Ex, Why, and Me (10 page)

“You know”—he came to a sudden halt and swiveled to face Michelle—“you don’t have to go to a big city to follow your dreams.”

“But it helps.”

“Just because you don’t want to stay here doesn’t mean everyone else is dying to get out of town.”

Michelle took a step back and held her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay.”

“And maybe I don’t feel the need to ‘untap’ my artistic ability. I’m fine the way things are,” he told her and marched onward.

He heard her mumbling behind him. He decided to ignore it, but the mumblings grew louder. And louder. He could easily imagine her with exaggerated facial expressions and hand gestures. “What was that?” he asked, turning back.

She immediately stood to attention. “Nothing,” she answered with injured pride.

Yeah, right
. She had something to say and he wasn’t going to be able to shut her up.
One…two…thr—

“What’s your favorite kind of art?” she asked. Her perky attitude was kind of scary. He almost preferred the negative Michelle.

“I don’t have one.” His cold tone should have quelled further questions, but this was Michelle he was dealing with.

“Is your medium paint?”

He wasn’t going to look at her. Wasn’t going to stop and chat. The sooner they got off this track, the sooner he could get away from this conversation. “Michelle, stop trying to make this into something it’s not.”

“Is your mural the only thing you’ve made? I have a feeling it’s not.”

He pictured his parents’ basement filled with his attempts. Some of which no one had ever seen and he’d like to keep it that way. “I’m not talking about it.”

“I would love to see what else you’ve done.”

“You won’t.” He immediately realized his error. He should have lied. Told her there wasn’t anything else. Now she was going to pursue it until he begged for mercy.

“You know what?” Michelle’s tone indicated she was swerving around topics and he had better keep on his toes. “You should see some of the museums in Chicago.”

“I don’t want to,” he lied. He’d love to go there, with Michelle. He could see it clearly in his head and it grabbed at his heart.

“You need to explore your full potential.”

The muscle bunched in his jaw. “Full potential meaning fame and fortune?”

“Not necessarily. Full potential means facing your fears, overcoming them, and becoming a better artist because of it.”

“What are you talking about?” He slowed down and looked at her. “I’m not afraid.”

“Yeah, you are.” She nodded her head matter-of-factly. “About your art.”

“Wait a second.” There was that twinge again. He had to stop listening to her. She was getting into his head and that could be dangerous. “Do you honestly believe that not pursuing a hobby or interest means I’m afraid?”

“Bingo!” She raised her arms above her head. “We have a winner.”

“I don’t want to make art my career. My life. Has that occurred to you? Not everyone wants to make sacrifices to support a
hobby.”
Great, he just admitted he had a hobby. She was going to catch him on every slip he made.

“I get what you’re saying.” She held her hand up, placating him. “But your case is different.”

He knew better than to ask, but he really wanted to hear her opinion. “Why is that?”

“People who treat art as a hobby love what they do. You have a
passion
, and it showed in your work.”

She was getting too close to a raw nerve. He wasn’t ready to hear this. To do something about it. “And you have a passion for your work?” he asked as he continued walking the track.

“I sure do,” she said, her stride matching his. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that gets me through the low points. And there are plenty of those.”

“Did you…” Aw, hell, he might as well ask, “Did you face your fears?”

“I do it
constantly
. The usual stuff. Am I good enough? Can I do better? Can I come up with a recipe that will cause a buzz? Do I have what it takes? I deal with those questions every day.”

“Sounds exhausting.” And familiar. There had been plenty of times when he struggled to face a blank canvas. He never told anyone, though. People would think he had a fear of paper.

“Not really. It’s part of the process. Although…” Michelle’s voice trailed off. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she continued in a low, confidential whisper.

He leaned closer, not liking how good it made him feel that she was sharing something private with him. Not liking it one bit, but not stopping it, either.

“You were right about why I came back to Carbon Hill,” she confessed. “There was more to it than helping Vanessa.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Stop it.” She playfully pushed his arm. “I was getting worried. I felt stalled. Running on empty. I thought I was losing my mojo.”

“Mojo?”

“Uh…” She rotated her hands, trying to come up with a different word. “My energy. Verve? Zest for life.”

“Okay. Mojo.” Was it required for creative people to give bizarre names to their emotions? He hoped not.

“And I remembered that the last time I felt it strongly was here”—she gestured around her—“in Carbon Hill.”

“Maybe it’s something in the water.”

“No, seriously. Back then I was pumped and ready to take on the world. All cylinders blasting. It felt good. Real good. I’ve never felt anything like that since.”

“It’s called youth.”

“I don’t think so. I felt it before. I’m feeling it right now while I’m here. Not as strong as I hoped for, but my mojo is coming back.”

“Okay, first of all, what you are feeling is reduced stress from taking a vacation.”

“Nope, this is something else entirely. Hey!” She ran ahead and pointed at a fence next to the tracks. “It’s another hobo code.”

He stopped beside her and looked at the sign. The broken fence was part of the train yard filled with rusted, abandoned boxcars.

“This is the Graveyard,” Ryan said as he folded the printout and put it back in his pocket. “I’m sure of it.”

“Might as well give it a look.” They walked down the slope to the fence and entered the yard, when Michelle gasped.

“What?” Ryan looked to see if she was okay. “Did you get hurt? What is it?”

“Over there.” She pointed at something in the yard. “On that orange boxcar. Is that…blood?”

He looked over his shoulder at where she indicated. A dark red splotch, right about at the height of his shoulder, had dripped down the rusted metal.

“No, that’s not blood.” Ryan walked over to the car and inspected it. “It’s paint.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m the one with artistic capabilities, right?” He headed deeper into the yard and Michelle kept close to him. It wasn’t long when they saw the paint blotches and drips staining the cars and ground.

“Weird graffiti,” Michelle decided. “They really need to start teaching art classes in the schools.”

“This must be where people play paintball. I heard about this place. It’s new to the area.”

“Paintball?”

“It’s a sport where teams shoot paintballs at each other.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The name is self-explanatory. It’s a messier, low-tech version of laser tag.” She looked around. “I’m surprised this is here. I thought Pins & Pints was the only place in Carbon Hill you could have fun while standing up.”

Ryan wasn’t even going to try to hide his smile. “You can also have fun there lying down.”

“Yoo-hoo!” Annie called out, partially hidden by a boxcar. She waved them over. When they got closer, Ryan could see that the woman was standing next to a picnic table that dipped under the weight of the food.

Ryan waved back, his stomach rumbling with impatience. “I see Clayton and Brandy sitting at the table, but I don’t see the Aschenbrenners anywhere.”

“Then it’s a good thing we didn’t follow them,” Michelle said.

Ryan greeted Annie, who shyly offered them a large spread of food. It dawned on him that the woman was intimidated by feeding a professional chef. He could heap the compliments as fast as he heaped the food on his plate, but it seemed Michelle’s opinion mattered more to Annie.

Michelle appeared to sense this and took the responsibility seriously. She managed to say just the right things to put Annie at ease. Ryan always knew Michelle was a class act.

“Oh, honey,” Annie said, “I looked everywhere and I still can’t find your cell phone.”

“Thanks for looking,” Michelle said, making a point not to look at Brandy. “I’m sure it will show up.”

Ryan noticed Brandy’s sly smile. Michelle was probably right that the woman had something to do with the disappearance of her cell phone.

Brandy and Clayton hadn’t greeted them warmly, but he expected that. These guys were in it for themselves. He also noticed that there was some frost between Brandy and her team member, which didn’t surprise him.

The only thing that surprised him was that Clayton had lasted this long with Brandy. Either the guy was head-over-heels in love with the woman, or…nope, that had to be the only thing that kept him going. Poor guy.

“What’s the next assignment?” Michelle asked Annie as she filled a cup of ice-cold water and handed it to Ryan. The simple act threw him off. He liked being waited on, but that hadn’t happened for quite some time.

“We still need to wait for Dennis and Margaret, but I don’t see any harm in telling you that you guys will be in a paintball game.”

“We figured that much out,” Michelle said as she filled a cup of water for herself.

“And that you will be reenacting the shoot-out scene between the Wirts and the authorities.”

Ryan’s plastic fork stopped midway to his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“You’re going to start from one end of the yard”—she pointed at where they came in—“and have to get to the other end without getting hit by the ‘authorities.’”

“Who are the authorities?” Clayton asked hesitantly.

“Some paintball fanatics who volunteered,” Annie said. “They’ll be here soon.”

Clayton closed his eyes with dread. Ryan suspected the guy hated sports of any kind.

“Once you get to the exit without getting hit, you’re on to the next leg of the hunt.”

“And what if you do get hit?” Brandy asked.

Annie grimaced. “Well, you’ll still be in the game…”

“But?” Brandy prompted her.

“Trust me,” Annie said. “You don’t want to get hit.”

Michelle screamed and dove for the ground just as a paint-ball whizzed past her. She coughed as the dust billowed around her and she clenched her paintball gun as if it was her only ally. Her only hope. “We are never going to get out of here alive!”

“These guys are good,” Ryan said, peeking over a corroded sheet of metal. The sunlight glinted off the sweat dripping from his lean cheekbone.

Not looking at the bright side of the situation right now, are we?
Michelle noticed with grim satisfaction. That could mean only one thing. There wasn’t a bright side. It was all bad.

They were so in trouble. Michelle wiped the dust that settled on her goggles. The goggles that looked mean and sleek on everyone else but made her look like an amphibian. Her mom would have a conniption fit if she saw her.

What would the consequence be if they just got caught right now? Annie wouldn’t tell them, but it couldn’t be that bad. Not as bad as being hunted down by guys who’d watched way too many dumb action movies.

Could it?

Ryan jumped up and zoomed past her. “Run!”

Michelle looked around her, her heart pounding fast and furious, but she didn’t see any immediate danger. “Where?” she yelled frantically after him.

“Follow me!”

Easier said than done. Michelle bolted after Ryan, but the guy was fast. She could barely keep up and her gun kept knocking against her leg. She felt clumsy and slow. She couldn’t believe people did this for fun.

And there must be some sort of filter in her eye goggles, because Ryan looked really,
really
good wearing a thin, long-sleeved T-shirt and faded jeans. She’d seen him wear stuff like that all the time, but not like this. Not as the fabric strained against his muscles.

Even his expression looked sexy. The man was focused. Ready to defend his turf. To defend her. That sensation coiling in her chest tightened. What was she doing getting hot and bothered over a bunch of guys playing war? It was a
game
. Male fantasy. He wouldn’t do the same in real life.

She caught up to him as he aimed and shot their attacker. The paintball clipped the guy, smearing red paint along the brown camouflage jacket.

“Yes! Bull’s-eye!” Ryan crowed and pumped his fist in the air.

“You grazed him. It barely hit his arm,” Michelle pointed out, watching the helmeted guy get called out by the referee who stood at the sidelines. “How is that a bull’s-eye?”

Ryan’s smile made her blood fizz and pop in her veins. “Maybe that’s where I was aiming.”

“Whatever.” She heard the scurry of footsteps. “We’ve got company.” Oh, great. Now
she
was sounding like a male action hero. “Hide.”

Ryan grabbed her hand and ran a couple of boxcars down. There was a red one lying on its side in the weeds. “Get in,” Ryan told her and she jumped into the opening, landing awkwardly on her hip. She was going to be bruised and battered by the end of the game.

Michelle pulled off her goggles, knowing it was against the safety rules, but at this point, she didn’t care. It was too shadowy to see. She looked around when Ryan jumped in after her. And managed to land on his feet, unlike her, of course. “We’re trapped,” she informed him.

“Only if they find us.” He pushed up his goggles and looked around. Ryan gulped in air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Michelle was mesmerized by the sweat trickling down his neck.

“It’s going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.” She inched far away from the opening, but there wasn’t much wiggle room in the small boxcar.

“Keep your voice down,” he said in a whisper. “You don’t want it to echo.”

The guy had a point. She fell silent and listened for any noise in the train yard. Nothing alerted her. “How far do you think we are to the exit?”

“Very.”

Oh, that was helpful. “We should be doing better than everyone else, don’t you think? How far do you think are the other teams?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged as he checked his paintball gun. “I haven’t seen them. Which is kind of strange.”

They had probably found a way out and were already on to the next level. “How is it that we aren’t always last, but
dead
last?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ryan said as he brushed away spider-webs and settled into a corner of the car. “We don’t have to be first or last to get to the exit. We have to get there without getting tagged.”

“Great, let’s do that,” Michelle said. “What’s the strategy?”

Ryan shrugged. “Watch my back and I’ll watch yours.”

“That’s it?” Simple, but that could take all day. “Is there a way we can speed this up?”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“No, but we need to come up with something. Do we go on the offensive or defensive?”

“I pick defense.”

She slumped back against the metal wall. “Shoot. I was going to say offensive.” It sounded faster. Less nerve-wracking.

“Michelle, we can’t outgun these guys.”

“There are only six of them,” she pointed out, “and they are trying to tag six of us. We already took out one of them. We’re at an advantage, so let’s make the most of it. What do you say?”

“But they only have to tag one person on a team for that team to get out.”

“Okay…” Michelle leaned her head against the wall. “We’re screwed.” They might as well wait here until someone was smart enough to look inside. It would take longer, but she wouldn’t have to move.

“Not necessarily.”

Great. Now he was going to see the silver lining in the situation. Wasn’t she suffering enough? Michelle’s sigh rattled deep in her ribs. “I wish I had my cell phone.”

Ryan frowned. “How would that help us?”

“It wouldn’t.” She winced as she tried to find a comfortable spot on the wall. There weren’t any. “But I would call Vanessa and tell her I’m taking her off my Christmas list because she put me through this hell.”

“Focus on getting through this level, and then you can tell her to her face.”

Michelle tilted her head and looked at the opening above her. “Do you hear that?” she asked in the quietest of whispers.

“No.” Ryan mouthed the words. “What?”

“That’s just it.” She moved away from the wall and gripped her gun tightly. “I don’t hear anything.”

He looked at the opening. “That can’t be good.”

“Oh, great. Now you’re sounding like me.” The end of the world must be near.

Ryan gestured at the open door above them. “Peek out and see if anyone is around.”

“Me?” she asked in a squawk. So much for being her protector and defender. “Why not you?”

“I’m not the one with the mojo,” he said with a crooked smile.

Michelle held up a finger. “Rule number one, don’t mess with my mojo. Rule number two”—she held up another finger—“don’t misuse the mojo.”

“You just made that up.”

“It’s still true.”

“Someone has to look outside. You do it, and I’ll cover you,” he promised.

Not good enough. She was going to be ambushed with paint the minute she peeked outside. That thought alone made her put her goggles back on. “How about you look outside and I’ll cover you?”

Ryan held up his hand to stop the argument. “Okay, we’re at a draw. This calls for one thing.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

The fanning lines around his blue eyes deepened. “I was going to say we both go up at the same time.”

“That works, too.” Michelle crawled closer to the opening. Her heart pounded hard. She had never liked games like these. She always got caught.

“On the count of three,” Ryan said as he readjusted his goggles.

“Oh, I am not falling for that.” She crawled back, wincing as each move made the metal yawn and buck.

“Not falling for what?”

“Cut the innocent act,” she whispered fiercely. “I know what’s going to happen. You’re going to say three, and I pop out alone like a jack-in-the-box.”

Ryan’s smile was slow and downright wicked.

“Uh-huh.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “I know what that smile means. I am on to you. I have an older brother, you know.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll be on the lookout.”

“Good.” It served him right. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty about her cowardice.

“You come up with a strategy,” he said as he slowly crept toward the opening.

No problem. “My strategy includes a really fast getaway car.” There. Her job was done.

“Good luck finding that.” Ryan peered out of the opening.

Michelle sighed with relief when he wasn’t clobbered with paint. “It would have worked, too. The paint wouldn’t hit us—hey! What if we used metal as a shield?”

“It’s too heavy,” he decided as he looked around.

“We’ll get a small metal slab.” She wasn’t sure if there were any around here, or if she’d want to touch it…

“It’ll make us too easy to spot.”

“But we can block the paint.”

“But it won’t cover all of us. The paint could hit our shoes and then we’re out.”

Michelle folded her arms across her chest. “I think I like your optimistic side better,” she muttered.

He looked down at her. “Are you coming up with a different strategy?”

She smiled sweetly. “How about if you walk in front and I walk behind you, facing backward.”

Ryan pondered the idea and gave a nod. “That’ll work. Come on.” He motioned for her to follow him and climbed out of the boxcar.

“Oh, sheesh. I can’t believe you agreed to that.” It was too simplistic. It wasn’t going to work. There were too many things that could go wrong.

She climbed out with far less grace than Ryan displayed. “Which way is the exit?” she asked as he helped her down.

“That way.” He pointed with his gun. “Get behind me.”

She did what he said and faced the other way. Walking backward was not easy, but Ryan took it slowly. She had stepped on his heel only a few dozen times when he broke the silence.

“See anyone so far?” he asked.

“Nope. Oh, wait.” She saw a glimpse of red hair behind an ancient caboose. “I see Brandy.”

“Where?”

Brandy slid around the side and spotted her. Michelle gave a nod of acknowledgment. Damn, even Brandy looked good in the stupid goggles. “Behind the faded red caboose. I don’t see Clayton anywhere.”

“I can’t look behind me,” Ryan reminded her. “Give me her clock position.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Picture a clock and I’m at the twelve position,” Ryan suggested patiently. “What position is Brandy?”

Michelle made a face. She was twenty-five years old and playing army with a bunch of overgrown boys. “Five o’clock.”

“Any authorities?”

She glanced around. “Mmm—nope.” Her attention went back to Brandy. Her eyes went wide as the redhead cocked her gun and aimed. Directly at her. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Ryan stopped and Michelle collided into his back. “What’s wrong?”

“Five o’clock!” She pushed Ryan to the ground. “Get down!”

Ryan rolled onto his back as he heard a shot. It ricocheted wildly on one of the boxcars. “What was that about?”

“Brandy just took a shot at me!” Michelle jumped to her feet with amazing speed and aimed at five o’clock. “She’s going down.”

Ryan sat up. “Don’t waste your paint.”

“Why not? She did.” She put her gun down. “She’s gone. The one time I could hit her right between the eyes and I miss that opportunity.”

“I’m sure you’ll get another chance.” Ryan got on his feet and looked around. They were lucky no one fired on them while they were distracted.

“Are those train tracks under that train?” Michelle asked, pointing at the series of boxcars next to them with her gun.

“Yep.” It was probably how they moved the cars to the train yard.

“Let’s crawl under this train.” Michelle’s voice wavered with excitement, the first time he had heard it since they walked into the yard. “It will give us the cover we need.”

“It’s too low.” They would be on their bellies, making them far too vulnerable.

“We’ll crawl on our elbows like they do in the army. Ooh, won’t that be fun?”

Ryan raised his eyebrow at Michelle’s sarcasm. “We won’t be able to see our surroundings as well as our opponents.”

“And they probably won’t have as good a shot.”

He didn’t think it was a good idea, but he didn’t have another one to counter it. “Might as well.”

He crawled under the train after Michelle. At this level he could see a lot of ground. But only in front of them. Ryan decided it wasn’t worth pointing out the disadvantage. Michelle had already started crawling on her elbows, determined to make this work.

“This is harder than it looks,” Michelle said between grunts.

“Don’t think about that,” he suggested as he kept an eye out for any sudden movements and listened for telltale sounds. “Think about something else.”

“Like why I’m doing this? Why am I spending a beautiful autumn day under a train with freaks shooting paint at me? Sorry, Ryan, that doesn’t give me much of an adrenaline boost.”

“How about why does Brandy hate you so much?” The redhead seemed to be Michelle’s mortal enemy. That had to get her blood pumping.

“I don’t know.” Sure enough, Michelle’s next move was quick and clean. “It’s always been that way, but it got worse after I won Miss Horseradish.”

“She really wanted that title.”

“Well, yeah. But she didn’t think I deserved it.” Michelle suddenly shot ahead of him on the track.

“It doesn’t matter what she thought,” Ryan said as he caught up with her. “You won.”

“Honestly, I didn’t deserve it, but most people are too polite to say anything. I was aiming for one of the top five spots and to get some scholarship money. But Brandy was doing some horrible stuff to her true competitors and they were firing back. All the antics basically leveled the playing field. No one expected me to win. I sure didn’t.”

And he sure didn’t expect the topic of Brandy would make them move so fast. “You don’t think we have a chance of winning this hunt. You could be wrong again.”

She scoffed at the idea. “I don’t think so.”

“But you’re getting your mojo back.”

“I’m beginning to regret mentioning it.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “You just like saying the word.”