Wild Card (Wild At Heart Series Book 3)

by Christine Hartmann

  Bree stumbled against her suitcase, knocking her garment bag to the floor. “Ryder?”

  He retrieved it. “Freaky, right?”

  Bree felt blood rise to her face. “I was at Stephanie’s last night. She brought out the yearbook.”

  Ryder shook his head and lowered his eyes. “That’s painful.” He eased his glasses from his face. “High school wasn’t my brightest moment.”

  She bit her lips in an unsuccessful attempt to reduce the flush on her cheeks. “For you and me both.”

  She turned to the counter and sucked in a breath. What kind of idiot was he? Did he think his day-after-the-prom apology made up for everything? That ten years later he could walk up to her and pretend they were friends? In an instant, she second-guessed every decision she made that morning about what to wear, how to style her hair, and where to apply makeup. Her hands tugged again at her shirt, pulling the hem straight down until the fabric ran in a crisp, straight line across the front of her body like a sheet of metal.

  Ryder kicked the tile flooring. “Bree, I’m so glad…”

  “Next.” The sole remaining attendant interrupted, his teeth ground together, head cocked.

  She exhaled. “I’ve been in this line for almost an hour.” Her knee nudged her bulky suitcase forward. She prayed for a miraculously quick check-in.

  “No have full-size cars.” The attendant chewed gum with the absorption of a cow chewing cud as he waited, hands on hips, for her reaction.

  She struck the pose she used in photographs, one foot out in front, at right angles to the other, hoping it would work its slimming effects equally well for people looking at her from behind. “I’m transporting a lot of guests. I can’t take an economy car.”

  The man seemed ready for an argument. She held her ground. No, she said, she couldn’t take a downgrade. That would be like taking an economy, wouldn’t it? Coming back later wasn’t an option. That’s why she’d made a morning reservation. She ran her fingers through her hair, noticing the sweat on her forehead. “I need to get to Las Vegas tonight. It’s my engagement party.”

  The attendant bent over his antiquated machine. Bree fidgeted, the thought of Ryder standing behind her feeling like the heat from a massive campfire that threatened to sear her clothing. She looked down and noticed the front seam of her skirt was six inches askew. Her fingers itched to readjust it. She put her hands on the dull yellow Formica counter, her fingers bouncing in an invisible speed-typing contest. After years of avoiding even the mention of him, why did Ryder have to show up twice in two days?

  A new customer burst through the main door in a flurry of expensive wool and silk that he wore like a suit of armor. He circumvented the poles and belts, stalked to the counter, and flung down a key. “Where is everyone?”

  Bree’s attendant scuttled sideways with an obsequious smile. “Sorry, Mr. Smith. Everything okay?”

  Bree dropped her phone on the counter and opened the app of a national car rental chain. “Don’t mind me.”

  The new customer marched back and forth in the narrow space like a hungry panther. At the keyboard, the young man’s hands, marked with a chain tattoo across the second knuckles, flew in a robotic frenzy. In under a minute, he handed the man a receipt. “All set.”

  The man stomped out, leaving behind him, Bree thought, a whiff of something feral. The attendant’s energy vaporized as quickly as it had ignited. He trudged back to the monitor in front of Bree.

  “You take upgrade?” He jerked his head in the direction of the exit. “Mr. Smith had SUV. We give you same price. Good deal.”

  Bree’s feet hurt from an hour of immobility in pumps. Her head ached from the stale air and tobacco. Most of all, she wanted out of the building. “Only if you give it to me now.”

  “No cleaning. No wait. Only ten-dollar-a-day mark up.”

  Bree’s eyes flashed. “Five-dollar discount.”

  The man stared at her, nodded, and handed her the keys.

  She didn’t look at Ryder on her way to the door.

  Chapter 3

  Once she got through San Jose on Highway 101 South and traffic thinned, Bree loosened her grip on the steering wheel and rolled down the window. Too much high school. She let the wind cool her face and wipe clinging cobwebs from her mind.

  She called Mal and got his voicemail. “Miser rental was a dump. Let’s talk when I get there about being less frugal.” A truck hurtled past and she edged the car closer to the shoulder. “Good news is I have an SUV. Not the newest.” She sniffed the air. “Smells kinda funny. But roomy.”

  She relaxed and surfed satellite radio stations until she found a pop music channel. The wild breeze blew the last remnants of product from her hair and long strands whipped periodically across her face, making her feel as though she were driving through patchy fog. “It’s good to be young, free, and on the road,” her melodious alto hailed the steady trickle of passing cars.

  A few miles out of San Jose, she eased her vehicle down the exit ramp for Morgan Hill. Her smile widened when she saw the donut shop’s sign. She congratulated herself for having studied the route to Las Vegas ahead of time. The drive to Vegas was, after all, not a punishment but an adventure. Not a failure to come to grips with her fear of flying but a sensible alternative to arriving for the long weekend’s festivities drugged, disheveled, and dismayed after a terrifying airplane flight. Instead she would arrive calm, clear-headed, and—with the help of a final stop in a rest area short of the city—cute. Just the kind of fiancée Mal wanted to introduce to his relatives. So what if she gained a pound or two on the journey? The prior weeks of dieting gave her ample wiggle room.

  She pulled into a small strip mall, found a parking space, and killed the engine. The aroma of freshly fried donuts wafted on a light breeze. She inhaled deeply, leaned out, and took a photo of the storefront.

  Bree: Me. Here. Now.

  She added a blissed-out face emoji and sent Stephanie the text.

  Her eyes were glued to the enticing photos of glazed, filled, and chocolate delights. She grabbed her purse, rolled up the windows, and slammed the door behind her. Then a car pulling into the space next to her made her jog for the sidewalk.

  Out of harm’s way, she shaded her eyes, finding it difficult to glare effectively while squinting into the strong sun. The silver Camry’s door opened and a familiar voice reached her ears.

  “My bad, Bree.”

  “Ryder?” Her mouth hung open.

  He stepped onto the sidewalk, grinning. “Almost faked me out by getting off the highway.”

  She felt a tightening in her throat, as though someone were closing a noose. “You’re stalking me?” She looked at the shop behind her, wishing she’d parked somewhere else.

  “Totally.” He laughed and sat on the hood of his car. “You left so fast, I never got the chance to tell you.”

  Bree held up her hand. “Don’t say it.”

  “Vegas. Got a business meeting.”

  She leaned against the building wall, the warmth of the cement soaking into her like a hot water bottle on a summer night, not soothing but irritating. The frown that had sprouted on the edge of her lips grew. “Nobody drives from San Francisco to Vegas.”

  “You do.”

  She cocked her head, placed a foot on the wall behind her, and stared as he gazed back through the aviator sunglasses. His blond, wavy hair fell to chin length. The folds of his untucked shirt fluttered around his waist in the light breeze. Tanned ankles poked out from under skinny jeans. He wore canvas sneakers without socks. His thin but muscular build, she thought, didn’t seem to have changed since the last time she glimpsed it in high school.

  Figures.

  She planted both feet on the ground and turned to give him a more flattering view. He may not have changed. But she had.

  “Why?” The question popped from her mouth like a shot.

  “Why drive?” He shrugged and tossed his keys from hand to hand. “Never crossed the California state line i
n a car before.”

  “In a car from a dump like Miser? What did you want to do, try slumming it like the rest of us?” Her hands balled into fists behind her back.

  He spun the keys on his finger like toy helicopter blades. “Have a new assistant. She did the booking.”

  Bree shook her head. “Bet she won’t have that job for long.”

  “Been a long time since we saw each other.” He pocketed his keys.

  Bree didn’t answer, afraid that if she opened her mouth, unknown sentences would tumble out, words she had no control over. The air between them felt thick, as though the universe created a temporary bubble that left her in limbo between high school memories and adult reality. She felt sucked back to the night of the prom, to the airless hotel hallway where she’d last seen him up close, the humiliation and misery as raw as if the past ten years had never happened. She fixed her gaze on the ground, her eyes narrowing, sending daggers of fury toward a crack in the sidewalk.

  Ryder pushed himself from the hood and pointed his thumb toward the store. “Going in?”

  Bree reddened. “No.” She looked around the mostly empty parking lot and pointed at a small grocery store in the far corner opposite them. “I’m going there for a drink and...carrots.”

  Ryder peered at the tiny, almost illegible sign. “Kind of far. Want a ride?”

  Bree took a deep breath. “It’s good exercise.”

  “Was hoping you were going for the donuts.” Ryder sighed.

  Minutes later, she watched from the store window as he returned to his car with a rectangular box and perched on the edge of the sidewalk by their cars, legs tucked between the curb and the cement parking space marker. She waited inside with the bag of carrots and bottle of water, hoping he would leave. After fifteen minutes, she trudged over to the cars. Beside Ryder lay an open box of mixed donuts and two brownies.

  She leaned on her hood, tucking her skirt between her legs. The sun warmed her skin. She tilted her head and let her hair cascade down her back, thankful she’d taken time in the grocery’s bathroom to fix it.

  “I got brownies.” He pushed the box toward her.

  Bree shoved the box away with her foot. Her eyelids fluttered as she blinked back a sudden stinging. “I associate brownies with a bad experience. Can’t stand them.” She took out her car keys and punched a hole in the bag of mini carrots.

  Ryder bit into a donut and gulped a frozen mocha latte. “You’ll live longer than me.”

  Bree stared at the rapidly disappearing doughy ring in his hand. “But you’ll have more fun. That’s what happens when you don’t care about what you do.”

  ***

  Later in the car, with the black highway stretching before her and a caramel fudge iced coffee in the holder next to her seat, she wondered why everything felt different. Her SUV wound slowly up Route 152 toward the San Luis Reservoir and Highway 5. Only intermittent trees and roads marked the passing miles amid monotonous parched grass, dried bushes, and brown hills. The ride she had been looking forward to now stretched in front of her like a bad dream. Talking with Ryder catapulted her back in time. It felt like trying on a cheap pair of sneakers a size too small, the kind that pinch your feet, cause blisters, and take the spring out of every step.

  The pink phone on the seat next to her rang. She picked up her headset without thinking.

  “You’ve got to tell.” Ryder’s voice sounded tinny. She watched him wave at her through the back window of the car in front of her and cursed herself for giving him her number.

  “Tell what?” She kept her gaze on the road.

  “About your engagement.”

  Bree involuntarily stepped on the brakes. Cars honked. She jumped and hit the pedal harder, causing a slight skid. She clutched the steering wheel with white knuckles until the blare faded into the distance.

  “You okay?”

  Bree swallowed before speaking. “Never been better.”

  “Want to get off the highway?”

  “I need to get to Vegas.”

  “Right. Your fiancé would never forgive me if I didn’t get you there in one piece.”

  Her fingers throttled the steering wheel. She straightened the car and pushed the odometer back to above the speed limit. “You overheard at the rental agency. About my engagement.”

  “Who is he?”

  She rolled her eyes and her fingers hovered over the end call button. “His name’s Malcolm. Mal for short. And you are not responsible for getting me to him.”

  “Want to meet this guy who stole your heart.”

  She mouthed the phrase, Over my dead body.

  “How’d you meet?”

  “In a bar.” She spat out the words, hoping he would pick up on the acerbity and end the conversation.

  Ryder’s laughter burst through the headset so loudly she turned down the volume.

  “A bar’s about the last place I would have looked for you.”

  “You weren’t looking.”

  Ryder’s car slowed and Bree took her foot off the accelerator as she waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, she continued. “I wasn’t desperate. It didn’t start out in a bar.”

  “Love a mystery.”

  She began the story the way a prosecution lawyer would pester a belligerent witness, hoping the facts would grind him to a stop. “I was on vacation in Cancun with some girlfriends. There was this good-looking guy hanging out in the lobby.”

  “And that was Mal.”

  “That was Chad.” Bree took one hand off the steering wheel and felt around the passenger seat. She found the box of donuts he had given her, brought a jelly filled one to her mouth, and continued between chews. “We all went up to this guy, Chad, together. I asked him to come with us, but he refused.”

  “Jerk.” Ryder gave a thumbs down through his car’s rear window.

  Bree choked on powdered sugar. She pulled the last donut out of the box and bit in. “Said he just broke up with someone named Brianna. Couldn’t face a girl with the same name.”

  “How does this get to Mal?”

  “I went into the bar for a drink. After a while, Mal sat down next to me. He was recovering from an allergy attack.” She licked her fingers and concentrated on the road. “He’s allergic to dogs and sat next to a service dog on the flight down.” She pulled into the left lane and passed Ryder’s car. The Camry revved, passed her, and sidled again into the space in front.

  “Rough.”

  “Mal’s sensitive.”

  Ryder paused. “My girlfriend broke up with me recently.”

  “Sure you’re good at finding new ones.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  The air in the car felt stale. She turned up the air conditioning. “Come on, you’re a walking magazine cover.”

  “Says who?”

  “All the girls from high school.”

  Ryder coughed. “What do they say about you?”

  “None of your business.” Bree pulled at a fingernail with her teeth.

  “Maybe they’re jealous.”

  “Of fat me?” Her words discharged like the report of a rifle.

  Ryder’s tone dropped an octave. “I’ve known you since you were, like, fourteen. So I can say something, right?”

  “No.” The donuts churned in her stomach. Her eyes followed the white line marking the shoulder of the road. She raised her hand, ready to take the headset from her ear.

  Ryder cleared his throat. “Yeah, Bree, you’re heavy.”

  Bree flung the headset onto the seat beside her. “Thanks.” She pushed her purse over the mic and blinked back tears that sprung into her eyes. Looks like in high school you were just gearing up to become a nasty adult.

  Chapter 4

  With the word “heavy” ringing in her ear, Bree tried to control her fury by concentrating on the mechanics of driving. Her foot leaned heavily on the gas and she sped by Ryder’s car, resisting the urge to bump it from the road. The numbers on the digital speedometer rose past e
ighty. The car vibrated. Bree’s lower jaw felt like it had been forged to the upper with a steel plate. Her eyes were narrow, cold pins piercing the windshield. Her fingernails tore at the vinyl covering of the steering wheel, which she noticed seem to be pulling to the right. She scanned the road for potholes.

  A few seconds later, the wheel lurched. Thudding followed. The wheel’s tug became more insistent. She wrestled it for control, stepping hard on the brake and veering onto the shoulder amid flying dust and gravel. Her fingers ground into the plastic and she muttered curses, as the car gradually skidded off the asphalt, across dirt, and came, slightly tilted, to a halt.

  Bree cut the engine and slapped her hand on the now docile wheel. Her breath came in heaves. Her heart pounded in her throat. She tried to repress a familiar wave of rising panic.

  It’s fine. I’m okay. It’s fine. I’m okay…The two phrases rose and fell with the rhythm of her breath. She jumped at a tap on the driver’s side window and raised her head to see Ryder’s anxious face. He pulled at the locked door handle. She unclenched a hand from the steering wheel and opened the door, moving in slow motion as though through mud.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” He leaned toward her.

  Bree stared at him, unblinking, as a semi roared past them up the incline.

  Ryder walked around the car and back to the driver’s door. “You’ve got a flat. Is there a spare?”

  Bree didn’t answer. She pushed her hair from her face and noticed her hands were shaking. She stuck them under her legs and blinked. I’m fine. It’s okay.

  Ryder scanned the jumble of Bree’s purse contents and the donut box in the passenger seat foot well. “Go sit in my car.” He handed her the remains of the iced coffee. “Drink this. Be done in no time.”

  Bree took the drink and shuffled to his car like a reprimanded school child. She felt foolish and angry but incapable of making decisions for herself. If Ryder wanted to catch her in a weak moment, this was it. Accidents opened up a fault line of anxiety within her like an unexpected earthquake.