WILD RIDE

by Jones, Juliette

  And luck was on my side, at least for now. The car had issues, that was obvious enough, but at least it was still propelling me in a forward direction. Which it continued to do for another fifty or so miles.

  But then it happened. Just, in fact, as I was rolling across the Texas border. Welcome to Texas! rolled past at a sickeningly diminishing speed.

  I had no choice but to pull over on to the dusty shoulder of the highway as my car came to a smoking and very final stop.

  Chapter Three

  I was glad for the shade the Welcome to Texas! sign offered me. The situation wasn’t great but things weren’t all bad. Firstly, I was out of Oklahoma, across an entire border from my past and my disappointments. Second, I had shade and was thankful I’d worn the cool, thin, very-short cotton dress. I had a hat and sunglasses. The temperature even in the shade must have been a hundred degrees or more. But I had water and a bottle of liquid courage to my name. I’d had to eat the chocolate before it melted so I was out of food, but that didn’t worry me. This was a main thoroughfare; other people would drive by sooner rather than later, I guessed, and I’d hitch a ride to the next town. From there, I’d figure things out.

  I put my few belongings into a small red suitcase I found in the trunk. The car could lie there and rust for the next hundred years for all I cared. I would never come back for it.

  And so I sat in the shade and waited for a ride, sipping on water and occasionally whiskey, watching the path of the sun across the blue-white sky. I might have sat there twenty minutes, or less, when I saw the first tiny glimmer of sunlight on chrome along the horizon. Placing my small bag behind me, I stuck out my thumb and hoped for the best. I’d never hitch-hiked before, since I’d never had anywhere to go until now, but it wasn’t difficult. And a second car followed a mile or so behind the first, I could now see. A red one. If the first car didn’t stop, hopefully the second one would.

  The first car, an older-model white Pontiac sedan, slowed. The driver was a man, probably about thirty. His look matched his car: cheap and borderline nasty. He rolled down his window as he pulled to a stop and removed his sunglasses to get a better look at me. My pulse fired up with the warning bells ringing behind my psyche, but I couldn’t afford to be overly choosy. I was as desperate as desperate gets.

  “Howdy, there, sweetheart. You lookin’ for a ride?” He was staring at my breasts and his eyes dipped to the tops of my thighs, where the high hem of my dress covered me sheerly. Maybe this outfit choice wasn’t so ideal, after all. He smiled but it came across as more of a lecherous sneer. Don’t get in that car, some internal voice was screaming at me.

  Genuine alarm iced through my veins, cooling me a degree. “Actually,” I heard myself say, “I’m waiting for someone. My boyfriend. I called him and he’s on his way.”

  The man looked at my face, as though reading my lie. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. I’ll drive you back that way, if you want. Until we see him. We can flag him down. You need to get out of that hot sun. It’s all nice and air conditioned in here. Come on.”

  The second car approached, slowing as it passed. A red convertible Mustang with the top down. Two men wearing cowboy hats and aviator sunglasses were looking at me, assessing the scene. It might have been the car, or the fight-or-flight instinct, or a combination of both, but I snatched up my bag and ran towards the Mustang. “There he is! Thanks!” I yelled to the Pontiac driver as I waved my hand, hoping frantically that the cowboys would tune in to my desperation. Who even knew? They might be far worse than the first driver, but all I had to guide me was my own beating heart, and what I wanted more than anything at that moment was to get into that convertible and drive at top speeds in a southward direction, leaving Cal, Oklahoma and Mr. Pontiac in the dust.

  The Mustang, thank God, slowed and I ran up to the driver’s side, breathing heavily. In an unthinking gesture, I placed my hand on the door, as though to keep them there. “Excuse me, but I’m having some car trouble and I need a ride to the next town, if you don’t mind,” I said. As I stood there, waiting for their answer, I could see that they were exceptionally good-looking men. Amazingly good-looking men, in fact. Strapping and wholesome, somehow, like they’d spent their lives running around football fields or swimming in pristine, glittering swimming pools. The driver was dark-haired, the bigger of the two, and the passenger was blond; sun-lightened, straw-colored flicks stuck out from under his well-worn black cowboy hat.

  The blond man smiled widely, revealing a flash of white teeth. “Sure thing, sugar,” he said in a strong Texas drawl. “We don’t mind at all, do we, Nate? The more the merrier.”

  Nate, the dark-haired driver, didn’t reply. His eyes, barely visible through his reflective sunglasses, assessed my face, my hair, my dress. Then he gave the slightest nod, dipping his chin in a barely-there invitation.

  “Climb on in,” the blond cowboy said, his voice deep and resonant yet edged with friendliness. “You need a hand with that bag?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” Beyond grateful that these god-like Mustang-driving quarterbacks had shown up exactly when I’d needed them, I threw my bag into the back seat and climbed aboard. Even if they turned out to be murderous psychopaths, the ride itself was worth the uncertainty. The cool, plush, soft leather seat felt like heaven on earth.

  “Who’s that?” the blond man said, flicking his thumb at the Pontiac, which was now pulling back out onto the highway. The Pontiac driver glared at me, clear disappointment written all over his pale, doughy face.

  “Some extremely creepy guy whose car I really didn’t want to get into,” I said, adding, “Thank you so much. Really. I appreciate the ride more than I can say. If you hadn’t turned up when you did, I just don’t know …” This was some crazy sort of day. I realized I was tearing up with gratitude, with relief, with something that might have been happiness. Or a very mellow near-drunkenness spiked with hope. And a warmth that hummed within me that was new. I couldn’t define it and I didn’t want to. Maybe it was Texas. Maybe this was what life in Texas felt like. I decided I liked Texas. “Anyway, thank you for stopping.”

  The blond man looked mildly disarmed by my tears. He took off his sunglasses and his expression was riveted and concerned. With his blond, white-tipped hair and his dark-skinned, blue-eyed look, he was absolutely stunning. All I could do was stare at the rugged, golden beauty of him with rapt wonder. He reached out to touch my arm with his warm palm in a soothing, calming touch that fed the slow burn in my low stomach. The whiskey, maybe, taking effect. “Hey, it’s all right. We’ll take you wherever you need to go. Don’t worry about anything. We’ll stop at a garage and get your car towed.”

  I couldn’t help smiling at him. For some reason, I wanted to reassure him, to erase that concern and replace it with his sunny smile. I took off my sunglasses, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. “I won’t be needing a tow truck. I think that car has found its final resting place. To tell you the truth, I’m glad to be rid of it.” If anyone did follow me, or trace my path, they would have no further clues than a useless, empty pile of rust and forgotten, wind-dusted memories.

  With that, Nate pulled out onto the road, saying nothing. But our gazes met in the rear-view mirror for a split-second and it was a look charged with too many layers to name. This dark cowboy, I guessed, aside from his ridiculously-sculpted build and aloof silence, was a complex character. I found myself looking forward to some time on the road with him, to see what he might say. And to see if our eyes might meet again, to spark that Texas warmth that was simmering its slow heat within me just a little more insistently.

  The blond man’s palm was still on my skin, and he removed it, only to hold his hand out to me, as an introduction. “The name’s Riley. Riley Walker. This is my cousin, Nate Walker.”

  I took Riley’s hand, grasping it lightly. “It’s very nice to meet you Riley. And Nate. I’m Lacey. Lacey Callihan.”

  “Lacey. That’s a very pretty name,” Riley said. His gr
asp was strong, but gentle. It made me picture Riley as a boy, being taught by a strapping blond football coach father how to shake hands with conviction, with strength. This was the handshake of a young, upright American man with the edge of a wildchild. The football-mad father would have had some trouble with this one; Riley, at sixteen, would have shown up on time for football practice – it would have been sacrilegious not to – but would have snuck out the window after dark to party until dawn with a mixture not only of jocks and preppies but of darker types and fringe-dwellers. Of moody rebels and edgy romantics. I liked how Riley’s sun-golded hair clashed lightly with the unruliness in him. I might have been wrong but it was a first impression that stuck with me. Riley, like Nate, was more complex than good looks. Strangely, it was these complexities in my new escorts that intrigued me as much as the picture perfection of their wind-blown hair, their Adonis-like features, their wide shoulders.

  We were on the open road now, driving fast. Easily overtaking the Pontiac. Riley gave the guy the finger as we drove past which made me laugh.

  I’d never ridden in a convertible before but I’d seen on TV and in movies that people who rode in convertibles often looked wildly disheveled, and I remember wondering if the open air could be irritating, blowing heavily like that. This car was the latest model and had been engineered to bypass all that. Something about the aerodynamics made the ride incredibly comfortable: lightly breezy in the hot afternoon sun but not enough wind to mess up my hair, ruffle my hat or muffle the sound of Riley’s voice as he spoke to me.

  “What happened to your face?” Riley asked gently. At his question, Nate glanced once again in the rear-view mirror, causing my stomach to lurch in a soft, oddly-pleasurable curl. That heat again. That Texas heat that hit me right below my navel.

  I held my hands up to my face, feeling the lingering pain as my fingertips touched my lightly-swollen cheekbone. I’d forgotten. The bruise.

  “I …” Not sure whether to be honest or to make something up, I decided to just tell it like it was. God knew it hardly mattered if they knew my pathetic history. They’d be dropping me off at the next dead-end town to promptly disappear into a gilded sunset. “I had a little run-in with my boyfriend’s fist. My ex-boyfriend’s fist,” I corrected. “So I left him. For good.”

  “He hit you?” Riley asked.

  “Yeah. Right after he stole all my money.”

  Riley eyed me and shook his head a little. “Shit. What an asshole.”

  I might have imagined it but it seemed to me that Nate’s grip on the steering wheel tightened a little. From what I could see of his face in the rear-view mirror, he looked pissed off. And I had to admit I liked their reaction to my pitiful story. These hunky saviors were mildly ruffled by the thought of someone hitting a woman like that. Of someone hitting me.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I hope I never see him again as long as I live. That’s why I skipped town. It was time. Overdue, in fact.”

  “Where’d you come from?” Riley asked. Obviously the far more out-spoken of the two men, Riley had an easy, conversational vibe about him I appreciated. As much as the brooding, gorgeous silent type like Nate was to be admired, I was thankful for Riley’s lightness. I couldn’t imagine traveling alone with Nate. The silence, spliced perfectly with Riley’s easy-going extrovert manner, worked. By itself, Nate’s intensity might have been uncomfortable. Almost threatening, even, with his tight grip and those huge sun-tanned muscles.

  “Tulsa,” I said.

  “And where’re you headed?”

  “Austin.” After a minute, I said, “What about you?”

  “Houston.” This was not especially welcome information. We weren’t too far from Plano, and once we hit Dallas – if they were even willing to take me that far – the road for Houston ran southeast; the road to Austin ran southwest. But then Riley said, “But we have to stop in Dallas for a night or two. Got some clients to meet up with.”

  “Oh.” A beat, and Riley’s eyes met mine and held. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d blushed or even had a need to, but I felt the light set of his gaze in a whole lot of unusual places. “So what do you guys do in Houston?”

  “We run an Internet business and do some property management, and Nate here manages a couple of investment portfolios as well. On his way to the big leagues, this boy. Bought this car with cash just last week, isn’t that right, Nate?”

  Nate gave an off-hand, “Yup.”

  “You two wouldn’t happen to be quarterbacks by any chance, would you?”

  “How’d you know?” Riley said. “Nate here was first string for two years in Sugar Land, and I was first string for two years after he graduated.”

  I couldn’t help laughing lightly at that, that my hunch was so dead-on. “I thought so.” There was something so purely alpha written all over them. It just seemed like a given that they’d be quarterbacks and valedictorians and student body presidents and Most Likely to Succeed types. Not to mention Most Likely to Get Laid types.

  “And what is it the lovely Lacey Callihan does in Tulsa?” Riley asked me. The casual compliment quietly charmed me. Maybe it was the white-blue-bronze hues of his teeth and his eyes and his hair, or that mischievous aura he gave off. I found myself savoring the presence of not only Riley Walker but his silent, darkly gorgeous cousin as an unfamiliar craving. It felt almost like hunger, or thirst, yet different altogether.

  “Well, not a damn thing, anymore,” I said. “I was a waitress. Doesn’t look like I’ll make it to work today, though, does it? I kind of made a split-second decision this morning. I’m headed to Austin to enroll in college and study my way up the corporate ladder, or something.” I’d already decided I would study business, if this little pipedream of mine actually worked out. I fantasized that my time, one day, would actually be worth something. That my skills would be bigger than whether or not I sloshed flat Budweiser onto a customer, or how good my ass looked in a pair of Daisy Dukes.

  “Good for you,” Riley said. “Hey, there’s beer in that cooler down by your feet. Help yourself, if you want. And grab me one too, while you’re at it. Nate, you want a beer?”

  “I have whiskey, too,” I offered, pulling the bottle out of my bag. “I, uh, I thought it might come in handy along the way.” I felt a little foolish. If I hadn’t already drunk several fingers of said whiskey within the past hour, I probably would have felt even more foolish. But then again, it was pretty obvious I’d had a bitch of day. They could hardly begrudge me for that.

  But then Nate said, in his deep molasses drawl, “Pass it on up.”

  I took a long sip of the warm, fiery liquid, then I reached forward to pass it to Nate. Riley intercepted it, taking several swallows, then handed it to his cousin. I passed two cold beers to Riley, which he opened then placed in the cup holders between the front seats. I opened mine, and drank thirstily. It might have been the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted. Usually, I never drank. Today was different. I was twenty-one, destitute, single and on the road with two exceptionally sexy strangers. And, despite the sweet breeze that whirled around my bare shoulders and lightly-tanned arms, I was hot, sweaty, and dehydrated. I ended up drinking the whole damn thing.

  “There’s plenty more where that came from,” Riley said, his smile relaxed, subdued. “Sounds like you’ve had a hell of a day.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “And you know what? Today’s my birthday. Some birthday, right? My boyfriend beats me up and then my car breaks down.”

  Riley’s blue eyes darkened again when I reminded him of that, but the fire burned low. I felt that kick-start again when his lips curled in a lazy smirk as he took another sip of his beer. Damn, he was good-looking. Dazzling. “Well, darlin’, you’re luck’s just changed, thanks to me and old Nate here. We’re gonna put you up in Dallas for the night. Consider it a birthday present.” He sipped from his beer can again, and I watched in mute fascination, despite myself, as a bead of condensation dripped down his lightly-stubbled jaw, down the corded c
urve of his bronzed neck. “Unless you’re in a hurry, that is.”

  I stared at him. The alcohol was really starting to hit my system now, and the effect was pleasurably mellow and spiked with a languid recklessness. I felt the sun on my skin. “No hurry,” I said softly. “That’s, uh … awfully nice of you. But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “No imposition whatsoever. We wouldn’t be honorable Texans if we left a pretty lady like yourself alone and broke on the side of the road, now, would we? And especially on your birthday. Isn’t that right, Nate?”

  Nate took a sip of his beer and didn’t immediately answer. His gaze drew back to the rear-view mirror. I couldn’t see his eyes through his sunglasses but I could feel his contemplation. Hotly. Right there in the most personal place imaginable. “Sure is,” he finally said. I found I liked the sound of Nate’s voice: deep, slightly rasped, unequivocally masculine.

  “Happy birthday,” Riley said, grinning widely.

  “I … thank you. But, are you sure? I mean, I wouldn’t want you to –”

  “We’re sure,” Riley said. “We’ll be stopping at a hotel once we get to Dallas. Booked it yesterday. The presidential suite, no less. You’ll want your own room, of course. To wind down. Or wind up. Whatever turns you on.”

  Whatever turns you on. I didn’t even want to think about what was turning me on at that exact moment. This was one crazy day. And I had a feeling the extent of it had barely begun. “Well, that’s really … so nice. I don’t know how to thank y’all.”

  “No need, darlin’. Pass me another one of those beers, would ya?” Riley said, having already chugged his first. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Well, how ‘bout that,” Riley smiled. “We can serve you another beer, in that case. Go on, help yourself.”

  The afternoon sun grew hotter, my inhibitions grew looser and the cowboy-strangers’ appeal only seemed to amplify as the miles sped by in a vision of quivering, heat-infused expansiveness. Knowing that I had a place to stay tonight that would be cool, safe and more luxurious than anything I’d seen in a long time, or maybe ever, and that I’d be bunking with the two of them – in my own room, of course – did nothing to tone down my appreciation of their astoundingly good looks. The dark locks of Nate’s hair against his bronzed neck. The light mist of sweat at the base of Riley’s rosewood-hued throat and the soft-red color of his lips as he smiled. I felt these details in that low-burning ache that stirred something deep within me. Awakening me.