by Lynn Turner
The promise was made casually, and yet he sounded completely serious, as if he took it for granted that they would be making more trips together. Abbie felt like crying. She smiled wanly, not trusting her voice.
A few miles later they came to another rest area. This one was deserted. Evidently no one else had been brave enough or foolhardy enough to press on this far. Abbie parked as close to the shelterhouse as possible. Mal rolled up the atlas and shoved it into her shoulder-bag, then they made a mad dash across the small lake that had formed in front of the building. They were both soaked to the skin by the time they ducked under the roof.
Abbie pushed her dripping hair back from her face, then took a look around. There were vending machines for soft drinks and snack foods, public restrooms, a couple of drinking fountains and that was it.
‘Not exactly the Ritz, but at least the roof doesn’t leak,’ Mal commented as he wandered over to a huge map of the state hanging on one wall. ‘According to this, we only have about twenty miles to go before we hit highway forty-eight. From there it’s just a hop, skip and a jump to I70.’
Abbie removed the road atlas from her shoulder-bag and opened it to the page for West Virginia. ‘Your hop, skip and a jump looks more like a hundred and ten or twenty miles to me,’ she said drily. ‘And a fairly long stretch of it’s only two-lane.’
She continued to study the atlas while Mal went to examine the vending machines. He returned a minute later with two cans of root beer and two bags of pretzels. Abbie rerolled the atlas and stuck it back in her bag to take one of each.
‘Join me for lunch?’ he invited, dropping down to sit on the floor, his back against the wall.
Her knee joints protested as she eased down beside him. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s almost six-thirty.’
‘OK, we’ll call it an early supper.’
Abbie hadn’t realised how hungry she was until she bit off half of the first pretzel. She made herself eat slowly, though. There was no telling how long it would be before they found an honest-to-goodness restaurant that served real food. By the time she’d finished the last salty crumb, the storm seemed to have diminished to a common, ordinary downpour.
When she returned from a trip to the ladies’ room, Mal was feeding change into the soft drink machine. There were several bags of pretzels and corn chips and half a dozen chocolate bars piled On top of it.
‘You must have been even hungrier than I was,’ she said in amusement.
He glanced around and grinned at her. ‘I decided we might as well stock up while we’ve got the chance. Do you have any quarters?’
She found room in her bag for four canned drinks and the chocolate bars. Mal stuffed the cellophane bags inside his shirt. When they were ready to dash back to the car, he requested the keys.
‘Do you need to get something out of the back?’ Abbie asked as she dug in the crowded shoulder-bag for the key-ring.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘I’m going to drive for a while.’
At first she thought he was kidding. By the time she realised he wasn’t, her hand was extended towards him, the key ring lying in the middle of her palm. She quickly closed her fingers around it.
‘You? Drive?’ She made each word a separate question, as if they had no business being part of the same sentence.
Mal looked slightly affronted. ‘It is my car,’ he reminded her.
‘I know it’s your car, but you admitted back at the farm that you’re the worst driver west of the Mississippi.’
‘Those were Deke’s words,’ he said impatiently. ‘I only admitted to being a lousy driver. The keys, Abigail.’
Abbie hesitated a moment, but the determined glint in his eyes suggested that if she didn’t give them to him he would take them. She handed them over reluctantly. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ she muttered. ‘I’m warning you, Garrett—if you drive us off the side of a mountain, I’ll never speak to you again.’
His blinding smile was an unexpected as the light kiss he dropped on the end of her nose. ‘Don’t be such a worrywart, darlin’. I haven’t driven off a mountain in ages.’
When they climbed back into the car, the windows were shrouded in a mist of condensation. Abbie unpacked the soft drinks and chocolate bars from her shoulder-bag, dumping everything on the floor behind her seat, and fished out an enormous wad of paper towels. Mal tossed the bags of pretzels and corn chips on top of the pile she’d made, then rebuttoned his shirt and adjusted the driver’s seat to accommodate his longer legs.
‘Where’d you get the towels?’ he asked in surprise.
‘From the ladies’ room.’
He shook his head, an affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his sensual mouth. ‘Beautiful, smart and practical. That settles it, Abigail. I’m going to have to keep you.’
Abbie felt as if a giant fist had her heart in a stranglehold. She blindly thrust a handful of towels at him as she turned away. ‘Here,’ she muttered. ‘You clear your side and I’ll clear mine.’
Mal took the towels without speaking. In fact, neither of them said anything for quite some time. Abbie was so miserable that she could summon neither the desire nor the energy to make idle conversation. The article she’d promised Roger was a burden she’d have given anything to be rid of. Her mood and the weather were in perfect harmony—gloomy and grey, with not a ray of sunshine in sight.’
She was so absorbed in her own unhappiness that she forgot to worry about Mal’s driving until they passed a sign alerting motorists that the junction for highway forty-eight was one mile ahead. At the same time, she noticed that the downpour had decreased to a drizzle.
‘The turn-off for forty-eight is coming up,’ she mentioned casually, trying to be tactful, not wanting to come right out and tell him that she would feel a lot more comfortable if he turned control of the car back over to her.
‘Mm-hmm,’ he murmured. ‘How about opening a can of root beer for me?’
Abbie twisted around to locate and retrieve one of the cans. ‘You know, you really, shouldn’t drink it while you’re driving. Why don’t you pull over and we’ll trade places for a while?’
He slanted her a drily amused look. ‘Stop worrying, Abigail. I haven’t driven us off the side of a mountain yet, have I?’
Abbie pulled the ring tab on the can and passed it to him along with a perturbed look. For the next hour she paid close attention to his driving. She didn’t observe anything to find fault with. In fact he seemed to be a very skilled, conscientious driver, always alert to conditions around him, yet completely relaxed. She fetched a can of lemonade for herself and sipped at it with a puzzled frown.
‘Why did you tell me you’re a lousy driver?’ Her tone made it as much an accusation as a question.
Mal shrugged. ‘Maybe lousy was the wrong word to use.’
‘Then what would be the right word?’
He thought a moment, his lips pursed. ‘Reckless, I suppose.’
Abbie’s gaze darted to the guard rail at the edge of the highway and the steep drop-off beyond it. ‘Reckless?’ she repeated, trying not to sound alarmed. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I tend to take too many unnecessary chances.’ His tone was so matter-of-fact that she glanced at him sharply, wondering if he was putting her on, trying to scare her just for the hell of it.
‘I guess it’s a holdover from my racing days,’ he added in the same offhand tone.
Abbie blinked in surprise. ‘You used to race cars?’ He was putting her on. He must be. Yet, now that she thought of it, he did have those helmets on a shelf in the garage …
‘In my wild, misspent youth,’ he confirmed. ‘Tony, Dave Southfield and I used to compete on the dirt-track circuit. They were both better drivers, so I compensated by being more aggressive, taking more risks.’
Abbie stole another glance out the window. Her mouth went dry. There were clouds below them. ‘You’re telling me this now, when you’re driving along an unfamiliar two-lane highway, in the ra
in, on top of a mountain, at—’ She leaned over to look at the speedometer and gave a horrified gasp. ‘We’re doing almost sixty-five!’
Mal laughed softly. ‘Calm down. The rain’s almost stopped and there’s no traffic to speak of. Besides, I didn’t complain when you were whizzing along at ninety, did I?’
‘We were on a four-lane interstate highway then,’ she retorted. ‘And I have never been accused of being a reckless driver. Never!’
‘Believe me, darlin’, I have no intention of endangering either of us,’ Mal assured her. ‘I’ve considered the weather and the condition of the road surface and I know how this car responds. Our speed is well below the maximum safe limit.’ He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I’m carrying a very special passenger, whose health and safety I’m not about to risk just to win a stupid race.’
The warm sincerity in both his voice and his gaze soothed Abbie’s anxiety and at the same time made her want to crawl under her seat and curl up in shame. He thought she was ‘special’. What a laugh. She couldn’t bear to think about what his opinion of her would be when he learned the truth.
They reached I70 without having glimpsed a single white Sable all day. Mal had Abbie take a flashlight out of the glove compartment and consult the atlas to find out how far they were from the interchange for I270, which led directly to Washington.
‘It’s another fifty-two miles,’ she said as she bent over the map. ‘And from there about thirty more to the beltway around the city.’
‘There should be at least one motel close to the interchange,’ Mal said. ‘We can stop there for the night and zip on down to DC early tomorrow morning.’
As it happened, there were several motels near the interchange. Mal chose another Holiday Inn, for sentimental reasons, he said. This time he requested a double room. Abbie couldn’t summon the strength to deny herself one more night in his arms, even though she knew it would make his inevitable rejection even more painful. She would store up as many memories as she could tonight, and try very hard not to think about what tomorrow would bring.
‘Do you like pizza?’ Mal asked as he carried in their luggage.
She stopped in the middle of a joint-popping stretch to look at him in surprise. ‘Sure. Doesn’t everybody?’
He put the bags in the wardrobe as he had the night before. ‘I saw a Noble Roman’s down the road. How ‘bout if I go pick up a pizza and we eat it here?’
‘Fine,’ Abbie murmured as she stifled a yawn.
‘Are you sure? Because if you were looking forward to a sit-down meal in a nice restaurant, we can do that.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m too bushed to go out. Pizza sounds great, really. A large pizza—Italian sausage and mushrooms, with extra peppers.’
‘You got it.’ He flashed a dazzling smile and started for the door, then suddenly stopped and turned back. His smile was no longer in evidence. ‘There’s something I want you to think about while I’m gone,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve dropped some pretty broad hints today, most of which you’ve done a jim-dandy job of ignoring.’
He didn’t have to be more specific. Abbie knew exactly what ‘hints’ he referred to. His words whispered through her mind as she maintained a precarious balance between hope and dread.
You’re gonna make some man a dandy little wife … You’re looking at one … Next time we make a trip like this … I’m going to have to keep you …
She stared at him helplessly, not knowing how to respond.
‘It finally dawned on me that maybe I wasn’t getting the reaction I wanted because I was using the wrong approach,’ he went on with a wry smile. ‘You’re a lady who says what’s on her mind. No doubt you expect the same kind of honesty from a man. OK, no more beating around the bush.’
He paused, gazing at her with solemn intensity. ‘I’ve fallen in love with you, Abigail Prudence Kincaid, and I think—I hope—you feel the same way about me.’
Abbie made an involuntary sound that was part joy and part despair.
‘No, don’t say anything!’ Mal ordered. ‘Just hear me out. When I go back to Oklahoma, I want you to come with me. I know you’re a liberated, independent woman and I realise we’ll both have to do some compromising, but I think we can make it work. I’m not asking for a long-term commitment. Not yet, anyway. You’re not ready for that, and God knows I don’t want to scare you off. Just think about it, that’s all I ask. I don’t want your answer until after this business with Roxie is finished. That gives you till noon tomorrow to decide.’
He turned and walked out without another word, leaving a pale and shaken Abbie standing in the middle of the room, staring dazedly at the door he’d closed behind him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next half-hour was the longest of Abbie’s life. It had taken her less than a minute to realise that she had to come clean and tell Mal everything. That had been the easy part. It was the waiting for him to return so she could get it over with, and the fearful anticipation of his reaction, that made the remaining twenty-nine minutes seem like twenty-nine hours. By the time she heard the distinctive growl of the Shelby’s engine she had chewed her fingernails to the quick and eaten six antacid tablets.
Expecting him to use the room key, she was surprised when he knocked instead. She hurried to open the door and immediately saw why he hadn’t let himself in. In addition to a large cardboard pizza box, he was holding a two-litre bottle of Coke and the oversized Sunday edition of a newspaper. He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose and then carried everything to the desk, glancing at her nails in surprise as she inspected the pizza inside the carton.
‘I didn’t know you bit your nails?’
‘There’s a lot about me you don’t know,’ she muttered as she closed the door.
Mal pulled a bunch of paper napkins out of his hip pocket and laid them on top of the pizza box. ‘No doubt,’ he said mildly. ‘Just as there are things about me that you don’t know. Darn, I forgot to ask for cups. Would you get a couple of those plastic glasses from the bathroom?’
‘Sure,’ Abbie murmured. When she got into the bathroom, she faced her own reflection in the mirror. Her shoulders drooped. She looked like something the cat had dragged in, her hair a matted snarl of curls framing a wan, drawn face in which the only feature with any life was a pair of apprehensive blue-green eyes.
She looked awful. The only time she’d ever looked worse was the winter she’d been flat on her back with the ‘flu for two weeks. The prospect of spending the night with her should have sent any sane man running for the hills. And yet thirty minutes ago Mal had looked her square in the eyes and told her he’d fallen in love with her and wanted her to come back to Oklahoma with him. Malachi Garrett, the same man who had admitted that he distrusted all women—and for good reason—had actually said those things to her.
For the first time since he walked out the door, she let herself hope that he just might love her enough to forgive her deceit. Perhaps not right away, but in time. And she could wait, for however long it took. He was a man worth waiting for.
She squared her shoulders, picked up two of the small plastic glasses and went to make her confession. Mal was sitting on the bed, a section of the newspaper lying across his lap. He looked up, straight into her eyes, his expression solemn.
‘There’s a story on the front page that caught my eye while I was waiting for the pizza. I think you should read it.’
He spoke softly, his voice curiously devoid of emotion. Abbie’s heart seemed to skip a beat, then started thudding heavily. She set the glasses on the desk and took the newspaper from his outstretched hand.
She found the story he meant right away. The headline read ‘Experimental Engine Test Fails’; the dateline was Morgantown, West Virginia. As she scanned the sort, two-columned story a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. She sank down beside Mal, scarcely daring to believe what she was reading. When she reached the end of the second column, she turned to face him.
His intent
, slightly sombre gaze remained focused on her as he sat stiffly upright on the edge of the mattress. The twin creases between his eyebrows had reappeared and there was a film of perspiration on his upper lip. Abbie knew that if she touched him his muscles would be bunched with tension. He seemed … nervous was the first word that came to mind. The idea was so ludicrous that she dismissed it at once.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said unexpectedly.
Abbie shook her head in confusion. ‘Why should you be sorry? According to this, Roxanne’s engine gave up the ghost somewhere in the mountains of West Virginia. You’ve won, Garrett! You should be thrilled.’
Mal nodded once, brusquely. ‘Of course I’m pleased.’
‘You don’t look like it,’ Abbie said bluntly. ‘You look like you just got a notice that your tax return is being audited. What is it? Did I miss something?’ She bent over the paper again and began to reread the story.
‘Aren’t you upset?’ Mal demanded. He sounded as if he thought she should be. ‘I’m sure as hell upset.’
She lifted her head to give him a baffled frown. ‘Upset about what?’
‘That newspaper story, of course,’ he said impatiently. ‘By now all the media have probably picked it up. Chances are that every reporter in Washington will be waiting for us in front of the Capitol Building tomorrow morning.’
Abbie felt as if someone had whacked her in the centre of the chest with a sledge-hammer. Of course. How could she have forgotten his antagonism towards the Press?
He was angry because somehow the story had been leaked, probably by Roxanne. By tomorrow evening his name and face would be on the front page of every major eastern newspaper. Including the Post.
The hope she had allowed to blossom just minutes before withered and died, to be replaced by a cold, hard knot of dread. ‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Mal didn’t appear to have heard. He stood up and took three restless paces, then spun back to face her, whipped his cap off his head and slapped it against his thigh. ‘Damn, she’s ruined everything! I don’t understand how you can sit there and take this so calmly.’
