California Girl (6 page)

Jock had always been the reliable sort. A pity she hadn’t
realized that forty years ago. But back then, reliable had been the last thing
she’d wanted.

Mame smiled patiently. “Alys understands. Now climb in and
let’s see what this monster can do. I’m thinking of calling it Cerberus.”

Dulce didn’t know mythology. With the enthusiasm of youth
for all things mechanical, she climbed willingly into the jaws of the guardian
to the gates of hell.

* * *

Lying in Mame’s pink-and-white guest room in the
early-morning dark, Alys heard Elliot leave the house for his run. She hoped
the exercise would reduce the electric field around him, or he would short out
all her fuses before day’s end.

He could short out her fuses just by existing.

She’d imagined this journey as one of self-discovery, not
sexual reawakening, but her body buzzed with her mental conjuring of Elliot
joining her in this bed. She liked his lean elegance and thoughtful eyes and
the strength in his hands. If she stuck with the physical, she liked him very
much.

It was the know-it-all physician’s attitude that riled all
her defiant instincts. From experience, she knew doctors weren’t the gods they
pretended to be. In fact, they were pretty clueless when it came to recognizing
the importance of the mind-body-spirit connection.

Still, he was a hunk. She’d only known one man in her bed.
Did Elliot’s long fingers and big feet give evidence of the length of his—

Laughing, Alys shoved off her covers and climbed out. She
should have bought a new nightie if she meant to entertain those kinds of ideas.

She hadn’t bought new clothes in eons. It wasn’t as if her
budget had allowed for them.

Rummaging through her suitcase, realizing how shabby her
wardrobe had become, Alys shrugged it off. Her goal in life wasn’t to impress
Elliot Roth. Her old business suits and evening dresses had gone with her books
and personal items into storage. She’d worn a lot of black after Fred got sick,
and Mame had made her pack it all away. That pretty much left her old college
clothes. She pulled out a pair of gold leggings, a bronze body shirt, and a
gauzy multihued shirt of autumn colors to dress it up. She’d packed for travel
and comfort.

Glancing down at the shiny band of gold on her left ring
finger, she pursed her lips, made a decision, and slipped it off. Had she been
thinking clearly, she should have buried it with Fred, but at the time, she’d
thought she’d been burying her heart with him.

Mame had forced her to realize she had only one life to
live, and it wasn’t in eternity. If she meant to make the world a better place,
she had to go forward from here.

Not quite ready to completely give up the symbol of her old
life, she tucked the ring into her purse.

By the time Elliot returned and jogged up the stairs to
shower, Alys had investigated Mame’s freezer, located packages of frozen
strawberries and waffles, and prepared breakfast. The fruit was a concession to
Elliot’s diet preferences. As far as she was aware, all diets called for fruit.
The sausages were hers.

By the time he appeared, he entered a kitchen redolent with
the aroma of rich Colombian and frying meat. “Coffee?” he asked in a
disapproving tone. “I didn’t think Mame drank coffee.”

“She keeps it for guests,” Alys assured him, although she
knew Mame loved a good cup of coffee. Maybe she should quit reassuring people
and just let reality hit them. It wasn’t as if she was his keeper.

In the early light of dawn, after a good night’s sleep, he’d
lost some of his drawn, anxious look. Today, he favored a successful executive
in complete charge of his life. He’d slicked his natural curls back from his
high brow, had donned professorial black-rimmed glasses to read the newspaper
tucked under his arm, and wore a starched white shirt with his silky, pleated
trousers. He carried a sports coat over his arm—apparently his one concession
to informality. He must still keep clothes in his childhood room. She bet he
usually wore three-piece suits.

Eyeing the neatly set kitchen table with its place for two,
he threw down the newspaper but didn’t sit. “I’m capable of fixing my own
breakfast.”

“I’m certain you are.” She put the pretty cut-glass bowls of
fruit on the ruffled place mats she’d laid out. “But I’m in a hurry to hit the
road.”

That seemed to be an acceptable excuse for waiting on him.
She noticed his shoulders were wider than she’d realized, as he stretched them
uneasily beneath his fitted shirt. His glance roamed from the table to the
toaster, to anywhere but her. Finally focusing on the refrigerator, he crossed
the room and opened it.

“The milk’s all gone,” she called to him without looking
over her shoulder. She set out Mame’s green-flecked coffee mugs, admiring the
design by one of the school’s more successful potters. “I hope you like your
coffee black.”

The waffles popped from the toaster. She transferred them to
plates that matched the cups and sat down. She hadn’t enjoyed setting out a
nice meal in a long time.

“I don’t drink coffee.” Taking the remaining seat, he didn’t
reach for the brew she poured for him but checked the plate she laid out. “This
looks wonderful, thank you.”

Polite, if it killed him. “Last chance for home-cooked
food,” she said with irony, cutting into cardboard waffles decorated with
bottled syrup. Once upon a time, she used to mix up made-from-scratch waffles
on lazy Sunday mornings, covering them in fresh strawberries and real whipped
cream. Doc Nice would have a heart attack if she told him that.

“There are ice chests in the garage. We could stop at the
store and buy some fruit and yogurt to take with us. Fast food is suicidal.” Savoring
the waffle, he unconsciously picked up the coffee cup, then realizing what he’d
done, set it down again.

“I saved my money so I could pig out at every decadent
hamburger joint on the route.
You
can
eat yogurt and tofu. I’m in search of the best homemade pie in the country.”
She only bought into
some
of the
school’s New Age philosophies. Eating granola wasn’t one of them.

Instead of looking appalled, Elliot narrowed his eyes over
his forkful of waffle. “Once we find Mame, we bring her home. This is not a
vacation.”

She loved Mame. She wanted to help her if she needed help.
But Alys had a suspicion that—for whatever reason—Mame needed help in eluding
her overprotective nephew more than she needed a hospital room. She had to
place her confidence in Mame doing what was best for herself.

Despite his tame appearance, Elliot Roth looked as if he
might growl and bite if she didn’t agree with him. Who was she to shatter his
illusions?

She tilted her mug in salute. “To Mame.”

“If you give me the itinerary, I can plan a route that
might save us time.” Elliot hauled his companion’s bags down the porch stairs
and contemplated buying her an overnight case if they had to do this too many
times.

Too many times? They ought to find Mame by tonight. He
should only have to haul the bags wherever Alys Seagraves was going and call it
a day. If he spent any more time in the company of legs like hers, he wouldn’t
be responsible for his behavior. Today they were molded into gold spandex, and
he could see every tempting curve through her gauzy shirt.

“I won’t give you the Caddy’s keys, so you don’t need the
itinerary,” Alys chirped.

She looked like one of the autumn leaves floating from the
maples in the yard. Bizarre, but colorful. Elliot ignored the twinge beneath
his rib cage. He shouldn’t have eaten the waffles.

“What kind of car did Mame steal?”

Her provocatively light eyes gazed up at him from beneath a
thick fringe of dark lashes and untrimmed bangs. It looked as if she’d let her
hair grow too long, then hacked it straight at the collar, leaving the
irrepressible locks of her former hairdo to turn up or stick out haphazardly.

“I drive a Range Rover. Or did.”

He threw their bags into the trunk—her two huge heavy ones
and his overnight bag—while she gathered a bouquet of leaves and tucked a
yellow rose behind her ear. He waited for her to break out in a rousing chorus
of
Oklahoma!
or something equally
uplifting. She had the unreal effect of a staged drama in his prosaic life.

They both halted at the driver’s door, and he could see the
impertinence in her eyes, laughing at him. Only Mame ever laughed at him like
that, and she wasn’t Mame. “You navigate, I drive,” he said, holding out his
hand for the keys she’d appropriated.

“You Tarzan, me Jane.” She slid behind the wheel, leaving
him empty-handed. “Jane drives. You look for Rover.”

Under normal circumstances, he might have smiled at her
foolishness, but finding Mame was serious business. He wouldn’t let her pretend
this was a joyride. He walked around the hood to take the passenger seat while
she turned on the ignition. “How do I know you won’t head for Chicago?”

“Because I love Mame, too,” she said simply.

He refrained from commenting. Love had its downside. Chasing
incorrigible aunts was a case in point.

“Doc Nice is grumpy in the mornings,” she chanted
cheerfully, looking over her shoulder and backing out while he buckled up.
“Maybe I could write a book—
Traveling
with Doc Nice
.”

“You do that.” He’d hoped to be out of here by six, but it
was already going on seven. Mame could be halfway to anywhere. “Where’s our
first stop?” he asked.

Waiting for her to reply, he made the mistake of glancing in
her direction.

Was she wearing anything under that shirt? Her breasts moved
fluidly as she turned the Caddy’s big steering wheel. Surely natural breasts
weren’t so high and round. Not that he had a ton of experience for comparison.
He’d been trained to look past the sexual.

A silken lock of dark hair fell forward over her cheekbone,
distracting him, as she consulted the odometer and set the mileage gauge. “Mame
booked a hotel in Tulsa for the first night,” she finally admitted.

Relief flooded through him. Tulsa had excellent medical
facilities. “We can do that in three hours.” He’d thought about renting a car,
but the local rental agency had been closed last night, and he hadn’t wanted to
waste time waiting for it to open this morning. The Caddy could carry them to
Tulsa with no problem.

“Not if we go through Kansas,” she said, blasting his relief
to pieces. “We can take the interstate out of town, but Mame has Highway 96
marked to Carthage as our first stop.”

Elliot had the urge to reach over and grab the steering
wheel out of her hands, but he maintained his outward calm. “We don’t have to
go through Kansas to get to Tulsa. The interstate takes us straight through.
Mame needs to be in a hospital.”

She turned into the stream of traffic, releasing a cloud of
disapproval into the air. How the
hell
did she do that without saying a single word?

“Mame was married in a church in Carthage before setting out
on her journey,” she said frostily. “That will be her first stop. How soon do
you want to find her? Tonight, or now?”

Elliot crossed his arms and let her aim for Highway 96.

* * *

“Mame, why do we stop at these places?”

Eyes closed, leaning back on the Rover’s wide leather seat,
listening to her heart, Mame smiled at the lilting accent of Dulce’s question.
“You said Lucia’s grandfather brings her home only on weekends and holidays,
didn’t you?”

Already, Dulce had learned to be wary of Mame’s diversionary
tactics. “But she is in that dreadful boarding school! She has quit speaking to
everyone after Salvador told her she could not to speak to me again.”

“Do you know where the school is?”

Mutely, Dulce shook her head and choked the leather-covered
steering wheel.

“Then we must wait until Wednesday when her grandfather
brings her home for her birthday. Amarillo is only a day’s drive and this is
Monday. Until then, I’m visiting a few fond memories. I was married back there,
to a man who dreamed so big, he thought he could save the world if he put his
mind to it.”

Dulce remained silent. Mame didn’t know if she was thinking
or just concentrating on navigating the unwieldy SUV around a tractor hauling
hay.

Safely back in the right lane, Dulce spoke. “You loved your
husband very much?”

“When you’re young, you’re in love with love, in love with
the world, in love with yourself. It’s all one. The lucky ones hang on to all
that love and make it work.” She’d had decades to think about the paths not
taken. She couldn’t explain them all in a few hours.

With the steady patience of her nature, Dulce thought about
this, then nodded. “My sister mistook sex for love, too.”

Mame shouted in laughter. She was going to enjoy this trip.
She already felt a world younger.

* * *

Lying on the back bench of the small Precious Moments
sanctuary, her hands folded over her chest, Alys contemplated the mural on the
ceiling. “Why do you think they put that up there where no one can really see
it?”

“So heaven can? Come on, Mame’s not here. The car isn’t in
the lot unless it’s over at the amusement park. Let’s get moving.” Elliot paced
up and down the nearly empty chapel.

Doc Nice had focus down to a science. Earlier, in hopes of
lightening his mood, she had turned the radio dial to cheerful music, but he’d
insisted on National Public Radio—as if Mame’s whereabouts might be broadcast
on the news.

She’d pointed out the beautiful autumn colors and the
fascinating rusty artwork decorating poles along the highway, advertising an
art gallery. He looked over his shoulder to check traffic behind them to see if
she could pass a tractor hauling bales of hay.

She supposed that kind of intense concern for an elderly
aunt showed a great deal of love and respect, but not a lot of understanding of
human nature.