Twice Upon a Roadtrip

by Shannon Stacey

  But she couldn’t quite stamp out the little part that yearned for it to be her that put that warmth in his gaze and the smile on his lips.

  “It took me six months’ worth of weekends to strip that bureau—four layers of paint. But the cherry underneath was warm and beautiful. I sold that piece for almost two hundred.”

  “Wow!”

  Ethan chuckled. “Considering the hours I put into it—and the paint thinner—it wasn’t as great a profit margin as it sounds.”

  “So you gave up number-crunching to form the Junk Furniture Rescue League?”

  She surprised an honest laugh out of him. It was deep and infectious, pulling at her until she joined in. It felt so good to sit and laugh over coffee—almost as if they were a real couple.

  Whoa! There’s no couple stuff going on here. Miss Unemployed Spur-of-the-Moment and Mister Tall, Dark and Serious were simply killing some time together. Nothing more to it.

  “It was almost three years before I had enough pieces done to throw away my ties and open the shop,” Ethan was saying, and Jill forced her attention back to him. “Then I started building a reputation for restoring heirloom furniture that had been neglected for too long or painted over—and saving yard sale pieces.”

  The light in his eyes was dimming and Jill didn’t fight the impulse to rest her hand atop his. “Can’t you start a new shop?”

  He jerked his hand away as if Jill herself had destroyed his business. “No. Betty took everything—the accounts, the deposits from customers, the money that was supposed to be paying suppliers. Reputation and word of mouth is the name of the game. I’m done. And we’re done here. Let’s hit the road.”

  Jill paid the bill while Ethan wrote down the directions from a local seated at the counter. She watched him, tall and handsome in his Garfield T-shirt, and wished the happy, fun Ethan could have stayed a while longer.

  Then again, maybe the mercurial shift back to cranky, serious Ethan was for the best. It would be a lot easier to walk away from him in Orlando.

  Her stomach ached suddenly and she cursed the overdose of fried dinner. Something just wasn’t sitting right, that’s all. It had nothing do with the thought of parting ways with Ethan Cooper.

  She’d walk away from him just as she’d walked away from Poor Eddy. Relationships became marriages, which inevitably led to children. Even though casual sex was not her usual style, commitment was even less so. She’d shake his hand, say goodbye and lay off the fried foods.

  They both hit the restrooms again, and then Jill met him back at the Taurus. His arms were folded across his chest and he looked a little smug for her taste. She’d screwed up again, and she hadn’t been present for it. Even for her, that was rare. “What kind of person leaves the keys in the car?”

  “I didn’t,” Jill replied, shaking her head in confusion. She wasn’t a big-city girl, but even she knew better than that.

  Ethan dangled the rental key chain in front of her. “Really?”

  “I swear I thought I took them out.” She patted her pockets and came up empty. Then she unzipped her purse and started to rummage through the debris.

  “Why are you looking for them? They’re in my hand.”

  She shrugged and yanked the zipper closed again. “I guess I just have an overwhelming desire for you to make a mistake every once in a while.”

  “That’s your department, sunshine. Just thank your lucky stars nobody stole it.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry. So, punish me by not speaking to me for a few hundred miles. Please.”

  She yanked open the passenger side door and got in the car, ignoring Ethan settling into the driver’s seat. She snapped her seat belt closed, then leaned her head back and closed her eyes. It was all on Ethan’s shoulders now. He had the directions and he was steering the car. Since the man practically reeked of responsibility and common sense, they were home free. Nothing would go wrong now.

  * * * * *

  Ethan drove the winding route back to the highway with clenched teeth. Jill’s sullen silence was wrapped around her like an iceberg, and the chilly atmosphere gave him throbbing temples to go along with his aching jaw.

  He cursed himself for giving her a hard time about leaving the keys in the car. His plan to be nice—to reinforce the things she did right—had lasted a whopping thirty minutes or so. Little wonder he’d never been offered his own talk show.

  The worst part in Ethan’s mind was the fact he hadn’t even been angry. Humiliation was the emotion that struck hardest whenever he thought about Betty and the end of their marriage. It still embarrassed him and he’d shoved Jill away to keep her from seeing it. And she was mad again.

  At least he was behind the wheel now. He didn’t have to worry about being abandoned because he wasn’t about to leave himself by the side of the road. But the silence was almost enough to wish he could.

  Ethan nudged Jill with his elbow. “Once I see my mom and get my wallet, how about I take you out for a nice macaroni and cheese dinner?”

  The arctic blast from her shoulder warmed a degree or two. “You mean…like a date?”

  A date? Ethan prayed the gulping sound he made wasn’t as loud as it sounded to his own ears. “I…I guess so.”

  He hadn’t been thinking that far ahead when he made the offer. His subconscious must really want to see the woman again, even if his logical mind didn’t think it was a good idea. But an invitation was an invitation, even if it was for toddler finger food.

  “Isn’t that what it’s called when a man invites a woman to dinner?” Jill demanded.

  Her testy tone rubbed Ethan the wrong way. Couldn’t the woman even accept a meal without making a scene? “Maybe I just want to say thank you for footing the bill on this little misadventure.”

  “With macaroni and cheese? I paid for the motel room, this car, our gas, our meals, T-shirts…”

  “A Garfield T-shirt! You should get just plain macaroni with butter for that. And I wouldn’t have needed that motel room, this car, gas, meals or this damned shirt if you hadn’t locked yourself in the bathroom, would I? And you said macaroni and cheese is your favorite food.”

  Jill threw up her hands. “Fine. Your thanks are accepted. No need to waste the eighty-nine cents.”

  Ethan took a deep breath, consciously easing up on the accelerator. If he didn’t calm down, they’d be doing a hundred and thirty miles per hour before they even hit the highway—or a tree.

  “I’m going to pay you back every red cent when I get my wallet,” he muttered, half under his breath. “But I still wanted to say thank you.”

  What had possessed him to ask her out for dinner anyway? The smart thing to do was get to the hotel, find his wallet and repay her for his expenses. Then he could walk away and not look back.

  He had no business dating anybody while his life was in shambles anyway. He wouldn’t have time for a relationship in the coming months. And he had nothing to offer a woman but a storage locker full of cast-off furniture.

  Any woman, but especially Jill. Her life was as messy as his own. She needed a man with a boat stable enough to withstand her constant rocking. And the only thing they had in common was unemployment.

  But a part of him wanted to argue the point—to convince her to share one more meal together. He wanted to recapture the easy camaraderie they’d briefly shared. Before she had to go and get too personal, ruining everything.

  But how personal was too personal once you’ve had sex? He didn’t like thinking about Betty and her testosterone-laden new husband, but he had spent the night with Jill, for goodness sake. She had the right to ask a few questions without having her head bitten off.

  “Look,” he said in a shaky voice. “I like you, sunshine. A lot. And I’d just like to have dinner with you when we get to Florida. A nice, quiet meal—when we’re not lost and stressed—so we can get to know each other a little better.”

  She didn’t answer, so he risked glancing over as he sped up the highway entrance ramp. “I’l
l even get you a steak to go with that macaroni and cheese.”

  “Skunk!”

  “That’s a little harsh—”

  “No,” Jill pointed out the windshield, “a skunk!”

  Ethan hit the brake and yanked the wheel hard to the left. He heard Jill’s head hit her window as he steered hard around the oblivious little stinker.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when he’d taken a breath and merged the Taurus into traffic.

  “Yeah,” she said, rubbing her head and laughing. “I’m glad you missed him. The last thing we need is eau de Pepé.”

  “What in tarnation’s going on up there?” a hoarse voice demanded from behind them.

  Ethan saw the head pop up in the rearview mirror and his heart flip-flopped. Jill screamed and he hit the rumble strip at seventy miles an hour, the roar of the tires drowning out the man in the backseat.

  The Taurus shuddered along the breakdown lane and Ethan winced as the rear bumper almost scraped the guardrail. He eased off the brake and let the car roll to a stop.

  “Well, drop me in a field and call me Patty! I’ve been kidnapped!”

  Ethan stared at the old man in the mirror, then at Jill. His heart felt like a hyped-up hummingbird in his chest and he clutched the steering wheel to keep his hands from shaking. I’ll never leave North Carolina alive. He slouched way down in his seat, giving up.

  “Where’s your empty coffee cup?” Jill asked in an unsteady voice.

  “If you need to throw up, just open the door.”

  “No, Einstein. You left your trash in the center console. This isn’t our car.”

  The old man chuckled and stuck his head forward through the bucket seats. “No, sir, it sure ain’t. My daughter rented this one while hers is getting fixed. Swerved to avoid a skunk and ran right into Velma Johnson’s fruit stand.”

  Jill slapped Ethan on the arm. “I told you I didn’t leave the keys in the car. This one’s not my fault, pal.”

  He dropped his head and banged it on the steering wheel, the horn punctuating each whack. “Why is this happening to me? And aren’t skunks nocturnal?”

  If he believed in reincarnation, he’d bet the farm he was Jack the Ripper in his past life. Even being cursed by a Gypsy couldn’t bring luck this bad.

  “It’s spring, so they’re feeling rambunctious. Nice driving there, son,” the man said, nodding enthusiastically between the seats. “What did you do with my daughter? Did you put her in the trunk?”

  Jill laughed. She actually laughed. The woman was insane. “Nobody is in the trunk,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  “As far as we know,” she pointed out. “With our luck the guy who rented this car before his daughter was in the mafia and it’s full of dead bodies.”

  Ethan shook his head. “And you had the nerve to call my mother a bitch?”

  “Ah…newlyweds, huh? Ain’t in-laws a pain in the patootie?”

  Ethan and Jill both stared at the man, then shook their heads at the same time. “We’re not newlyweds,” they said in unison.

  “Been married a while then, have you? I’m Joe, by the way. Joe Jackson. No relation.”

  “We’re not married, either,” Ethan said bluntly. Maybe the waitress spiked his gravy and this was all a dream. A bad one. “No relation to whom?”

  “That shoeless baseball player. The one that comes out of the cornfield in that movie. Where are we headed?”

  “Orlando,” Jill replied.

  “Great. Some sunshine sure does sound good to this old bag of bones.”

  Ethan was already shaking his head. The last thing this trip needed was an old guy with diarrhea of the mouth. There was busload of them waiting for him at the hotel. Assuming he ever made it there.

  “I’m taking you home,” he said, putting the car back into gear.

  “I don’t want to go back. Hey, I bet I got that Swedish syndrome! You know, where the kidnapped person wants to hang around with the kidnappers.”

  Jill was giggling again and Ethan shot her a quelling look. “We did not kidnap you.”

  Joe clucked his tongue. “That’s funny, son. Down here when you take a body off to Florida without askin’ his permission, we call that kidnapping.”

  “We didn’t know you were in the car.”

  “Ignorance is nine-tenths of the law.”

  “No,” Ethan put the car in gear. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

  Joe slapped the back of Ethan’s seat. “And you’re in possession of my kidnapped behind.”

  Ethan picked up speed and merged again into traffic, hoping he’d get to stay there for at least five minutes this time. “Sunshine, keep your eyes peeled for one of those places the cops use to reverse direction.”

  “You get caught turning around in those you’ll get in a mite bit of trouble, son.”

  “Yeah, well us kidnappers don’t worry too much about piddly things like traffic tickets.”

  “No, but the stolen car might be a problem,” Jill pointed out, with a bit too much humor in her voice for Ethan’s liking.

  “How far up is the next exit?”

  “Oh, about twenty miles,” Joe said. “So, when’s the weddin’?”

  Chapter Eight

  Jill didn’t try to hold back her laughter when Ethan growled low in his throat. She couldn’t even if she wanted to.

  This was, without a doubt, one-hundred percent his own fault. When she came out of the restaurant, he was standing next to a white Ford Taurus dangling the key at her. All she did was get in the car.

  And that’s why he’s so mad. He couldn’t blame their latest mishap on her. Sure, none of this would be happening if she had remembered that second lock on the bathroom door, but they would have been Orlando-bound if he’d picked the right car.

  “There is no wedding,” Ethan said in a no-nonsense voice. “We’re not married. We’re not engaged. We’re not even a couple.”

  That hurt. He didn’t have to sound so absolute about it. Of course they weren’t a couple. Not counting their disastrous meeting in the grocery store parking lot, they’d known each other just a little over twenty-four hours.

  She frowned. But they’d had sex and in her book that must make them something. And how could the sex between them have been so incredible if it was meaningless? Maybe she wasn’t cut out for vacation sex after all. “We’re just friends. Friends who have sex.”

  Ethan made a choking sound and gave her a look that could have torched an asbestos fire suit.

  Joe’s boom of laughter faded into a chuckle. “Those are the best kind of friends, you ask me. Tried to have that kind of friendship myself—with Sally Bowman, but she took up with some old geezer that got himself some Viagra. You tried that stuff, son?”

  Jill hoped Ethan wasn’t swallowing his tongue. He was still making that choking sound and his face was becoming a rather dark shade of red. She patted his knee. “Ethan doesn’t need Viagra, Mr. Jackson. He did okay on his own.”

  Ethan glared at her. “Okay?”

  She laughed at the affront in his voice. “Magnificent?”

  “Better,” he mumbled.

  “Why were you hiding in the backseat, Mr. Jackson?” Jill asked Joe, letting Ethan off the hook.

  “Wasn’t hiding, missy. Was having myself a nap. That daughter of mine likes to run the roads before she’s gotta pick the grandkids up from school. She dragged me right along with her. Decided to grab some shuteye and next thing I know I’m dreaming about wreckin’ at the Daytona 500.”

  “Are you married?” she asked. If she could keep the conversation close to something resembling normal, maybe Ethan wouldn’t succumb to a stroke before they got back to the restaurant.

  “Was married sixty years,” Joe replied with a touch of sadness in his gravelly voice.

  “I’m sorry. When did she pass away?”

  “Pass away?” Joe snorted. “The old bag ain’t dead. She ran off and left me.”

  “Oh.” Jill didn’t know what to sa
y. How did she end up stuck in a car with two men whose wives had run off and abandoned them?

  “I should have gotten me some of those snore strips,” Joe said.

  Jill shook her head, sure she had misunderstood him. “Snore strips?”

  “Sure as shootin’, missy. The old bag complained for sixty years about my snoring, then she up and left me.”

  “My wife left too, Mr. Jackson,” Ethan said quietly. “I’m quite sure the lack of snore strips had nothing to do with it.”

  “Y’all call me Joe. What did you do to make your wife run off?”

  “She left me for an undercover cop.”

  Sure, he doesn’t bite Joe’s head off when he asks questions. She heard bitterness in his voice, but he didn’t sound angry. Maybe it was a guy thing.

  Joe shook his head, which was still poking out through the bucket seats. “At least yours left you for some excitement. My wife ran off with the guy who delivers the weekly papers. Guess he was delivering something else, too.”

  Jill felt bad for Joe, but she couldn’t help wondering about Mrs. Jackson’s side of the story. Had she escaped a lifetime of unhappiness, or did the woman just want some hot sex in her golden years? Marriage seemed to her like a prison sentence. On the other side of the bars, the single people enjoyed life while wives were left with the monotonous domestic equivalent of making license plates day after day.

  But she always thought there was some kind of cut-off in a marriage. If you made it a certain number of years, it was a done deal. Apparently not, if sixty years didn’t qualify. How can something as final and binding as marriage be so precarious? she pondered.

  She glanced sideways at Ethan, wondering what it would be like to wake up next to him every morning for sixty years. A pleasant feeling washed over her, followed almost immediately by panic.

  Oh my goodness, was that warm and fuzzy? It couldn’t be. She felt like strangling Ethan Cooper sometimes. She felt lust for Ethan Cooper a lot. Sometimes she even liked him. But she could not, under any circumstances, allow herself to feel warm and fuzzy about Ethan Cooper.

  “Yup, I learned some good lessons from that go ‘round,” Joe was saying. “When I get hitched again, I’m gonna get some of those snore strips. And I’ll take out the garbage, too. Women don’t like doing that.”