Not that she’d wanted to join the legion of Jonathan’s Jilts, but it was difficult to remain confident of one’s womanly attraction if Jonathan never asked you out. People assumed he had and when she was forced to admit that no, she and Jonathan had never dated, she had to endure their surprise, followed by a speculative look as they wondered what was wrong with her.
And she was his type! He went for young brunettes with hair hovering around shoulder-blade length, and Mia spent an extra thirty minutes every morning perfecting her thick, glossy, shoulder-blade-length hair.
Jonathan preferred a quietly sultry look with a worldliness that hinted at hidden passions. So Mia had thrown out a few hints, just to see what happened.
Nothing, that’s what.
It was making her crazy. So a few weeks ago, on her thirtieth birthday, Mia had thought, Screw Jonathan, which she’d probably never do, and had cut her black hair quite short with little pixie bangs. She’d started wearing red lipstick and liquid eyeliner. Her new look cried out for black, elbow-length gloves, a cigarette holder and a martini.
It also gained her an extra half-hour of sleep in the morning.
Ironically, that’s when Jonathan had finally asked her out. Mia accepted, figuring she’d enjoy a free dinner, a few laughs, end the evening with a smooch on the cheek, and she’d have her Jonathan story at last.
She had a great evening. Unexpectedly great. Apparently, so did Jonathan. He asked her out again and, to her surprise, she accepted again. When he asked her out a third time, Mia hesitated. She’d never planned to become involved with him. Sure, she was having a fabulous time—Jonathan was charming and charismatic—but he dated no woman exclusively for more than a couple seasons. Mia knew that; she reminded herself every time he gave her the special, toe-curling Jonathan smile.
But special, toe-curling Jonathan smiles would lead to special, toe-curling Jonathan sex. Soon, if he followed his usual timing.
Going out with him just to say she had was one thing, but Mia didn’t want to be another notch on his bedpost, although he was an urban legend in that department, as well. She genuinely liked him and could truly fall in love with him. If she overlooked his failure to commit, he was about as perfect as a man could get.
And overlooking his failure to commit was where women went wrong with Jonathan.
So Mia vowed to play it cool, to break the pattern she’d seen over and over again. The key to dealing with Jonathan was to make him want her more than she wanted him. Commitment first, falling in love second. Her inspiration was Anne Boleyn’s strategy with Henry VIII—preferably without the beheading.
She turned Jonathan down for a third date, and then held her breath. Women seldom refused Jonathan, and if they did, he rarely approached them again.
She was the only one not surprised when he gave her the rare second chance. Even then, Mia didn’t sleep with him.
That had not gone over well.
She’d asked for time and exclusivity before she’d consider sleeping with him. At the end of the evening, she’d left him standing on her porch after kissing him on the cheek near his mouth, deliberately leaving a faint red imprint of her lips to give him something to think about.
That had been two weeks ago. Since then, Mia had looked as chicly glam and indifferent as she could while she waited to see if her gamble had paid off. But as the days passed without a word from Jonathan, she came to work each morning anticipating the arrival of the dreaded spa basket and the resulting walk of shame as she carried it to her car.
Now, instead of the basket, he’d sent the invitation to spend the weekend at the beach house. He was committing.
Mia exhaled. She’d kept her heart in the deep freeze to protect it from him. This weekend could be the beginning of a thaw. And if it wasn’t, at least she’d have her own car if she needed to make a grand exit.
She looked down at her phone and made a face. He wanted her to bring steaks and breakfast because he might run late. Yes, she’d scheduled him for a time-consuming, first-client meeting on a Friday afternoon to poke at him a bit. Just a little reminder. And his crack about running late was in response.
Fine, she’d allow him that. She’d bring steaks. She’d bring the best steaks he’d ever had in his life. And it would be the best night he’d ever had in his life.
FOUR HOURS LATER, Mia decided it was the worst night in her life. It was inky black outside her car and raining so hard the headlights only illuminated the slanting raindrops about a foot in front of them. There were no streetlights, and she couldn’t see the road. She couldn’t see anything. And she was lost. Well, not really lost because Surfside wasn’t that big, but she wasn’t where she wanted to be. She’d been to the beach house once before, during the P&D Christmas at the Beach party, although she hadn’t driven herself. She figured all she had to do was find the ocean and drive beside it until she came to a large, spectacular beach house. There weren’t that many.
Except she couldn’t see the ocean. How could she lose the Gulf of Mexico? She thought it was on her left, but she didn’t recognize any landmarks, not that she could see them now anyway, and she wasn’t entirely certain whether she was driving east or west.
The windshield wipers beat frantically but didn’t do much good. Wind buffeted her Honda Civic causing her to grip the wheel until her hands cramped. The sprinkling of tiny lights from beach-house windows that she’d been using as a guide had gone dark maybe an hour ago. At this point, Mia wanted to find the main road back to the highway, pull into a parking lot somewhere and wait out the heavy part of the storm.
Earlier, with the rapidly worsening weather, she’d sent a text to Jonathan but hadn’t heard back. Still in the meeting, she guessed. Now, she couldn’t get a cell signal at all.
The car shook with the latest gust of wind and a large piece of cardboard careened across the beam of the headlights, startling her. She jerked the steering wheel and felt a couple of bumps as the tires caught the edge of it, and reacted by yanking the wheel the other way.
Okay, stop. Just stop. Calm down.
Mia regrouped. Was she still on the road? The surface was nothing more than crushed oyster shell, so she couldn’t tell by the way the tires felt.
Heart beating hard, she crept the car forward, leaning over the steering wheel and squinting into the darkness. She wanted to stop, but figured that keeping the car moving until she came to the nearest beach-house driveway and pulled in was the best strategy.
And it worked for about two minutes until a bulky shadow that looked like a mattress or a lounge-chair cushion loomed out of nowhere and thwumped against her car, pushing it sideways. Mia tried to compensate and the back tires skidded. And then, horrifyingly, the tires spun over nothingness and dropped, leaving the nose of the car pointed upward. Mia gingerly pressed the accelerator and felt the tires spin uselessly.
Unbelievable. She turned off the windshield wipers and listened to the rain beat against the car. Without the thumping of the wipers, the wind sounded ominously louder.
This could not be happening to her. She’d plotted and planned and acted with logic and deliberation. Jonathan was right where she wanted him—more or less. Probably less. And she was stuck in a ditch—actually, she didn’t know that it was a ditch. But she did know that she was stuck, trapped in her car in a monster storm, alone, with no cell-phone signal.
Where had this stupid storm come from, anyway? The forecasters had said scattered showers and wind gusts. Was this meteorologist humor?
Mia turned off the engine and put on her emergency flashers. If anyone else was driving in this mess, she didn’t want them to run into her. And if, by some miracle she was actually on the road to the beach house, maybe Jonathan would drive by and rescue her.
Give it up, Mia. Jonathan was not going to be out driving to meet her in weather like this. He did like his creature comforts and he would have assumed that she had stayed home. No doubt there were messages from him in her voice mailbox. Which she couldn’t acce
ss.
Mia leaned against the headrest. She’d been so smug about him coming around that she’d thought of nothing else but the next phase of her plan, the tricky part where she made him fall in love with her before she fell in love with him.
Playing a damsel in distress was not part of the plan. She didn’t want to be rescued; she wanted to be wooed and won. And loved. Really and truly loved.
2
“KEVIN, WE’VE HAD A couple of calls about a stalled car around Leeward and Sun Fish, just off Beach Front Road. Are you in any position to check it out?”
Kevin Powell looked from the brisket he’d been slicing before he’d answered the phone, to the turkey breast, the mayo, the mustard and all the other sandwich fixings he’d laid out prior to assembling as many box meals as he could. He’d been half expecting a call like this one ever since the hurricane in Mexico had slid along a high-pressure system that squeezed the outer bands far more north than predicted. Now it sat churning in the Gulf and slapping the Texas coast.
Earlier, the Surfside police had driven through the beachfront neighborhoods and broadcast advisories, more to warn the tourists renting beach houses that the storm surge could flood their cars than the year-round residents who knew the drill. And, of course, to warn the novice surfers who were attracted by the waves and completely misjudged the undertow. Even so, there were always people who ignored the warnings and ended up needing rescue, thus endangering others’ lives by their own stupidity.
Kevin had no patience for stupid people. “Sure,” he told Charlie, who headed the volunteer emergency team. “I can drive over and see what’s going on. But there had better be a pregnant woman in labor in that car at the very least. Anything less than a medical emergency and I’m liable to express opinions that will directly contradict all those friendly billboards the Chamber of Commerce put up.”
He heard a weary chuckle. “Thanks, Kev. And save me some of that brisket, will you?”
It had already been a long day as surfers arrived and tourists left and beach-house owners secured their property against the coming storm. Great for his restaurant, Kevin’s Patio, but exhausting. When the wind had picked up, he’d sent his two employees home and had tied down the patio furniture and umbrellas by himself.
After that, he’d monitored the police scanner as he packed potato salad and coleslaw into tiny foam cups. So far, the emergency personnel had everything under control, and it seemed the storm would be a big, wet nuisance more than anything else.
Once the power had gone out, Kevin had known he’d lose the contents of his coolers, so he began assembling box meals and prepared to take them to the public shelter in nearby Freeport.
And now a call had come in. Staring at the kitchen prep table, he shook off his weariness. He’d have to shove the perishables back into the cooler, which would let out precious cold air. The rescue better be worth it.
Kevin’s truck was fit with a wheel lift and towing winch, mostly because people kept leaving their cars illegally parked and blocking access to his restaurant while they spent the day at the beach. Rather than bother the police, he moved the cars out of the way himself.
He also lent a hand when emergency services got strained. Like now.
Kevin tossed a first-aid kit in with the spotlights and blankets and drove out into the rain. The five-minute drive took twenty as he avoided debris and a high tide that covered the unpaved roads. It was slow going even with the spotlights augmenting the truck’s headlights. Eventually, he saw the nose of a car poking out of a flooded drainage culvert. The driver had the good sense to leave on the flashers even though the back ones weren’t visible.
Pulling a safety-orange rain poncho over his head, Kevin grabbed an industrial-strength flashlight and forced his door open against the wind.
Before approaching the car, he shined the powerful beam at the interior and saw a hand raised against the glare. He couldn’t see anyone else in the car. Approaching, he kept the beam fixed on the driver. Once he got close enough to make out that the driver was female and was now shielding herself from the light with both hands, he tapped on the window and briefly turned the light on himself before directing it away from her face.
“Need some help?” he shouted at the still-closed window. It was probably electric and she’d turned off the car.
There was movement in the car. He waited, his shorts getting splattered with sandy water beneath the poncho. The window lowered about an inch.
“Need help?” he repeated. “We’ve had calls about your car.”
“Can I see some ID?” he heard.
He blamed too many CSIs on TV for this. Yes, she was correct to ask, but he hated that people felt they had to. He dug for his wallet, which meant that side of him got soaked, and shoved his license against the window.
“I can’t see it,” she said.
Kevin adjusted the flashlight beam.
“But that doesn’t tell me who you are.”
“Lady, I don’t know who you are, either.”
Wet and tired as he was, Kevin had to smile when she held up her own driver’s license. Mia Weiss, Houston address, age thirty. Old enough to know better. “I don’t suppose you’re pregnant and about to give birth?”
“No!” The look she gave him was filled with wariness.
So she didn’t have a sense of humor. “Mia, let’s get you out of the car and I’ll see if I can drag it back onto the road.” Driving it might be another story, but he kept that to himself.
Looking through the wet glass, he made out Mia returning the license to her purse. She was shaking her head. “I want to see your official ID,” he heard.
“A Texas driver’s license is as official as I’ve got.”
“No badge?”
Like they couldn’t be faked. “I’m not a police officer or with the fire department or any other official rescue team.”
“Then, thanks, but I’ll wait.”
“I’m it! There won’t be anybody else!” Briefly, Kevin rested his forehead against the roof of her car. Briefly, because she was from the big city and probably had pepper spray. “They’re all busy and sent me. This isn’t Houston and I’m not some predator who enjoys driving around in the rain looking for victims. We’re a small town and you can’t afford to be picky!”
“Go away!”
They had to shout to hear each other, which was good because Kevin felt like shouting. “I should! I should get in my truck and go back to making sandwiches instead of rescuing people stupid enough to drive in weather like this.” He dropped the flashlight beam and started walking to his truck, expecting her to call out to him.
But no. That would be the action of a rational person and she wasn’t rational.
Except she was, from her point of view, which was that of a lone woman stranded on a deserted road. In fairness, he couldn’t blame her. She was doing exactly what police advised women to do to protect themselves.
Stomping back, he yelled, “Look—call 9–1-1 and they’ll vouch for me!”
“I can’t get a signal!” Her hand flew to her mouth.
Yeah, she shouldn’t have admitted that. They stared at each other.
“No-o-o signal,” Kevin said in an ominous voice. Shining the light so it illuminated his face from beneath, he continued. “All alone, trapped in a car on a dark and stormy night at the mercy of whoever drives by. Bwahahaha!”
She stared at him, mouth agape. Snapping it shut, she looked away, but not before he caught a smile. Or maybe it was a distortion caused by the water dripping down the window.
He tapped to get her attention and dangled his truck keys at her. “C’mon. I’ll let you drive.”
The window lowered another inch and she stuck her hand out. He dropped the keys into her palm and they disappeared inside the car. The window closed.
And nothing.
She did not just take his keys and leave him standing there in the wind and rain. As the seconds ticked by, Kevin regretted his impulsive “trust me
” gesture.
Fortunately, the handle moved and the door opened a crack. Kevin pulled, helping her open the door as far as it would open. She handed him an overnight bag and a plastic grocery sack and then worked her way out, one long leg at a time.
Nice legs. Belatedly, Kevin thought to lift his poncho over her, but she was already soaked.
She slammed the door shut. He offered her a hand and she crossed the flashlight beam as she climbed out of the ditch.
Kevin inhaled sharply. She wore a white cotton dress and she did do great things for wet cotton. Such great things that he turned the beam on her and stood watching her spotlit hips wiggle as she jogged toward his truck.
Remembering that she had the keys, he hurried across the road to catch up just as she yanked open the driver’s door. He was headed around the front of the truck to the passenger side when she called to him.
“Wait! You’re seriously going to let me drive?” she shouted.
“Yeah.”
“After I drove into a ditch? Are you nuts?” She tossed him the keys as she ran around the truck and got in the other side.
Okay, then. He returned the keys to his pocket and shoved her bags across the seat before climbing in after them and slamming the door.
Even though the rain beat on the metal roof, he could hear her shallow breathing. “I thought you’d feel safer if you drove,” he explained.
“Not necessarily. You could have a gun and hold it on me.”
“Nah.” He shoved the poncho hood off his head. “I’d use a knife.”
“But you’d have to get close to use a knife. With a gun, you’d control from a distance.”
His Little Black Book Page 8
