charm to drive that point home.
Epilogue
To Jack’s relief, the miles he needed to be on the steep incline of a two lane highway looked fairly clear of traffic. It might be normal or even chic for an artist to be late getting on stage, but it just wasn’t Jack’s style. His road manager had warned him that even though he’d be doing four concerts it was a bad idea to rent a car instead of using a personal driver for the five days they’d be in this town. He didn’t care, he missed driving, missed the wind in his hair as he relaxed with his thoughts. Having a driver at his beck and call also wasn’t his style. He floored the white convertible’s pedal, confident of his skill behind the wheel even on this pacific coast road, slowing with caution as he approached each bend, still sure of his ability to reach the concert venue on time. As he entered one curve, to his pleasant surprise the radio’s commercial ended and the announcer introduced Jack’s record. A thrill ran straight through Jack. He’d worked hard for years, at both pushing and promoting himself and his music, and this moment was one of the biggest, hard earned payoffs. Not only was he starting to live his lifelong dream, highlighted by being on his first concert tour, he was now about to hear himself singing on the radio for the first time.
He turned the radio’s decibels up to blast and started singing, his hands lightly on the wheel as he rounded the up curve toward another short stretch of straight road.
As he exited the curve, to his horror a rusted blue 68 Mustang was stopped dead less than ten yards ahead, half-on and half-off the very narrow right shoulder. Worse, a box truck headed toward him in full speed in the opposite lane, making swerving into the left lane impossible. Startled back to reality, instinct kicked in and Jack slammed on the brakes, then remembered to pump them instead, fighting the wheel to keep the skidding convertible straight when it sheered toward the metal guardrail and a steep vertical drop.
Jack was sweating profusely when the convertible finally screeched and smoked to a stop, inches from the Mustang’s rear bumper and the guardrail. The box truck was either unaware of or unconcerned by the drama, had kept going and was already out of sight.
A blur leaped from the Mustang’s driver seat and sprinted toward the convertible.
Badly shaken by the close call that would have meant certain death, Jack closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rest. “I’m…I’m fine,” he assured the person in a weak, shaky voice, hoping he hadn’t scared them too badly.
When no one answered him he opened his eyes to find a young woman jumping into his passenger seat and fastening her seat belt.
The blur that had raced toward him was pretty, mid twenties, with blonde hair pulled into a ponytail that hung below her shoulders. Dressed in denim cutoffs, a white tee and sandals, she tossed a small denim handbag to the floor. “Thank you for stopping to help me,” she said cheerfully as she snapped the seat belt into place. “I’ve been sitting there for three hours but everyone else just whizzed on by.”
Jack stared at her, then cleared his throat, his voice terse. “In case you didn’t notice, because of your crackerjack park job I almost hit your car and the guardrail. My guess is that if I didn’t see you in time we’d both be sailing somewhere in space about now.”
She leaned back against the seat and raised an eyebrow. “Well that was dramatic.”
Both his eyebrows went up. “Excuse me?”
She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry if your reaction time isn’t what it should be, really I am, and I’m sure your driving skill will improve with experience. But right now I need you to put on your big boy pants and give me a lift to town.”
His jaw dropped in shock and indignation. “What the…who…” he sputtered.
She turned to face him fully, the expression in those sky blue eyes the most innocent thing he’d ever seen. Her expression was so sweet and so contrite he had no trouble recognizing it as the phoniest helpless he’d ever seen. Why did her smile tug his heart?
Despite himself, he shook his head in disbelief, gave her a small smile and extended his hand. “Jack.”
When she took his hand hers felt small, soft and secure in his. “Kelly Jo.”
*****
About the author
In addition to the upcoming The Wayward Angels Trilogy, Linda Opdyke is the author of three award winning novels, time travel Southern Cross, thriller Stones Throw and romantic suspense Lake Braxton. She’s married to her childhood sweetheart and has two children, three grandchildren and one fabulous but spoiled rotten German Shepherd. They all currently call the Jersey Shore home. Visit her at http://lindaopdyke.com
