Deal of a Lifetime

by T. R. McClure

  His hands pulled the hood tight around her face. She took a deep breath to slow her heart rate. “I won’t melt.” Suddenly realizing his jacket had a hood as well, she reached over his shoulder to return the favor, which would have been fine if the truck weren’t at a slight angle. When she reached forward, she started to slide off the seat, Alex automatically reached out to stop her fall. Her forward momentum, though, pushed Alex backward and they both landed in a patch of leaves with a soft splash. His arms wrapped around her waist, she lay motionless on top of him. “Are you okay?”

  “Am I okay? Lady, ever since I met you it’s been one disaster after another. If you hadn’t—”

  Not wanting to hear any more about the candy bar, she kissed him. And wonder of wonders, he finally stopped complaining. Which was all she wanted to do. So she kissed him again.

  * * *

  ALEX LAY IN the wet leaves. Suddenly the icy water trickling into his ears was of less consequence than what had just happened in the last few minutes. This woman, this monster-truck-driving woman who he had known for a grand total of two hours, had just kissed him. In the cold rain. With warm lips. He tightened his arms around her waist just as she pushed herself away. The only sound was rain pattering down. “What was that about?”

  She stood and, gripping the edge of the truck bed, worked herself up onto safer ground. “Let’s go, city boy. The sooner we start walking, the better.”

  He lay back and stared up into the tree. Raindrops splatted the middle of his forehead. Had he been dreaming? She acted as if nothing had happened. And that kiss was definitely not nothing.

  Putting the confusing double negative to the back of his mind, he jumped up, retrieved his carry-on, and then slammed the truck door, the exertion only partially alleviating his annoyance. He was with a completely irrational woman. His Italian leather loafers squished through puddles as he gripped the sides of the truck bed to pull himself up onto the road. At her touch on his sleeve he wheeled around. “Where did you come from?”

  Her brow furrowed. She pointed to the right. “Ready?” She took off down the road. Alex looked back at the truck, hopelessly mired in the muddy ditch. He could stay here and pray for a passing vehicle, or he could follow the country girl. Heavy trees and shrubs crowded the road on both sides. He hurried to catch up. “How far to your place?”

  “Maybe two miles.” The woman had quite a stride. She could give Manhattan pedestrians a run for their money. “So you live in the country, as well.”

  “Yep.”

  He wondered if she had taken offense. “I just meant like my cousin. Do you live on a farm?”

  She stopped and faced him, poked his chest with her finger. “Look, I’m tired, I’m hungry and I don’t feel like chitchat. Okay?”

  “Fine. I was just making conversation.” He continued on, lengthening his stride with determination. “But what was the deal with that kiss back there?”

  Again with the finger in the chest. “First, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And second, we will never speak of this again.”

  Despite his best city-block-eating pace, she caught up, and they continued along the road until they left the thickest trees behind.

  In the distance he saw a brief flicker. “Is that—” He squinted. “It is. Headlights. Maybe we can get a ride.”

  “They’re going in the opposite direction.”

  “Aren’t you the epitome of positive thinking? Are you telling me the locals won’t stop for a couple of drowned rats in the middle of a monsoon?”

  “I wouldn’t. Look what happened to me. If I hadn’t agreed to take you home—”

  He stopped, indignant. “Me? You’re blaming this on me? You’re the one who took her eyes off the road to focus on a Hershey’s bar.”

  Sera wheeled around. This time she gripped both shoulders with her hands and stood on her tiptoes. “Cool it with the Hershey’s bar. I wouldn’t have taken my eyes off the road...”

  Nose to nose in the middle of the road, Alex had forgotten all about the oncoming vehicle until the headlights blinded him. But he could still see Sera’s wet, white face, her dark, curly hair and lips, made red by her constant biting. He heard the whir of an automatic window and then a woman’s voice. “Hey, you guys need a ride?”

  Still absorbed in the stark color contrast of his companion’s face, Alex was reluctant to answer. But of course, he had to. “I do. I mean, we do.”

  The side door of the van slid open. When he gripped Sera’s arm to help her into the back seat, she shot him a look. Whether of surprise or consternation he couldn’t tell in the dim light of the van. She climbed over a couple boxes and settled into a bucket seat.

  The woman peeked over the front seat and reached out to shake hands. “Hi, I’m Wendy Valentine.”

  Alex shook her hand. “Thanks for stopping.”

  Sera leaned forward and also shook her hand. “Hey, you’re the local weather girl, aren’t you?”

  With a sideways glance at the driver, Wendy laughed. “Up until last year I was. I’m on temporary assignment for an Atlanta station now.” She punched the man in the shoulder. “Josh is my driver.”

  The look they shared and the ring on her left hand told Alex the young man with the dark beard was a lot more than her driver.

  Peering into the rearview mirror, he spoke over his shoulder. “Josh Hunter. Where are you two headed?”

  Sera responded before Alex could answer. “Not far. Last Chance Farm.”

  Irritated at her attempt to control the situation, Alex spoke up. “Actually, I’m headed to Clover Hill Farms.”

  Josh glanced over his shoulder. “You won’t be getting to Clover Hill Farms tonight. We can get you to Last Chance Farm, but the bridge over the creek is flooded. That’s what we were doing, getting camera footage of the bridge for the local station.” He executed a neat three-point turn and headed back in the direction from which he had come.

  “Where’s your vehicle? Were you in an accident?” Wendy’s sharp eyes looked them over, presumably for signs of trauma.

  “I... My truck ended up in a ditch.” Her voice lowered to a mutter. “So much for doing a good deed.”

  “What did you say?” Alex looked at the woman huddled on the bucket seat, her feet propped on a suitcase on the floor. But he couldn’t see her face since she was looking out the window.

  “Nothing.” Sera leaned forward. “There’s a big white mailbox at the end of the lane. You can just drop us off there.”

  “I know where your farm is. Wendy’s parents’ house is a few miles farther down this road.”

  The vehicle slowed as Josh turned in to the lane. Alex saw the white mailbox and then a long line of white board fence. A huge tree marked the end of the fence and then a big bush next to a small building. As Josh swung the vehicle around to the back of the big white house, the headlights lit up the earthen ramp leading to two big white barn doors. Swirling wisps of fog surrounded the cupola at the roof’s peak.

  Wendy gasped. “You have a bank barn. How beautiful. You know, you can’t really see your place from the road.” When the lights hit the white brick and blue shutters of the back of the house Wendy exclaimed again. “Gorgeous! When was your house built, Sera?”

  “In 1855. We don’t get much traffic out this way. Most people use the interstate.”

  Alex detected a note of pride in Sera’s response. He slid open the side door. After dismounting, he turned and reached for Sera’s hand to help her over the boxes. She hesitated.

  “Now you’re shy?” He felt a brief triumph as her cheeks pinked.

  She took his hand but directed her comments to the couple in the front seat. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome,” Josh called out to them. The sliding door shut on its own, and Alex stood in the foggy mist with Sera, watching
the van disappear down the drive.

  “So the bridge over the creek is flooded and my cousin’s place is on the other side.” He turned and observed the big white barn building almost evaporating into the mist. “I can stay in the barn.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She led the way to a trellis leading into a fenced-in yard. A cobblestone path extended to the back porch. Sera mounted the steps and pulled open the screen door. She pushed on the door with her shoulder, but it didn’t budge.

  Alex, reluctant to follow and still hoping his cousin would somehow miraculously appear, was only halfway down the path. He watched as she bumped the door with her hip. “Is it locked?”

  She gave him a look as if she thought he wasn’t very bright, then shook her head. “The door sticks when it rains.” The third time she used her entire body to slam the door, which finally opened. Hand on the doorknob, she stopped, then looked back over her shoulder. “I should warn you. I have a dog. He’s not fond of strangers.”

  Alex walked to the foot of the wooden steps and hesitated. He noticed her knit brow and turned-down lips and wondered what in the heck he was getting into. “Really.”

  She glanced away, avoiding his eyes. “Don’t make any sudden moves around him, okay?”

  He nodded, but the effort was lost. She was definitely avoiding his gaze. “What kind of dog?”

  “Saint Bernard.”

  He pictured a big, stout animal with a barrel fastened under his chin. “What’s his name?”

  Her eyes narrowed. Her lips twitched. “Cujo.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  SERA DIDN’T USUALLY run in the rain, but the stranger currently occupying the bed in the spare room had thrown her. After a restless night and knowing a stranger slept under her roof, she needed to think. And the best place to think was outside. She stood on the porch and breathed deep of the chilly, damp air. Gray clouds hung low over the fields. She couldn’t tell if the rain was over or if there was more to come.

  “What do you think? Is it clearing up?” She glanced at her companion.

  A tall, skinny mongrel with a coat the color of slate gazed up with concern. At the distant rumble of thunder, the dog turned and pressed his nose to the door. Of her two dogs, the animal who had appeared just the summer before was the more skittish one.

  “The thunder’s moving away, Lucky.” But she opened the door and let him into the house, where he would disappear into the den and hide under the grand piano. Sera stretched and bounced down the stairs. She needed this run. It would relax her. She jogged through the arch and ran past the shed where she parked the truck. The empty space reminded her she had to figure out how to retrieve the old pickup from the ditch. The brushy branches of the big mock orange bush next to the building showed just a hint of green. Soon the shrub would be covered with thousands of snow-white blossoms and perfume the air with their sweet scent.

  She ran past the field where tiny green shoots poked through the dark soil. Sweet corn was one of her most profitable crops. Few people grew their own, but most still loved the traditional sweet corn for summer picnics. She breathed deep of the damp air and continued her steady pace. She wondered if the newcomer was awake yet and how soon Cy Carter would arrive to claim his long-lost relative. Her breaths came shorter as she started up the incline to the top of the hill. Leaving the bare fields behind, she slowed and then stopped in the orchard. Fog shrouded the bare apple trees, but at least the rain had stopped. Usually at this point she could see Little Bear Creek, but fog hung so thick over the valley she couldn’t see the bottom of the hill.

  Heat rose up her neck and onto her cheeks as she remembered running off the road the night before. She should have been watching for deer, but the man’s presence had distracted her. When she had slid across the seat to get out of the truck, he had reached up for her hood. But for a minute she thought he was standing there, hands up, waiting for her, as if he had lifted her down from the truck dozens of times. She had almost brushed away his outstretched arms. But the offer of help came so rarely she couldn’t resist. Then when she had accidentally fallen against him and they lay there in the dark and the blessed quiet, she had the strangest urge to put her head on his chest and close her eyes. The surrounding darkness and the rain dropping on the leaves had created a kind of comfortable bubble that seemed made just for the two of them. Serafina Callahan and Alexander Kimmel. When he’d begun complaining, she just wanted him to stop talking. Just wanted one more minute of peace and quiet. So yes, she had kissed him. But if she pretended it hadn’t happened...well, then, it hadn’t happened. She shook her head to dispel the image.

  The still-bare branches reached into the fog like bony fingers. Singling out a lone tree, she framed the shot with the thumbs and forefingers of both hands. She really should go back and get her camera. Funny that her brain still went into picture-taking mode after all this time. She took one last look at the foggy tableau and started back down the hill. The rain picked up.

  Aunt Hope would have coffee brewing by now. And if she were lucky, their impromptu visitor would be out of the spare bedroom and across the creek where he belonged.

  * * *

  HE OPENED HIS eyes to Big Ben, the old-fashioned windup alarm clock his grandfather used to keep by the side of the bed. Next to the clock sat a crystal dish full of peppermints. He definitely wasn’t sleeping in his own cramped bedroom on the Lower East Side. Rain drummed a steady rhythm on the roof. The bed was warm, and for a moment all he wanted to do was pull the comforter over his head and sink farther into the soft pillow that smelled like sunny days. The usual tenseness in his neck and shoulders was gone. Maybe he should put in for vacation. He wondered if he could actually relax for a week.

  When he lifted his head off the pillow to glance out the window, his forehead throbbed with pain. He probed the bump over his eye as he glanced around the spacious room. The white metal bed frame sat high off the floor, which was covered with a rag rug. Sheer curtains hung in the windows, but since the sun wasn’t shining, the curtains had nothing to hide.

  He lay back against the crisp pillowcase and closed his eyes. Thanks to the young couple with the van, he and Sera hadn’t walked far the night before, but rolling around in the sodden leaves had left him wet and muddy. She had marched him through a dimly lit kitchen, down a dark hallway and up the stairs to the guest room and the bathroom, where he had taken a hot shower. He hadn’t seen her since. He hadn’t seen Cujo either, concluding the woman just wanted to mess with his head. She was doing a good job. His carry-on sat on a straight-back chair next to the window.

  Throwing on a T-shirt and jeans, he entered the hallway and was greeted with the sight of six closed doors. He must have been more disoriented the night before than he realized, because he tried three doors, opening into empty bedrooms before finding the bathroom, where he splashed water on his face. His wet clothes from the night before still lay in the claw-foot tub. Then he descended the stairs into an entry. Gray light streamed through the side glass panels of the big front door, where a coatrack and bench sat to the right. He peeked through the adjacent doorway. A grand piano occupied the space between two windows at the front. A large rolltop desk occupied the other corner. In between, a couch fronted a brick fireplace.

  He followed his nose down the hall toward the back of the house. Somebody had made coffee. Pictures covered almost every inch of the flowered wallpaper decorating the length of the hallway. Two baby pictures, a faded wedding photo, graduation pictures of a boy and a girl. He stopped and stared at a younger Sera. The dark hair was poker straight. A photograph of an orchard in bloom.

  Leaving the old photos behind, he continued down the hall. The house was silent. His hostess was still asleep.

  The coffee smell grew stronger as he entered the warm kitchen. The only light came from the flames glowing through the grates of an old white cookstove. Spying a coffeemaker on
the counter, he touched the glass pot. Still warm.

  He opened the overhead cupboard door and reached for a mug. Yellow script and a slipper-shaped yellow flower adorned opposite sides of a brown cup. The Wildflower.

  “Coffee’s not more than twenty minutes old.”

  At the sound of the unexpected voice, the cup flew out of his hands. Alex had always considered himself to have quick reflexes. He snagged the cup just before it hit the floor.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Alex looked around the dim kitchen. He still couldn’t see where the voice had originated. The kitchen table in the middle of the room was unoccupied, a sugar bowl and salt and pepper shakers in the middle. In the corner opposite the cookstove was a rocking chair with an afghan, next to a lumpy dog pillow. At the sight, he stiffened. So there was a dog. Then he breathed a sigh of relief. The dog must be outside. He continued his perusal of the big kitchen. Sink, stove and refrigerator.

  But when his investigation revealed a second dog pillow in the other corner occupied by a huge, spotted dog, his heart stopped. Snores came from the large wet nose, the lower lips quivering with each exhalation. The hairs on the back of Alex’s neck prickled as he took in the size of the black, brown and white animal. Cujo?

  Returning his gaze to the rocking chair, he squinted. A tiny woman sat there with an afghan over her lap. Her face was in shadows, which was why his gaze had skimmed past her the first time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” Keeping his voice low, he sneaked a glance at the big dog. Still asleep. “Do you mind if I have some coffee?”

  “Help yourself.” Her voice sounded hoarse. “So you’re Jean’s nephew from New York City.”

  Alex set his cup on the table. The chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it from the table. When the dog lifted his massive head to investigate, Alex froze. Only when the head dropped to the pillow did he breathe a sigh of relief and sit.