Late to the Wedding Page 6

  “You called me Brian,” he said, keeping his gaze trained on the headlight’s path. “Back at the barn, I mean.”

  Her cheeks flushed, a wave of confusion inspired by his sudden switch from smart aleck to inquisitive. “That was different. I thought you were being slaughtered by a bloodthirsty psycho.” Automatically, she began to sort the glove box’s contents into little piles organized by shape and size.

  “Don’t be so sentimental,” he joked, an uncharacteristic fluster in his voice. Glancing in her direction, he quirked a brow over the compartment’s on-going reconstruction. “And don’t waste your time on useless projects. Trust me, it won’t last. ”

  She ignored the warning, bundling pens together with a rubber band and folding handkerchiefs in a neat stack. Her ears perked up a second later as the car’s old speaker system crackled to life with the strains of classic rock n’ roll. “I thought the radio was banned,” she said. “All that stuff about stations fading in and out of range.”

  “I changed my mind.” His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as the beginning notes of Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” played. “Here’s one for you, Evelyn–something to commemorate the good times back at the farmhouse.”

  Arrogant jerk. She snapped it off, irritated by the joke and especially by the familiar use of her name. The intimate term implying they were friends, or at least something more than two people sharing a weekend car ride for business purposes.

  “I don’t want the radio distracting you,” she explained, slipping the last of the glove compartment’s contents back in place. “We need to cross the Virginia border tonight if we’re going to make the deadline. A matter that your final payment hinges on, if you’ll think back to our agreement.”

  His jaw tightened, his anger easy to read even in the moon light. Probably he was torn between telling her off and doing whatever it took to secure that extra bit of cash. The battle between pride and greed ceasing with a defeated shrug of his shoulders. “Whatever you say.”

  Silence reigned as the car’s digital clock counted off the next several hours. The only conversation exchanged being of the necessary kind, with Evelyn unfolding a map to locate the next shortcut or branch of roads connecting back to the highway. Or Brian informing her rather pointedly that they were stopping for more gasoline–even waking her up once, just to assure her they wouldn’t be running out again.

  In between, she arranged and rearranged her blanket against the window, wishing she’d thought to squeeze a pillow inside her carry on bag. Her head jolting against the glass every time they switched from pavement to rough gravel.

  In her dreams, she was smiling into Jared's eyes, seeing that impulsive glint in their depths that so many times before had gotten them into relationship trouble. The twitch of a smile on his lips before he rushed headlong into some impetuous move–even the merest hint of it caused her to freeze, to steel herself against the consequences, to resist his direction.

  But not anymore. Now she would give anything to see that glint again and find a way to rush headlong into his schemes, or into the arms of her perfect match.

  Around five a.m., her sleep-deprived vision registered a sign welcoming them to the state of Virginia. They drove on through business districts and residential sections, the city lights gradually fading to make way for yet more fields and farmland. It was somewhere along this lonely stretch, just outside a pasture gate, that the Sedan creaked to a slow stop.

  “Are we out of gas again?” Evelyn asked, sitting up in a panic to check the gauge.

  “Nope,” said Brian, pulling the keys from the ignition. “We’re getting some sleep. You can have the backseat and the blanket. I’m a pro at this, having roughed it a couple times between apartments.”

  She stared, her tired brain struggling to form a comeback. “This isn’t part of the deal–”

  “You said we had to make Virginia tonight,” he reasoned. “And we did, so now we’re taking a break. Unless, of course, you’d prefer that I drive in my sleep.”

  “Then let me do it,” she said, reaching for the keys.

  He shook his head, slipping them inside his jeans pocket. “It’s my car, my rules, remember? And the number one rule is that only I can drive. So shut up and climb into the back, if you don’t mind. ”

  "But we're losing time," she pleaded. "Please, I'm the one paying–"

  "And I'm the one driving. The only way we're gonna get there is if I get some sleep," he answered.

  He met her eyes with a tough gaze, a vein of stubbornness in those dark orbs. She faced off with him for a moment before weakening, her eyes moving away reluctantly. Aware that a blush was creeping towards her cheeks for reasons she couldn't define.

  "I wish you'd reconsider," she began, not willing to give up.

  "No chance of that," he grunted. "Now, goodnight–or good morning– Miss Chase."

  Crossing his arms, he slumped back in the seat, eyes closed. Something in his attitude suggested that her pleas were worthless, probably even if she threatened to subtract some of the final payment from their deal.

  So instead, she gathered up the blanket and crawled over the seats without another word.

  Chapter Eight

  Evelyn woke to daylight and the smell of cattle. Groggily propping herself onto one elbow, she surveyed the scene now taking place mere feet from the ramshackle Sedan. A parade of slow-moving trucks, most with horse and cattle trailers hitched to the back. Row after row of noisy, stomping livestock.

  “Oh, no.” She kicked the back of the driver’s seat with her bare foot, until faint moaning sounds told her the occupant had woken up. “Brian, get up! We’re trapped–you’ve parked us next to some kind of rodeo procession or something.”

  A hand appeared, followed shortly by the rest of Brian’s lean form. His hair even more rumpled than usual, his jaw stubble turning to the shadow of a beard overnight. With a leisurely stretch, he surveyed the line of farm vehicles blocking their exit. “And here I thought we were safely ensconced in the middle of nowhere," he said, sounding impressed. "Looks like we took a wrong turn, huh?”

  “Well you have to get us out of here. Now.” She scrambled into the front seat, her feet still bare. Her hair was a tangled mess, her makeup smudged, judging from the brief glimpse in the rear view mirror. “There’s dozens of them–where on earth can they be going?”

  “Who knows? Maybe an auction of some kind.” Yawning, he checked his wrist watch. “Three hours sleep. I knew there was a reason I felt like an anvil was tied round my neck.”

  She combed frantic fingers through her hair, her gaze scanning the horizon for a break in the traffic. After all they’d been through yesterday, she had no plans of letting a little traffic jam get the best of her. “Great job choosing a place to sleep,” she couldn’t help sniping. “I knew we should have kept driving all night.”

  “By ‘we’, you mean ‘me’, remember? And don't start again about you borrowing my keys, because I couldn’t help noticing the way you dozed off every few minutes.”

  “My offer to drive was reasonable,” she replied, struggling to apply a fresh coat of lipstick with the aid of her now rather dusty compact. “It’s not as if you’ve done such a stellar job. I mean, you’ve already caused a pile-up and let us run out of gasoline. I’d say that kind of behavior points to some kind of concentration issues.”

  He ignored this latest jibe, instead digging though his jeans pockets until he located the car keys. The engine sputtered to life after a few coughs, the air from the vents a moist heat to match the temperature outside.

  “We could have been half-way to Tennessee by now, or maybe even the Alabama state line.” Her voice cracked, a mixture of frustration and fatigue. What was Jared doing right now, with less than forty-eight hours until his wedding? She pictured him writing his vows–with lots of wadded up paper and crossed through sentences. Or maybe touring the local establishment, hand in hand with some girl who received a smile of polite affection from him
every now and then. Maybe attending a luncheon where his friends and family beamed proudly at the soon-to-be couple, oblivious to his secret regret.

  “Hey, look at this,” said Brian, shifting the car into gear “We may catch an opening after these next couple trucks.”

  Evelyn crossed her fingers as the two vehicles poked towards them, muttering encouragements under breath like a spell. Brian was poised with patience, his foot barely touching the gas.

  “Go, go, go,” she said, reaching for the steering wheel, her bare foot sliding on top of Brian’s as it pressed the gas pedal. They tore onto the road with seconds to spare, breaks squealing as they caught up to the traffic ahead of them.

  “Are you completely nuts?” Brian snapped, his head jerking angrily in her direction, revealing jaw muscles tensing furiously. “Oh, what am I saying–of course you are. That’s the whole reason we’re doing this.” He whipped his gaze towards the road again and the car dropped back a few inches from the dusty tailgate ahead, a forlorn-looking cow gazing through the trailer's gate.

  Behind them, a battered pickup carried a load of crates strapped to the bed, the sound of frantic squawking and cackling from each one. Feathers drifted into the air periodically.

  She jerked her eyes away from the mirror, trying not to imagine a gaggle of poultry spilling over their car if they got crushed like an accordion between these two vehicles. Right now, they were lucky to be back on the road, with her finally exercising a little control in this uneven game of tug-of-war with the car driver at her elbow. Maybe Mr. Stoker was finally desperate enough to earn that fee for his culinary classes or whatever budding chefs take.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Brian, his fingers thumping against the steering wheel impatiently. “I feel like we’re in the middle of a funeral procession or something.”

  “They're turning.” She craned her neck to see around the cow trailer. “Yes, I see it now. They’re turning where it says ‘Baker County Fairgrounds’ or something like that.” Her heart rose with excitement, then plunged again as Brian flicked the turn signal. “What–why are you turning with them?”

  “Because we’re not supposed to be in Baker County, which means we're off-route. I don't even remember where it was on the map. So let's get directions from someone who knows where they're going, rather than trust someone who wrestles with the concepts of back roads and shortcuts.”

  His remark stung, although his point made sense. "Of course," she said, "if we'd stuck to the interstate like I suggested–"

  "Forget it," he answered. He pulled into a grassy field next to the forlorn cow's trailer and shifted into park. On the other side, an old Ford pickup eased in next to them, its bed brimming with crates of baby pigs. Their tiny grunts and squeals filled the air, along with a chorus of horse and cattle protests. A real version of "Old MacDonald," she supposed, pressing her hands over her ears as a mule bellowed from one of the parked trailers.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” Brian said. Hands tucked in his pockets, he breezed forward through the crowds of grunting farmers struggling with livestock and children peering excitedly through crates of wire to view rabbits and chickens within. Evelyn trailed along behind him, moving towards the circus-style tent ruffling in the morning breeze.

  "Watch where you step," he called back. Her vision shifted downwards, seeing clumps of soft brown patties every few feet. Wet oatmeal cookies, she thought, for a split second, before realizing what they were in actuality.

  "Ugh," she moaned. "Animals..." Evelyn's last pet had been a fish in a tank, although Jared more than once admitted a desire to someday have a house full of dogs. Hadn't he once let a Labrador lick cereal off his own spoon?

  "Brian," she called, forgetting the propriety between them as she tried to catch up in this minefield of cow bombs. To her surprise, he slowed down and waited. In his dark eyes was something she couldn't fathom, shrouded by a pair of heavy brows as he kept his gaze downcast.

  “It'll take five at the most, and then we’ll drive straight through," he said, taking her elbow and escorting her through the tent flaps. "Scout’s Honor on this one.”

  "Were you a Scout?" she asked, as he let the tent flap close behind them.

  "Who, me?" he answered. "I never got past Cub status." Ahead of them, more animals were honking and squealing. A pair of geese were corralled for display, along with a big turkey and a crate of noisy mallard ducks. A teenage boy brushed the coat of a calf inside a makeshift pen, while a middle-aged man poured feed in its trough. A frizzy-haired woman who was busy organizing a brochure display paused to offer Brian and Evelyn a bright smile.

  “Hello, there! Are you setting up for the fair?”

  They exchanged glances, Brian pulling the crumpled road map from his pocket. “Uh, no…actually we’re a little lost. We’re trying to get back to the highway. ”

  “Oh, well, that’s Mick’s, department,” she said, glancing towards the older man. “My husband used to be a line worker before farming, so he knows all the little tricks and shortcuts to county roads. Don’t you Mick?” she called with a good-natured laugh.

  Mick dropped his feed sack by the pen as he strolled over for a look at the map. “You’re way off,” he declared, shaking his head. “The easiest way to loop back on the main road's this…” he trailed off, his fingers rummaging for a pen amongst the piles of brochures and flyers at the display table.

  Evelyn's nervous smile began to droop. Five minutes nothing. Her unhappiness failed to catch Brian’s notice as he watched the map, but the farmer’s wife was not as absorbed. To Evelyn's surprise, she reached over and gave her arm a sympathetic pat.

  “Poor thing–you look exhausted. I’m sorry we haven’t got the chairs unpacked, but you’re welcome to a crate,” she said, waving a hand at a nearby stack of wooden boxes. From which the cluck of chickens emanated, beady eyes and feathers visible through the slats.

  “Oh no, I'm fine,” Evelyn reassured her hastily. Easily envisioning the chickens pinching her skin like the snappy pair of Gyp and Pip back in the hitchhiker’s van, leaving little bite marks all over her legs.

  Was she simply destined to face Jared as a mere ghost of herself, frazzled and bruised like a piece of old fruit?

  “Your husband was smart to stop for directions,” the other woman continued, cheerily sorting glossy pamphlets for agriculture programs into different stacks. “Most fellows I know would drive around and get even more lost, before they’d dream of asking for help.”

  “Well, he usually does things the hard way,” Evelyn answered, glancing at the table, where the scruffy cab driver’s head was bent in conference over the map. She realized a split second later that she’d failed to contradict the woman’s mistake about their relationship status. Did they look like a couple? An uncomfortable sensation rippling through her at the ridiculous notion.

  “Care for a brochure, dear?” the woman asked, extending a booklet with pictures of veggies and fresh fruits on the cover. “You know, gardening is all the rage now,” she added with a chuckle.

  “Thank you.” Evelyn tucked the green thumb guide inside her handbag. The woman bustled back to her work, offering Evelyn a friendly smile every few minutes.

  Evelyn's fingers tapped impatiently against the purse’s fabric, counting off the hours they still had left to drive. If they stuck to the highway–and she was determined that they would from now on–they could be in Kingsley by lunchtime tomorrow.

  A thought that sent a tingle of nervous excitement all the way to her toes.

  She jumped as an animal’s angry squeal ripped through the air. Turning round, she saw a strapping young man coming through the tent’s entrance, his arms loaded down with a half-grown hog. Its legs kicked unhappily in the air, as its pink body squirmed furiously.

  “Just pop that one in the corner pen,” called Mick, glancing up from his conference with Brian. “That’s my prize winner, for sure,” he added, sending a wink in Evelyn’s direction.

  “Always t
hinking of the prizes,” his wife confided, a good-natured smile curving her mouth. “Three blue ribbons in a row, he’s gotten, each time for pig races. That’s a record for around here, you know.”

  Evelyn nodded, trying to look interested in this bit of trivia. When really her mind was already back on the road, planning strategic pit stops and ways to avoid the rush hour traffic in heavily populated zones. She noticed Brian was already tucking the map in his pocket, exchanging a friendly handshake with Mick, whose mind appeared to be more focused now on the pig corralled in its corner.

  “Ready to go?” Brian asked. He held out his hand–a gesture she misinterpreted for a moment as her cheeks flushed with surprise.

  “Yeah, for several minutes now,” she replied, forcing herself to look away. The tremor in her voice seemed strange, as if Brian's presence rattled her somehow. She flashed an apologetic smile over her shoulder for the farmer's wife, now organizing her brochures by animal breed. “Thanks so much–I’m sorry we interrupted.”

  “No, no, have a good trip,” she answered, waving happily, as the two of them made their way towards the tent’s flapping door. No doubt thinking they were an adventurous young couple enjoying a summer road trip.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” said Brian, as they stalked across the grassy lawn. For once his pace trailed behind hers, which resembled the power steps of a speed walker.

  “Hey, I think there’s a pie booth setting up over there. Want some breakfast?” he asked, turning to detour towards the smell of baked crust and cherries.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she said, snagging the edge of his shirt, her fingers twisting the fabric in threatening manner. If there weren’t so many witnesses present, it might have been his neck she grabbed, but willingly touching him sent a jolt of electricity through her.

  Get your thoughts together, Evelyn. She needed to be in control of this situational; right now, Brian Stoker was the biggest obstacle in the path to her goal.