by Toni Leland
Her lower lip began to tremble and she fought the urge to cry. Dillon’s altruistic stance was more than she could have hoped for. He could be part of her future, but only on the right terms. And she was the only one who could arrange that.
He pushed a wisp of hair away from her forehead. “Don’t for one minute think I don’t want to make love to you again. I had a helluva time last night, knowing you were just down the hall.” He stepped back. “Now, let’s eat and get on the road. This ol’ trucker is tired of sitting around.”
The reflection of the sun on the snow was positively painful, and Julia quickly put on her sunglasses as they headed down the highway. The views were breathtaking. In every direction, mountains rose into the blue sky, the forests dressed in white, the winter blanket hiding every unsightly object in the landscape. Tumble-down barns looked charmingly quaint, and abandoned cars and farm equipment were merely soft mounds. Here and there, plumes of smoke rose above the trees, hinting at cozy cabins nestled out of sight.
As they drove, she thought about Dillon’s admission of his desire, a thought that warmed her heart beyond her wildest dreams. Just to know he cared, that he was a good and honorable man who would never hurt her, brought a sense of peace and security she hadn’t known for many years. A feeling she could readily get used to.
Dillon broke the companionable silence. “I think we’d better head back tomorrow. I thought I’d take Interstate 84, give you a different view of the country.”
Julia’s shoulders sagged. So it was over. In a couple of days, she’d be back in her drab apartment and Dillon would be—where?
“You have another load to pick up?”
“No, actually, I need to get down to Florida and see my folks. I usually go for New Year’s.”
Julia blinked. She’d never considered he might have family. And why wouldn’t he? He was a normal human being.
She turned sideways in the seat. “Do you always spend Christmas by yourself?”
He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Mostly. Christmas isn’t a good time for my mom.” He glanced over at her, his eyes dark with some profound emotion. “Four years ago, my younger brother was killed in Iraq the week before Christmas, so it’s a sober time for the family.”
“Oh Dillon, I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t offer any further details, and she turned back to stare out the window at the snowy countryside. How long would it take before they each really knew the other?
The truck slowed and Dillon put on the turn signal. “Here we are.”
At the entrance to a driveway, a large sign read, “Mostly Morgans Horse Rescue.”
Julia gasped. “No way! How did you know about this?”
“I didn’t. I just did a search to see if there was anything close by. I thought you might like a horse fix.” His tone sounded apologetic. “And I don’t think we can go back up to that place in Vermont on the way back. So this is my compromise.”
The driveway ended at a large barn surrounded by fenced pens. Farther out on the property, several run-in sheds dotted three large pastures. A number of blanketed horses stood at the fence, ears forward, testing the air with flared nostrils to see who had arrived and if they might have something to eat. Julia’s eyes filled with tears for the second time that day, only this time, her emotion was for the animals. Survivors of unknown atrocities.
She and Dillon walked toward the gate and, in a minute, a man appeared and let them in. His cheeks were ruddy and his brown eyes twinkled.
“Howdy folks, you come to adopt a Morgan?”
Dillon shook the man’s hand. “Not this trip. We just wanted to see your operation. I live up the road.”
Julia tore her gaze away from the horses at the fence. “Do you only take Morgans?”
“Nah, we first started because of a Morgan breeder who’d abandoned a barn full of really nice, but aging show horses. So we named the place Mostly Morgans, but we take any horse in need. C’mon into the barn. My wife’s cleaning stalls.”
The structure was constructed of metal siding with a bright green roof. Inside, stalls lined both walls, and each stall was occupied. A short, plump woman emerged from one of them, pulling a muck bucket behind her. She closed the stall door, wiped her hands on her jeans, and headed toward them. Julia couldn’t take her eyes off the horses, her thoughts on Casey and her mission. These rescue facilities seemed to be everywhere, which was very unsettling, since it meant the problem was bigger than one would think.
The woman was talking. “You’re free to wander around. The horses crave the attention, so we love visitors.” She gestured toward a corner. “There’s a bin of carrots. Help yourself, but watch your fingers. Some of these guys don’t have great manners.”
Julia moved toward the closest stall where a large brown horse watched her with interest. Behind her, Dillon’s voice rose in conversation with the man, asking questions about funding and volunteers. Look what she’d started. Dillon would probably spend some time here when he was in Massachusetts.
A heaviness settled in her chest. Would she ever be back here with him?
Chapter 25
Dillon eased the semi out of the driveway and swung wide to turn south on the highway. He glanced at Ginger’s profile, noting the hint of sadness that shadowed her face. She’d been very quiet all morning as they’d eaten breakfast, then packed and closed up the house. Her mood probably had something to do with his poor handling of their intimacy, but he couldn’t help it. She was vulnerable and he didn’t want to be the one responsible for additional burdens on an already battered psyche. Though she put up a good front, seemed all together and in control, he’d seen glimpses during the past couple of days of a frightened and sorrowful woman. What had happened to her? He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, but human curiosity being what it is, he kept thinking about it.
That wasn’t all he’d been thinking about. Another restless night wanting to change his mind and go down the hall, take her in his arms and experience that luscious body again. He shifted in the seat, cursing himself for letting his thoughts go there. He’d never be able to look at that bear rug again without thinking about her.
Ginger heaved a long sigh. “I hate the thought of going back. This has been the best vacation I’ve ever had.”
“Once you get your stuff together, we can do it again.”
“Yeah, my stuff. I’m not looking forward to that, but I can’t just let it go on forever.”
“I was serious about helping you, if you need anything. I still have some contacts in the Army.”
She didn’t respond and he kicked himself for bringing it up.
She turned in the seat. “I should use your computer to look up the divorce laws for Illinois. I think after a certain number of years apart, I can divorce him without needing to go back to Florida.”
“Help yourself, we have a long way to travel.”
Ginger settled into the seat, the laptop open, her fingers flying over the keys. He watched out of the corner of his eye. She was no stranger to computers, and seemed very good at searching for information. I wonder why she erased her history the last time. Wonder if she’ll do it again this time. He frowned. He had no business checking up on what she was doing. Habit, that’s all it was. Check every detail, follow every lead, however weak. A sick feeling rose in his stomach. Following leads without verification had been the one big mistake in his career, and Sal had died as a result of that oversight. Dillon clenched the steering wheel, his anger growing. Whoever had given them the “tip” had been working for the bad guys, and friggin’ Secret Service didn’t even recognize they had a traitor in their midst.
By the time they reached the interstate, Dillon had rehashed the past two years until his brain was numb. Nothing had changed, he could think of no new twists they might have missed. The incredibly good counterfeit treasury notes were still finding their way into the monetary system, and no one had been able to figure out how the bogus currency was being transported. But he
was positive it was happening through the trucking system, a network so vast and mobile it would be difficult, if not impossible, to trace. Again, his skin prickled with irritation at the agency’s attitude that the idea had no merit. He shook his head. Unfortunately, with the aftermath of 9/11, Secret Service had spent less and less time on the business of protecting the nation’s financial security, and more time on preventing further attacks. A perfect opportunity for counterfeiters and foreign criminals determined to undermine U.S. economy.
“You’re certainly thoughtful.”
Ginger’s voice turned off his mental tirade and he nodded. “Thinkin’ about soaking up some Florida sun.”
Her face clouded, but she didn’t say anything. He tried to redirect her thoughts.
“You want me to do anything or look up anyone while I’m down there?”
Her eyes widened, not with surprise, but with fright. He wasn’t imagining it—she was scared.
“No, no, I can do this myself, Dillon. But thank you for offering.”
“No problem. You find out anything about the divorce laws?”
She nodded. “I can file if I’ve lived in Illinois for ninety days. Only problem is, I don’t know where he is, so I’ll have to do some more looking.”
Dillon pursed his lips, saying nothing. He’d just offered to do the looking, yet she wanted to do it herself. And there was also the matter of his own futile research on her name in Florida. What was the husband’s name? John? Joe?...Jake. There couldn’t be too many Army members named Jake Green. And with his own capability to search military records, it didn’t matter if the guy wasn’t living in Florida, Dillon could find him. Sooner or later, Ginger would need his help, and he’d be ready.
They reached Harrisburg, Pennsylvania by dinnertime and, that night, Dillon again slept in the truck outside a motel on the west side of the city. As he lay in the bunk, listening to the hum of the generator, he pondered why he was so determined to help Ginger get her life together. Was he ready to change his own? All because of a great roll in the hay? No, he genuinely liked her, enjoyed her company and, as she’d mellowed, he’d discovered a sensitive and intelligent woman beneath the hard exterior. But with all her past problems, obvious secrets, and the probability of a legal battle with a drunk, Dillon knew she wasn’t ready for anything serious or stable. So why was he trying so hard to be part of all that? He shook his head and pulled up the blanket. Anymore, he didn’t know why he did half the things he did, but one thing was sure—he needed to get his own demons under control, and soon.
The next morning, the Pennsylvania Turnpike was busier than Dillon had ever seen it. Christmas was now history and the world was again on the move. Lines of trucks streamed along both east- and westbound lanes, and the commuters were grudgingly headed back to work. A light fog didn’t help matters any. He concentrated on the cars impatiently trying to make better time, and watched carefully to avoid being involved in a fender-bender or worse.
He took a sip of the motel coffee and glanced over at Ginger. She looked tired.
She smiled and shook her head. “Hurry up and wait. I don’t see how you can stand the traffic.”
“You get used to it but, boy, you can get yourself into trouble real quick if you stop paying attention.” He slowed down to let in a car squeeze in that seemed determined to take the upcoming exit ramp, whether there was room or not. “You sleep okay?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, sorta. I kept thinking about what all I have to do when I get back. At least I have a couple of days before Bud opens again.”
Dillon gave her a wicked smile. “You’ll be able to get that driver’s license.”
She nodded and gazed out the window. “A lot of good it’ll do me. I don’t have a car and I don’t know if I can afford to buy one yet, but I will eventually…I think I’ll go see the horses tomorrow. I’ve missed them.”
The miles rolled by with little conversation. Two strangers couldn’t have much to discuss, but Dillon hoped the coming months would change that.
Just south of Pittsburgh where the turnpike and Interstate 70 converged, the automobile traffic thinned a little and Dillon relaxed. The truckers were spaced well apart and the road was flat, so everyone stayed in their lane and took advantage of the clear, dry weather. Dillon checked every semi on the eastbound lanes, watching for the activity his buddy had mentioned. He saw one or two of the casket company trucks, but so far, nothing westbound. The line ahead slowed considerably as they approached the weigh station. Dillon pulled out and moved slowly past the line.
“Don’t you have to go in there?” asked Ginger.
“Nope, I have a PrePass® transponder. See that boom hanging over the highway up there? It has an electronic reader which picks up signals from my transponder. Saves me a lot of time when I don’t have to stop at the scales.”
“So, somewhere, there’s a record of every place you drive?”
He blinked. How observant. “Yes, now that you mention it.”
She shook her head. “Big Brother is watching, always watching. I don’t think anyone can hide from anything.”
Dillon bit his lip, holding back the obvious question. She was clearly more worried about her husband finding her than she was letting on. But why? If he was a drunk and a loser-type, he wouldn’t spend the time or money to track her down. Maybe there was something else going on here.
As his rig moved past the line of trucks heading up the weigh station ramp, he leaned forward and squinted at a truck up ahead. Stafford Casket Company. Bingo!
Ginger’s voice interrupted. “Huh, that casket company must do a lot of business. They seem to have about a zillion trucks.”
Dillon gave her a sharp look. “What do you mean?”
“I see them all the time going down that road behind the truck stop. I guess there must be a warehouse or something there. Or maybe a mortuary.”
Dillon struggled to keep from reacting strongly. “Could be. How often do you see them? Once a month?”
“Gosh no, probably more like once a week. That’s what I mean—they must be selling an awful lot of coffins.”
Stunned, Dillon stared at the road ahead. Could the whole thing be happening right there in Armpit, Illinois? Right under his nose? A big question was: did the truckers know what they were hauling, or was the operation being handled by a few insiders? It was unlikely the drivers were involved. Their only obligation was to pick up a load from Place A and deliver it to Place B in the shortest time possible. He watched the casket truck in the side-view mirror. It didn’t take the weigh station ramp, which meant it had an electronic pass. How convenient. No chance to be checked by inspectors.
Dillon eased back into the travel lane and thought about the next step. He glanced over at Ginger. If it hadn’t been for this trip, he would never have found out what she’d seen. Her innocent observation had just made his day.
Julia shifted in the seat, changing position, trying to get comfortable while sorting through her myriad thoughts. The past five days had opened her mind to several possibilities, not the least of which was finding a way to continue her unfinished business with Dillon. Warmth spread through her body at the memory of his embrace and she closed her eyes briefly, letting her mind enjoy him again. But her delight came to an abrupt halt as other, more serious, thoughts intruded. It might have been a mistake to fabricate the husband in Florida. It could complicate things if the time ever came when she would have to tell Dillon about her real flight from danger. Would he be angry at the double deception? Would it destroy whatever they might have going? Would he ever trust her after that? More importantly, would he ever tell her about his past? She glanced over at him. His jaw was set and his eyes stared straight ahead, but she could tell he was deep in thought. His reaction to the casket company truck was puzzling, to say the least. Why was he so interested in her comments? A cold lump settled into the pit of her stomach. She kept conveniently forgetting his connection to the law. Maybe he hadn’t retired. Maybe he was working u
ndercover. Maybe the casket trucks were a clue.
A large sign appeared on the side of the highway. Welcome to Illinois. Her heart sank and the familiar feeling of loneliness crept over her. In a couple of hours, she’d be saying goodbye and, somehow, it felt like it might be for good. Dillon was obviously disturbed by her problems, so if she really wanted to start over and include him in her new life, she’d have to get her act together. She’d made so many dumb mistakes during this charade. Why? Deep down on some level, did she want to fail? Had she subconsciously been setting herself up to be caught? She shook her head. Not really, but I haven’t been conscientious about the steps I’ve taken, haven’t followed the rules I memorized. Her lapses, though minor, had been simply the result of complacency. She’d lulled herself into a sense of security about her situation. She’d had no one to consider but herself. Until now. Rather than continue to live a lie and fear for her safety, she needed to either solidify her new identity and never look back, or face the past head-on and get her old life back. She glanced at Dillon. Where would he fit into her old life? She sighed deeply, overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness.
“You’re certainly quiet all of a sudden.”
Dillon’s smile was sympathetic. She met his gaze, then looked away quickly, afraid he might see the longing in her heart.
“I just don’t want this trip to end. I’ve felt like a new person the whole time. I’m not anxious to return to reality.”
“Hey, look at it this way. A new year, a new beginning. Once you face your problems and do something about them, you’ll be that new person again. Trust me.”
She managed a weak smile. “I do.”
In what seemed like only minutes, the final two hours of the trip vanished and the truck slowed to take the exit ramp. Julia’s anxiety grew and she struggled with her emotions, realizing she was on the verge of tears. She couldn’t be so weak in front of Dillon, not when the relationship was so new.
