Hell on Wheels: A Loveswept Classic Romance (6 page)

Roan dipped one of his shrimp into the cocktail
sauce and popped it into his mouth. Judging from his expression, it wasn’t the tastiest morsel in the world, and she regretted not letting him have his steak after starving him all day. “You don’t have to tell Amos the whole story,” he said.

“Yes, I do. Maybe if he gives me a good scolding, I won’t be tempted to make the same mistake again.”

Roan frowned. “Amos isn’t your father.”

But he was the closest thing she’d had to a father since she was twelve, she thought. “He’s my mentor,” she said. “Mentors are allowed to scold. I guess I knew someday I’d have to chase without him, but it’s harder than I thought it would be.”

Roan reached across the table and touched her hand. “You’re doing fine. There’s obviously nothing wrong with your forecasting skills—we were heading straight for Raton before you pulled that U-turn. You just need to have more faith in yourself, Victoria. We’ll get ’em tomorrow, or the next day.”

She heard no teasing note in his voice this time, and she saw only sincerity in those vibrant blue eyes. His hand was warm and reassuring against hers as he absently rubbed her knuckle with his callused thumb. She suppressed a pleasurable shiver that tried to wiggle down her spine.

Before she could start to enjoy herself too much, she withdrew her hand. “How’s your dinner?”

He shrugged. “It’ll do. I’d ask how yours is, but you haven’t taken a bite.”

“I will,” she said, her appetite returning. She cut off a generous portion of the chicken breast and traded it to
Roan for some of his shrimp, and the meal passed with surprising cordiality. By the time she finished the slice of apple pie he’d talked her into ordering just so he could steal bites from her plate, she found she was actually liking him.

And that, she decided, was probably not wise, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

The shrimp tasted like they’d been frozen since the last ice age, but Roan enjoyed the meal anyway. He was glad he’d been able to offer Victoria some comfort. He was really glad she hadn’t invited that creep, Jeff What’s-His-Face, to join them, although perhaps in the future he shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss a third party. He was relishing Victoria’s solo company a bit too much.

He sat in the front seat of the parked van, twisted up like a pretzel so he could watch her in the back as she once again pulled up weather data from the computer. He’d seldom witnessed such single-minded concentration, and he was unbearably tempted to distract her—tickle the back of her neck with the end of her braid, or lean over and blow in her ear. He forced himself to resist the urge.

He knew better than to get too friendly with her. He wasn’t unaware of the effect he had on women. On some women anyway. They were fascinated with his work, his thirst for adventure, his devil-may-care lifestyle. But they never stuck around long enough to really
get to know him, the man inside. Or, more accurately, maybe he was the one who didn’t stick around.

He wasn’t a healthy influence on people who got close to him. He’d broken a few women’s hearts—not intentionally, but it just seemed to happen. And then there was Kim—sweet, innocent Kim, who’d trusted him so completely. That trust had been tragically misplaced. As always, Roan swallowed back a lump in his throat when he thought about his vivacious little sister. He knew he dwelled on her, on his loss, far too much, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself, especially when all these idle hours in the car gave him too much time to think.

He forced his thoughts back to his current companion, which wasn’t too difficult. She occupied his mind quite a bit too.

He hardened his resolve. Best not to let pretty, proper Victoria get too fond of him—or him too fond of her. From now on, if she needed comforting or reassurance, she could find someone else to provide it. No more pep rallies courtesy of Roan Cullen. And certainly no more hand-holding. Feeling that soft skin beneath his palm, the pulse of life that beat there, had touched him at some elemental level.

As she printed up yet another map, he pretended impatience, though truthfully he was starting to find the forecasting end of storm chasing kind of interesting now that he understood the basics. And when she announced that they needed to drive north and put a couple of hundred miles behind them before seeking shelter for the night, he groaned, although he could cheerfully
have ridden in the seat next to hers all night long, just watching her profile illuminated by the moon.

“Looks like Oklahoma’s our best bet for tomorrow,” she said as she climbed behind the wheel.

She drove tirelessly until the wee hours of the morning. Roan twice offered to drive, but she insisted she was fine. He wondered what in the hell Amos had told her. He might not hold the world’s best driving record, but he certainly wouldn’t take any chances with Victoria in tow.

They were in the town of Seminole, not all that far from Lubbock, their starting point, when Victoria declared they could stop for the night. She picked a motel, the Wagon Wheel, based on the fact that it featured cable TV with the Weather Channel and modular phones so she could hook up her computer modem.

She had strange priorities, Roan mused. He would have preferred someplace with a swimming pool and room service.

As they walked up to the registration desk, Roan slipped an arm around Victoria’s shoulders. “Hi,” he said cheerfully to the elderly female desk clerk. “I’d like the honeymoon suite for me and my new bride here.”

“Roan!” Victoria jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Ouch. It was just a joke,” he said as he let her go. “Woke you right up, didn’t it?”

She ignored him and addressed the clerk. “We’d like two singles, on the first floor if possible.”

Before long they were carrying their bags and equipment into their respective rooms, next door to each
other. Victoria wasted no time turning on the Weather Channel and perching on the end of the bed to watch. Since she’d left the door open, Roan wandered in to see what was so compelling on the screen.

“Look, look, look,” she said excitedly. “See that big red area all over Oklahoma? The dry line is moving east and the cold front is moving south. If any storms go up, they’ll be good ones. Oh, yeah, tomorrow’s the day.”

He wondered if she ever got that excited about anything else—like sex. The unbidden thought brought a sudden tightness below his belt. Damn, this was no good. He was never going to last two weeks with her at this rate.

She sobered as she viewed the footage of tornado damage in Raton. “Nasty storm,” she said. “At least no one was killed.” She glanced over at him. “Oh, just put that down anywhere.”

He realized he was still holding her tripod, which he’d carried in from the van. He set it on the floor by the window.

“Well, it’s late,” he said. “You’re probably exhausted after all that driving, so I’ll get out of your way.”

She raised her arms above her head and stretched, pulling her cotton blouse tight against those firm little breasts of hers. “I’m tired, but it takes me a while to wind down from the road. Don’t feel like you have to keep me company though.”

He was already reaching for the doorknob. He had to get out of there. “What time … morning?” he asked. He couldn’t articulate his thoughts with her like
that, all rumpled and sleepy and looking like she needed a good tumble.

“I’d like to get on the road about ten, so we can meet around nine or so for breakfast. The restaurant next door is pretty—”

He didn’t hear the rest. He was already outside, slamming the door for good measure.

As the van carried them in air-conditioned silence toward the Oklahoma border the next morning, Roan was assailed with all manner of inappropriate thoughts concerning himself and the woman who sat a mere foot or two from him.

Today Victoria wore pale blue jeans and another proper, pressed cotton blouse, her rich russet hair neatly pinned atop her head. It was too easy for Roan to imagine what she would look like without her conservative clothes, her skin smooth and pale against scented sheets. He could feel his hands tangled in her long hair, and the warmth of her breath mingling with his. He could hear her passionate cries of ecstasy, echoing over and over in his mind. The fantasy was more vivid, more real, than any actual sex he’d ever been a part of.

And he had to stop thinking about it, dammit. She was off-limits.

“Did you say something?” Victoria asked, all innocence.

Roan realized he must have made some kind of noise in his frustration. “Just wondering how long before we get somewhere,” he groused. The inactivity was getting to him. Yes, that was it. He was not accustomed to sitting in a car for hours on end. He was a physical man, always full of energy, and right now that energy was channeling itself into unwanted paths.

“We’re almost into Oklahoma,” she said cheerfully. Her mood was much improved from yesterday. The Weather Channel’s big red splotch over central Oklahoma had still been there that morning, and all of Victoria’s calculations supported the forecast for violent weather. During breakfast she’d smiled like a woman who’d just spent a lusty night with her man. That’s what had gotten Roan started on his fantasies.

“Another hour or so and we’ll stop,” she said. “What looks like a good town?”

Roan consulted the road atlas, grateful for any distraction. “Altus isn’t too far. About fifty miles, I’d say.”

“Altus it is. If I recall, there’s a good barbecue restaurant there.”

“You mean we’re actually going to stop for lunch at lunchtime?”

“Crazy, isn’t it?” she said with a shrug and an easy smile. “Never let it be said I don’t do something wild and impulsive once in a while.”

Roan refrained from laughing out loud. That would be the day, when his Vicky did something wild and impulsive.
When and if she indulged in lovemaking, she probably put it on her to-do list first.

Oh, Lord, he was doing it again. He shouldn’t think about Victoria and lovemaking in the same sentence.

“Did you feel that?” she asked suddenly.

Before he could respond, the van bucked, then hesitated, then gasped a bit “Oh, that. Yeah, I feel it.”

“What’s wrong with it? I’m losing power.” Her voice was edged with tension. The van was indeed slowing down, and the engine was making an awful chugging noise. “Should I stop?”

Roan took a quick look around. There wasn’t a speck of civilization within sight. “Not unless you like hiking through the desert.”

“We wouldn’t have to hike anywhere,” she countered. “I can call the auto club on the cellular phone.”

“And we’ll be waiting into the next century for a tow. Pull over to the right lane and keep going. Maybe we can make it to the next town.”

“What if I ruin the engine by driving it this way?”

“You won’t,” he said confidently, although actually he had no idea. “Anyway, the van is still under warranty, right?”

They had slowed to thirty miles per hour. Despite her obvious doubts, Victoria kept driving, hands clutching the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, her teeth tugging her lower lip. “What’s the next town?”

Roan was already consulting the atlas. “Haynie. Maybe about ten miles.”

“Let’s hope they have a mechanic.” She glanced over at Roan. “You know anything about fixing cars?”

“Yeah, but without tools and parts I can’t do much.” She sighed at that, and he felt an inexplicable urge to comfort her. “It’s early yet. Maybe it’s a minor problem, and we can get it fixed and be on our way in plenty of time to catch the storms.”

“Maybe,” she said without much conviction.

He couldn’t blame her for her pessimism. Whatever was wrong with that engine, it didn’t sound even remotely minor.

The next twenty minutes passed in tense silence as the ailing van struggled up each small incline, threatening to expire with every labored gasp of the engine. It didn’t help Victoria’s mood when Jeff Hobbs’s silver Blazer buzzed right past them with an arrogant honk of the horn. Jerk. Didn’t he notice they were having car trouble? He could have at least stopped to see if there was a problem.

At last signs of civilization began to materialize—a billboard here, a building there. “I see a gas station up ahead,” Roan said.

Victoria expelled a long breath, releasing an almost palpable tension. “Thank God,” she murmured.

Haynie, Oklahoma, was the epitome of a one-horse town. It sported a main street with two flashing yellow lights and one bona fide stoplight. When Victoria was forced to brake for the light, the van died and refused to start again.

“All, hell,” Roan muttered. They were half a block from their destination, and he was going to have to push.

“Maybe they’ll tow it from here,” Victoria ventured to say.

Roan unfastened his seat belt. “This’ll be faster. Just put it in neutral, and keep your foot off the brake.”

Roan was an old hand at pushing cars. He’d once owned a Jeep that had to be push-started at least once a day. But the full-sized van was considerably heavier than a Jeep, and Roan thought he was going to have a heart attack as he heaved against the back of the vehicle with all his might. Finally it budged, never mind that they were running through the red light. It didn’t matter, since there wasn’t another moving car in sight. Some metropolis, this Haynie.

It seemed an eternity before he felt the van turning toward the right and into the gas station. He let up, and Victoria edged the van neatly into a parking place. Roan wiped his sweaty face with the bottom of his T-shirt as Victoria emerged from the driver’s seat, looking cool and regal as always.

“Thank you, Roan,” she said earnestly. “You’ve certainly earned your keep today.”

He felt grungy and unkempt standing near her. He took a reflexive step back, away from her freshness, her springlike scent, wishing suddenly for a shower and some decent clothes. He’d never felt uneasy about his casual dress before, not for a woman, not for anyone. Lord, what was she doing to him? “No charge,” he managed to say, still catching his breath.

“Something I can do for you folks?” The man who spoke was small and wizened, wearing bright red overalls over a clean work shirt. A clashing neon-green
gimme cap sat atop his grizzled hair. His cheek bulged with a wad of tobacco, and as he waited for them to answer, he turned his head and spat.