Night Driving (12 page)

“I could try to outrun it.” She pressed her foot down on the accelerator and the car shot forward.

“You can run but you can’t hide.”

“Cliché,” she said.

“You were the one who said clichés were clichés for a reason,” he pointed out.

“This one is a false cliché. Of course you can hide. We could pull under a gas station awning and wait out the storm. That would be the equivalent of hiding.”

“Maybe, for a little while. But eventually what you’re running from will catch up to you.”

“Like the fact that you’re never going to be a soldier again.”

“I thought we were flirting here, and you have to bring in the downer.”

“Sorry. Poor form. Let’s get back to the banter. Where were we?”

“Too late now.” He gave her a smile, but it was true, the light-hearted mood had been pushed out by the storm.

Fat drops of rain splattered against the windshield and the late afternoon sky behind them quickly turned the color of a bruise—green, purple and deep, dark blue. Trees whipped in the gusting wind. Boone leaned over and switched on the radio, searched for a weather report.

“The fierce line of squalls pushing up from Texas is spreading across the south with thirty-mile-an-hour winds with possible hail. Reports of tornado sightings have cropped up from Arkansas to Alabama. The storms are expected to last well into early Saturday morning. If you don’t have to travel in this mess, don’t.”

“Fudge crackers,” Tara exclaimed and grasped the steering wheel tighter.

“What town is coming up next?” he asked.

Tara punched the map on the GPS. “The Florida border is coming up in just a couple of miles.”

“We need to stop and let these storms pass.”

“We’re still seven hours from Miami.”

“Can’t keep driving in this storm. Pull over at the next motel you find. We can get some sleep and try again when the storms pass.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind driving in it,” she said, but her voice was high and reedy.

He could let her drive on or he could take a stand. He knew she was trying to make up time to thank him for the detour to Shiloh, and he didn’t miss the fact that she kept restlessly bouncing her left leg up and down. She was nervous. “Get off the highway as soon as you can.”

Tara looked like she was about to argue, but then a wild gust of wind hit the car. Her face paled and she pulled her bottom lip up between her front teeth. “Whoa, okay, I’m convinced. Keep your eyes peeled for the next exit.”

* * *

T
HEY
FOUND
A
modestly priced motel and pulled into the parking lot. The rain doused them in an unforgiving deluge. Tara did not sprint ahead of Boone for the shelter of the lobby, even though her heart was pounding and fear had a choke hold on her throat. She’d never quite conquered her fear of thunderstorms.

Instead, she forced herself to match his faltering steps as he hobbled into the motel. His face was stony, but she could tell the knee was bothering him. Sleeping in the car hadn’t done him any favors. No matter how much he tried to deny it, the trip had been hard on him. Hopefully, the storm would soon pass.

Tara stood shivering at the front desk. While Boone took out his wallet, water dripped off her, pooled on the pink-and-green linoleum floor. She wrapped her arms around her and clamped her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering.

“Two rooms,” Boone told the thin-faced young clerk whose nametag read Raj.

Raj shook his head. “One room only.”

“We need two rooms.”

“The storm has filled us up. We have one room left.”

Boone shot a glance at Tara.

“One room is fine,” she said sensibly. “We’ll only be here until the storm passes.”

Raj pressed his lips together in a solemn expression. “The storms will not abate for many hours.”

“Maybe it won’t be as bad as the weather bureau claims.”

“The room has a single queen-sized bed,” Raj warned.

“There’s absolutely nothing else?” Boone asked.

“Get the room,” Tara reiterated, even as trepidation lifted the hairs on her arms. Share a bed with Boone? She gulped. “We’re lucky to get here when we did or we’d be spending another night in the car.”

Boone grunted at that prospect and exchanged cash for two room keys. Raj gave him a conspiratorial wink.

“We’re traveling companions, not lovers,” Tara blurted, then immediately wondered why she felt obligated to say that.

“Of course not,” Raj said coolly and winked at Boone again.

“We’re
not.
”

Boone gripped her arm.

“Seriously, sir, there’s no need for winking.” Tara couldn’t seem to stop blathering. Damn her tendency to babble when she was nervous, and it wasn’t just the gathering storm that had unsettled her. “We’re not lovers.”

“At least not yet.” Raj nodded knowingly. “After one night sharing the same bed, who knows? Cupid works in mysterious ways.”

“We’re—”

The wind snatched up her protest as Boone hauled her from the lobby.

Their room was at the far end of the building, accessible only through the parking lot, which meant another foray back into the dark, rainy night. Tara swallowed bravely and struggled not to let on exactly how scared she was, by the prospect of sleeping with Boone and by the escalating storm. By the time they were settled in the room it was almost 7:00 p.m.

“We’re soaked,” Tara proclaimed.

“You can have the bathroom,” Boone said. “I’ll get on the phone and see if I can find someone to deliver us food.”

Tara nodded, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. The wind rattled the windowpanes, underscoring her growing anxiety. She hoisted her overnight bag onto her shoulder, went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She couldn’t help thinking about the last room they’d been in together at the Rose Garden B&B in Nebraska. Already, it seemed so long ago. Her relationship with Boone had come a long way since then. He’d opened up to her, relaxed, let down his guard and that was a huge step for him. When he’d suggested lingering on the porch for a game of checkers, she’d been completely bowled over.

She showered, shampooed and got out of the tub. After toweling herself dry, she put on a pair of Lycra yoga pants, a white T-shirt and flip-flops, and then wove her hair into a tidy braid. She took her time, prolonging the moment when she would have to join Boone again. Until she realized she was being selfish by hogging the bathroom.

“Okay, Miss Piggy,” she scolded her reflection, as she twisted the end of her braid with an elastic tie. “Time to face the music.”

It wasn’t until then that she understood how tense she was about being alone with Boone, which was odd when she thought about it, since they’d been alone in the car for hundreds of miles. But things had taken a sharp turn between them last night and, well...she couldn’t help thinking about how tough it was going to be to say goodbye. Especially since they hadn’t had an opportunity to fully explore what was happening between them.

“That’s a good thing,” she assured herself, but she couldn’t help feeling strangely disappointed.

She opened the door and stepped back into the motel room. It was clean, but nothing fancy. Boone sat at the utilitarian desk, his leg propped up on a second chair. The garish gold bedspread had been removed, folded and put on the dresser. On the bed lay a plethora of vending-machine food—peanuts and potato chips, cellophane-wrapped ham-and-cheese sandwiches, bagged popcorn, Oreo cookies and Twizzlers.

“No one would deliver in this storm,” Boone apologized. “So I cleaned out the vending machine.”

“Hey.” Tara grinned. “I love junk food.” She reached for one of the sandwiches.

“You’re not afraid of food poisoning?”

“This sucker doesn’t expire for another week.” She showed him the date on the package. “And I’ve got a cast-iron stomach.” Cheerfully, she unwrapped the sandwich, happy to have something to focus on besides how sexy Boone looked with his thick, rain-dampened hair swept back off his forehead.

“Toss me one of those sandwiches,” he said. “If you’re going to live dangerously, I might as well keep you company.”

She underhanded the sandwich and he caught it with an easy lift of his hand. Snap. Grab. Tara bounced up on the middle of the bed and sat cross-legged amidst the snacks. She took a bite of the sandwich. Chewed.

“Not the best ham-and-cheese sammie I ever had,” she observed. “Bread’s soggy. But not the worst, either.”

“What was the worse?” Boone asked, leaning over to reach for a package of barbecued chips.

“Kiosk at an airport terminal in Mexico. The bread was three days’ worth of stale and the cheese was hard. I ate it anyway.” Tara shrugged. “Didn’t kill me.”

“Whereabouts in Mexico?”

“Cancun. One of those crazy spring-break trips you try to forget.”

“Girls Gone Wild, huh?” Boone stared at her through half-closed eyes.

Her cheeks heated. “Not quite that gutsy. No free boob shots for any twerp with a camera, but I have done my share of partying too hardy. I figure you’re only young and dumb once, right?”

“You gotta be careful out there,” he said. “The world is a dangerous place. I bet you gave your parents ulcers.”

“Probably,” she said and tore into a package of cheese puffs. She popped a couple into her mouth, her fingers instantly orange.

“You’re too damned cute for my own good,” Boone mumbled.

“What?”

“How ’bout we check on the weather?” He picked up the television remote and switched on the old-fashioned tube TV sitting on the scarred wardrobe. He flipped through the channels until he found a weather report. The screen depicted a steady, dark-red line of thunderstorms whirling toward the eastern seaboard. Boone blew out his breath.

“Don’t fret. You’ve still got until four tomorrow afternoon to make it to Key West.”

“Which is still about eight hours away, give or take.”

“So the drop-dead time we need to leave here is—”

“No later than eight tomorrow morning.”

“That’s still eleven hours away. The storm is bound to pass by then,” she said in her best cheerleader tone, even though the Doppler radar on TV belied her assertion. At the picture of angry clouds marching toward them, her stomach pitched.

A long moment passed as they finished eating, neither of them saying anything. Then finally, Boone said, “Tara, what if I don’t make it to Key West in time?”

“You’ll make it,” she insisted.

“But what if I don’t?”

“Then your sister will get married without you being there.”

He winced. “What if this guy is totally wrong for her?”

“It’s up to her to figure that out, Boone.”

“It’d kill me to see her go through a divorce.”

“Don’t borrow trouble. Have a little faith in your sister. Maybe this guy she’s marrying is the absolutely right one for her and you’ll arrive to find her deliriously happy and you guys can have a heartfelt reunion.”

“I can only hope.”

Tara dusted the cheese puff from her fingers, hopped off the bed and went over to put a hand on his shoulder. “Things turn out the way they’re supposed to.”

“You really believe that?”

“Try as you might, you can’t control every outcome.”

His muscles tensed under her touch. “I need a shower,” he said and abruptly got up.

Tara watched him limp away from her and wondered exactly what she’d said wrong.

11

Friday, July 3, 9:36 p.m.

B
OONE
WAS
RATTLED
.
Tara had done nothing more than put a hand on his shoulder in a sympathetic gesture and he’d immediately gotten aroused. He wasn’t proud of his lack of self-control, but there it was. Whenever he was around her, he turned into a chest-thumping caveman. If he were being honest with himself, he’d admit she’d gotten to him long before the road trip.

“Doesn’t matter,” he growled under his breath. “She’s starting over in Miami, you live in Bozeman.” Yet he couldn’t help feeling foolish that he’d kept her at a distance these past months. If he’d known then what he knew now...

Well, that was all water under the damn bridge, wasn’t it? Besides, what did he have to offer a woman like her? He was busted both mentally and physically. Except whenever he was around her, he couldn’t help feeling hopeful again and that was a very scary thing.

He wanted her so badly he could taste it. Last night, in his sleep, he’d crossed a line and when he’d awakened to find himself kissing her, he’d just gone with it.

Huge mistake. He hadn’t been able to keep his mind off her all day. Worse, he hadn’t wanted to keep his mind off her.

“All you gotta do is hold out for a few more hours.”

Easy to say, but he was going to have to crawl into that bed and spend the night beside her.

You can always sleep on the floor.

His knee ached at the thought.

You can handle this. It’s just one night. You can get through it. Yes, okay, she’s impossibly sexy, but you’ve got a bum leg. How much could you do, anyway?

He should never have issued himself that challenge, because his mind immediately conjured up a dozen different ways of working around his injury.

“Stop it,” he said aloud to his reflection in the mirror. “You’re keeping a tight rein on your sex drive come hell or high water.”

From the sound of the rain pounding on the roof that might be one helluva chore.

* * *

T
ARA
FLIPPED
THROUGH
the channels while she listened to Boone moving around in the bathroom. Her wicked mind’s eye kept imagining what he looked like naked.

He’s off-limits. Out of bounds. Even if you’re up for a casual fling, he’s not.

How was she going to make it through an entire night lying next to him in a soft, cushy bed? Last night had been risky enough in the front seat of her Honda. What if he talked in his sleep?

“You’re not going to get a lick of sleep,” she mumbled. Oh well, soon enough they’d be in Miami and Boone would be out of her life for good. She felt relieved and saddened in equal measures.

The shower came on, and immediately the visions of a naked Boone bounced back into her head.

Anxious for something to distract her, she turned on the television, found a classic movie channel.
It Happened One Night
was on. Perfect. She plumped up the pillows and lay back against the headboard. When the bathroom door clicked opened, she pretended to be completely engrossed in Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert’s banter. It was the scene where Clark appropriates Claudette’s money on the bus—and here she thought Boone was high-handed.

Still, she couldn’t help sliding a sideways glance in Boone’s direction. His shaggy hair was slicked back on his forehead and gleamed wetly in the glare of the overhead light. He wasn’t wearing the knee brace, and for the first time she saw his naked damaged leg.

Tara gave up pretending to watch the movie as she took in the ravaged landscape of Boone’s leg. A fresh, angry purple-red scar curved around his swollen kneecap like a maniacal smile, but beyond that was a railroad of other scars in various stages of fading. Three surgeries. He’d had three surgeries to repair his knee and each had taken their toll. Sympathy was a boulder in her throat.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“What?”

“Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t lie. I can see it in your eyes. It’s the same look that you had in your eyes when that baby squirrel fell out of the tree in your front yard and you brought it across the street to ask me for my help.”

“That was really nice of you, by the way. A lot of guys would have told me I was silly for getting so upset over a baby squirrel.”

He shrugged. “All I did was call the wildlife service.”

“No,” she said. “You did much more than that. You took me seriously and because of you, Violet lived.”

“You named her?”

“Sure, she made an impression on me.”

“You’re too soft-hearted, Tara.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not. You’re the one who got Violet to take milk through an eyedropper until the wildlife vet tech could come pick her up. I can still see you cupping that tiny little squirrel in your hand. You’re not as big a badass as you want everyone to believe.”

He cocked his head and gave her such a stunning smile that it took her breath. He didn’t smile often, but when he did his face transformed from ruggedly good-looking into devastatingly handsome. He turned his attention to the television set. “Watchya watching?”

“It Happened One Night.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Honestly?” She stared at him, incredulous. “It’s a road trip classic romance.”

“Oddly appropriate.” He gestured at the screen where Clark Gable was stringing up a blanket to divide the cabin in half. “Should we try that?”

“It was a very risqué movie for its time,” Tara explained.

“Still feels sexually charged,” he commented, but his eyes were on her, not the movie.

“Popcorn?” Wide-eyed, Tara tore open the bag of vending-machine popcorn and offered it to him.

He held up a hand. “I’m good.”

Gingerly, he eased down on the far edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Tara tensed, kept her gaze trained on the TV but she didn’t hear a word. Who cared what was going on between Clark and Claudette when her own body was so aroused?

His scent drifted over to her. Cedar-scented soap. Citrusy shampoo. Spearmint toothpaste. Clean and fresh and perfect.

Being here with him felt too intimate. Too dangerously close to something meaningful. Clark Gable’s idea of dividing the room with a blanket seemed more and more appealing. Except if Boone wanted her, no amount of material would hold him back.

Tara gulped, aware of just how powerfully masculine he was. She was just about to change the channel when lightning flashed outside the window and suddenly the TV went off.

“Looks like we lost the cable.”

“We’ve still got the lights,” she said optimistically and hopped off the bed. She felt too edgy to keep sitting there. How in the heck was she supposed to last the night alone in the bed with him without even the TV for distraction?

Thunder crashed. Tara jumped.

“You okay?”

“Storms make me nervous,” she admitted.

“Try to relax.”

Relax? How could she relax in a room with a man whose bones she ached to jump? A man who, if she was being honest with herself, she cared about far more than was wise. How could she be calm when a storm raged both inside and out?

More lightning, forked and vividly close, flashed outside the window. Thunder shook the windowpanes.

Tara paced the room, then realized her breasts were bouncing underneath her T-shirt and Boone had noticed. She stopped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What calms you down?” he asked.

She bit down on her tongue to keep from saying “sex.” This was not the time to poke the lazy blaze building inside her.

Boone’s hair fell over his forehead and he stabbed it back with his fingers.

“You know,” she said, “cutting hair relaxes me. I could give you a haircut so you don’t have to show up at your sister’s wedding looking like a Wookiee.”

“If I ever get there,” he grumbled. “This trip has been one long delay after another. The storm seems to be getting worse instead of easing up.”

“Now who needs to relax?”

“You’re right. I am uptight.”

“Understatement of the century,” she mumbled under her breath.

“I heard that.”

“Maybe the storm is fate’s way of trying to tell us something.”

“Yeah? And what would that be?”

“That you shouldn’t interrupt your sister’s wedding plans.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t?”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe in fate or not. Fate believes in you, and don’t roll your eyes.”

His smile was mild. “You’re starting to know me too well, Tara.”

“So, you wanna haircut or what?”

“Why don’t we just hit the sheets?”

The word
sheets
sent a sweet shiver up her spine. She ignored that and said, “Let me just get my scissors.”

“It’s late.”

“Not even ten o’clock.”

“We’re both exhausted.”

“Won’t take me ten minutes.”

“The storm has got you jumpy.”

“I’m a professional. I promise I won’t snip off your ear.” She fished around in her overnight bag.

“You carry scissors in your overnight bag?”

“Never know when someone might need a haircut.” She pulled a comb and styling scissors from her bag, slipped the scissors from their carrying case. “Let’s do this in the bathroom so we don’t get hair on the rug.” She grabbed the straight-back desk chair and dragged it into the bathroom.

Reluctantly, Boone got up off the bed and followed her. He settled into the chair in front of the bathroom mirror. She draped a bath towel around his shoulders.

“Just take a little off the top—”

“Who’s the stylist here?”

“You are.”

“So just let me do my thing. I’ve got the perfect style for you.”

“That’s a scary thought.”

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“Hey, two months ago
you
had purple hair.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t give you purple hair.”

“I’m just teasing,” he said. “I know you’re good at your job.”

His compliment pleased her. “Why, thank you. Now hold your head still.” She cupped his chin, soft from where he’d shaved off the scruff of beard, and tilted it where she wanted it. “There.”

She rested one hand on his shoulder, disconcerted by the strange pounding of her heart. His muscles were so firm and she was standing so close to him. Determinedly, she shook off her awareness of him and ran the comb through his silky dark hair. Cutting his hair seemed way too familiar and she couldn’t help feeling she’d crossed some kind of invisible line. Moving from merely neighbors to...what? Not friends. What she felt for him was far beyond friendly, but there was no sense in becoming lovers. Not now. Not at this late date.

Why not? He’s the perfect person to have a one-night stand with. No hurt feelings. No consequences.

Except Tara knew that was absolutely not true. Over the course of the last few days she’d come to truly like Boone. She’d already respected and admired him for his service to his country, but now she knew his secrets and he knew hers. It made them both too vulnerable. They could hurt each other really badly.

“You smell nice,” Boone said, jerking her from her thoughts.

“What?”

“You smell like flowers. Purple ones.”

“I use lavender body spray.”

“It’s nice.”

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly and concentrated on measuring his hair between her fingers. She was completely aware of everything about him, from the razor-straight set to his shoulders, to biceps big and hard as hammers, to his broad, tanned back. How did he stay so tanned when he’d been in and out of the hospital for months?

The scissors made snipping noises in the quiet room punctuated only by the sounds of their tandem raspy breathing and the thunder’s frequent rumble. She realized now why she’d offered to cut his hair. It was to delay slipping between the covers with him, knowing it was their last night together. A sensible woman would keep her hands to herself.

But Tara did not want to keep her hands to herself, ergo the problem, and touching his hair, instead of sating her need as she’d hoped, inflamed it. Halfway through the haircut, she sorely regretted her offer, but she was stuck. Couldn’t leave the man half-shorn.

He smelled so good that it was all she could do to keep from leaning over and planting a kiss on the nape of his neck. She finished up her task as quickly as she could, managing to fight off her impulses with the last thread of control she possessed.

“There,” she said, dusting off his shoulders with the towel and stepping away.

Boone stood up. The bath towel was still wrapped around his waist and he stepped to the mirror to examine the haircut. Tara bent to pick up the hair that had fallen to the floor, but she couldn’t help glancing up at him.

“Great job.” He raised both hands up to thread them through his hair, but as he did so, the towel tied at his waist popped loose, giving Tara a glimpse of the most spectacular set of buns she’d ever seen.

Just as the lights winked out.

* * *

B
OONE
FROZE
.

Had she seen anything before the lights went out? He gulped, intimidated. Hell, he’d gone through a war, survived three knee surgeries and lost his dad. But none of those things intimidated him like being naked in the dark, alone with Tara.

The room was totally black, telling him the power was out all over. She didn’t say a word. In fact, he couldn’t even hear her breathing. It was an eerie feeling. “Tara? You okay?”

“Fine and dandy,” she said with that optimistic chirp he loved about her. “I’m afraid to move in case I run into something. I have a terrible sense of direction in the dark.”

He reached out a hand and found her shoulder. “I’m here.”
Naked.

Tara hissed in a breath.

Boone didn’t know what to do. Should he try to reach down and feel around for his towel? Should he guide her toward the bed?

Tara trembled beneath his touch. “I’m terrified of tornadoes. I lost my uncle in the Joplin tornado. Actually, I’m scared of storms altogether.”