Lost and Found (11 page)

She yawned again, vaguely aware that Sam was pulling a blanket over them. He held her close, settling her more comfortably against his shoulder. In all her life, Babs had never felt safer nor more loved.

She slid into sleep on the thought that nothing would ever be the same again. Nothing.

W
hen Babs awoke the first thing she noticed was that the truck was no longer moving. The second thing she realized was that she was alone. Not only in the makeshift bed but in the truck. Sam was gone.

She sat up, feeling a surge of panic which was quickly followed by a rush of relief. She'wouldn't have to face him. At least not yet. She'd have some time to pull herself together, if that were possible. Last night had been shattering in more ways than one.

Babs rested her face on her updrawn knees, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it slowly. Never in her life had she let someone get so close, so quickly. It wasn't just the physical aspect of it that had shaken her, though God knows that had been enough to rock anyone. It was the emotional closeness that had her shaking.

Never before had she opened herself up like that, let herself be so vulnerable. She'd learned early in life that it didn't pay to be vulnerable. It had been a hard lesson but she'd learned it and lived by it. And now, in the space of a few short days, she'd let so many barriers crumble. She'd let Sam through the protective walls she'd built over the years. She'd let him waltz right into her life with barely a token resistance.

Babs lifted her head and looked around the dim interior. Her entire world felt tilted, shifted somehow and she couldn't quite see the new patterns. With a muffled sob, she reached for the stack of clothes that Sam must have gathered for her. Her face flushed as she remembered the night before. They certainly hadn't bothered with folding anything. Sam had obviously been up for quite a while. Long enough to dress and leave. It had been nice of him to fold her clothes and put them near the makeshift bed but Babs didn't feel gratitude. It made her uneasy to know that he'd been up and about while she was sleeping. He'd probably looked at her. What had he been thinking?

Her fingers knotted in the sturdy fabric of the jeans, her eyes panicky. It was too much, too soon. She didn't want him so close. She didn't want to let anyone that close. It opened the way for too much pain.

Babs stood up and began dressing, her movements uncoordinated as she struggled into the jeans and blouse. Forgotten was the foolish pleasure she'd felt from buying the simple garments. All she wanted now was to cover herself and get out of the truck. She paused, her fingers shaking on the buttons of her shirt. The truck seemed to be spinning around her and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply. After a while, the feeling passed and she finished dressing.

She listened for Sam's return, wondering what she was going to say, wondering what he was going to say, wondering if she should just leave and make her own way home. At the moment, her fear of the kidnappers ran a poor second behind her dread of seeing Sam again.

There wasn't a chance to find out if she really would have left without Sam because he returned just as she finished dragging her fingers through her hair. Babs spun around as he pulled open the door, flooding the truck with light. Her stomach clenched with tension. She was only marginally relieved to see that it was Sam who jumped into the truck and not an irate owner who'd want to know what she was doing there.

"Good. You're up." He strode across the truck and Babs could only stand there and watch him approach, every nerve in her body quivering. She felt stripped of her defenses, open and achingly vulnerable. She didn't move as he stopped in front of her, cupping his hand around her cheek and tilting her face up for a slow, sweet kiss.

Babs blinked at him as he drew back and looked at her for a moment, as if sensing something was different but unable to put his finger on the source. She dragged her eyes away, afraid~that he could read her feelings in her eyes. Lurking behind her uneasiness was a niggling anger. She didn't like feeling this way. She didn't want to feel helpless and vulnerable. It was her fault. All of it. And she resented it.

If Sam wondered about the difference in her, there wasn't time to question it. He bent to pick up his pack. "I hate to rush you, but good old Frank is going to be back any minute and we need to be out of here before he drives off."

"Are we in Sacramento?"

"Nope." Sam jumped off the truck and turned back, lifting his hands. Babs hesitated a moment, uneasy at the thought of him touching her but then she saw the question starting in his eyes. She leaned down, letting him clasp her waist and lift her out of the truck. Right now she couldn't bear questions. Not from him. She had too many of her own that she couldn't answer.

It felt strange to be standing on solid ground again. She squinted into the weak sunshine, looking around. There wasn't much to see. A stretch of highway was about it. To their left was a'sprawl of white buildings and a sign that announced "Truck Stop" in fire-engine-red letters.

"Where are we?"

"A truck stop about ten miles from an old place that my father used to own. We sold it five years ago when he died but I bet it's still there and I'm betting that it's empty." He was leading her away from the truck as he spoke, turning the corner of a building and stopping in its shadow.

"So why are we getting out here? Why don't we go all the way to Sacramento with 'good old Frank'?"

"Because this is perfect. We need someplace where we can sit and think for a little while. I'd like to try to track down Emmet. We need to figure out who might want you dead. My dad's old place will be perfect. It's a farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere. The people who bought it figured property prices were going to skyrocket but they haven't, so it's not likely they've done anything with the place. We can stay there for a while until we figure out what our next move is."

He reached for her hand again but Babs tugged it away, digging in her heels. "Wait a minute."

Sam turned to look at her, too caught up in his plans to notice the stubborn angle of her chin. "What?"

"I think we should discuss this."

"Discuss what?"

"Whether or not this is the best thing to do."

"Of course it's the best thing. What else are we going to do?"

"Just because you thought of it doesn't mean it's the best thing. Who elected you Great White Leader? I think I should be consulted. After all, it's me someone seems to be trying to kill."

Sam looked at her, his jaw dropping slightly. He wasn't sure what he'd expected after last night but it certainly wasn't a return to the near hostility that had marked the beginning of their relationship. Anger followed too quickly on the heels of astonishment. Babs wasn't the only one dealing with uncertainties.

"Well, excuse me. If you have a better idea, I'd be delighted to hear it." He folded his arms over his chest and looked at her, his expression insultingly polite.

Babs glared at him for a moment and then looked around. He made her feel so damned stupid and it didn't help to know that she was being unreasonable. She knew it but couldn't stop herself.

"Why don't we go into Sacramento with Frank and then find someplace to stay there?"

"Well, the first problem with that idea is that 'good old Frank' pulled out about two minutes ago. The second problem is that we're running out of money. We can't afford to pay hotel bills."

"All right, why don't we go to the nearest town and I'll wire for some money or for someone to pick us up or something?"

"We've been over that before. We don't know who's trying to kill you. I don't think it's such a hot idea to announce your location to the world. I think we should stay out of sight until we can get hold of Emmet. He's in a position to know what your family is up to."

"What if we can't get hold of Uncle Emmet? Are we just going to hang out in some godforsaken old house waiting? If he's out of the country, it could be months before he gets back."

"If we don't get hold of him in a reasonable amount of time, then we'll come up with something else."

"And I suppose you'll decide what's a reasonable amount of time."

A muscle in Sam's jaw twitched but his tone was level. "We'll take a vote on it. Now, can we get started? Ten miles is a hefty chunk of ground to cover, especially for someone who's accustomed to traveling in a limousine."

"I'm perfectly capable of walking any distance you care to name."

"Good. Then let's get started."

Babs glared at him, seeking some flaw in his reasoning and finding none. The knowledge only added to her irritation.

"Do you think we could take time to eat something before we start this great trek of yours?"

Sam's eyes glittered bright blue, his irritation rising to meet hers. "Fine. Just remember that our funds are limited."

"I'll try to restrain the urge to order lobster." She bent down and snatched up the small bag that held her clothes and then stalked into the restaurant. Sam grabbed his pack and followed her. Watching the swing of her narrow hips, he was torn between the urge to walk away from Babs Malone and the money, and the urge to find a place to lay her out flat on her back and make thorough love to her. Damn the woman. Just when he thought he had her all figured out, she threw him another curve.

The interior of the restaurant was as simple and unpretentious as the exterior. Scuffed linoleum flooring that had probably started out white was now a vaguely gray shade. Red vinyl booths were set in neat little rows along the windows. There was a low counter with backless stools set on stainless-steel pedestals in the floor. Behind the counter, the cook was visible—a thin, cadaverous man who was a poor advertisement for his own cooking. Waylon Jennings moaned about lost loves from the jukebox in the corner.

It was late enough in the morning that the heaviest breakfast crowd was gone and it was too early for the lunch crowd. There were still half a dozen men seated at the booths. Sam noticed the way the conversation stopped when they came in. All eyes turned to them, assessing and curious.

Babs seemed oblivious of the attention they were drawing, or maybe she was accustomed to drawing attention. The Malone heiress was probably a conversation stopper in more than one place. She sat down at the counter and Sam couldn't help but notice the way her jeans outlined the sweet curves of her hips. Unfortunately, so did every other man in the place. He was conscious of an urge to drag her out of the restaurant. It surprised him. Possessiveness wasn't his style. But then, none of this absurd adventure was his style.

He sat down next to Babs, dropping his pack at his feet and reaching for a menu. The waitress came over and poured them coffee without asking whether or not they wanted it. Apparently, in this place, there was no question about it. Sam sipped the coffee. It seemed strong enough to etch his teeth but it was hot. Babs took one swallow and then reached for the cream and sugar and Sam hid a grin. She was probably accustomed to fresh ground, drip brewed. This stuff tasted more like

it had been boiled, maybe with a few old tires to add body to it.

They gave their orders to the waitress who popped her gum and looked bored. Clearly she'd seen it all. After she left, they stared at the counter, not looking at one another. So much lay unspoken between them that it seemed safer to say nothing.

The door opened with a jangle of the bell. Sam glanced over his shoulder. Caution was an old habit, one he didn't intend to break now. His eyes narrowed. The two men who'd come in looked like they hadn't had a bath in weeks, unless they'd bathed in alcohol. They stood in the doorway, weaving slightly, their bloodshot eyes roaming over the bar. Sam turned back toward the front, jabbing an elbow into Babs's ribs.

She turned to look at him, her eyes ready to fight but he forestalled her angry protest. "Just keep your eyes in front of you."

"I was just looking at them."

"Well, don't. We don't want any trouble."

"You were looking at them."

"But I'm not looking at them now, am I?" He smiled sweetly as he looked into her annoyed eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, you're the only young, moderately attractive female in the place."

"So?" Babs glared at him, put out by the "moderately."

"So, I don't want any trouble. Just keep your eyes in front of you and pretend you're deaf, dumb and blind. Do you think you can manage that?"

Her angry reply was forestalled by a gravelly voice that boomed out just behind her.

"Hello, sugar. Were you waiting for old Luke and me?"

Babs started to turn, her eyes glittering but then she caught Sam's warning gaze and stopped. She might not like it but she had to admit that maybe he knew best in this situation.

The speaker seated himself on the stool next to her, leaning one elbow on the counter. "My name is George and this here is my partner, Luke. We just come clean across the country and you're about the prettiest thing we've seen. Ain't that right, Luke?" Luke nodded.

Sam smiled, leaning forward so that his eyes met George's across Babs's rigid figure. "My lady and I have things to discuss, if you don't mind."

"Heck, we don't mind at all, do we, Luke? But this here is the prettiest thing we've seen." He grinned, displaying a broken front tooth. Sam could smell the cheap whiskey on his breath. George met the chill blue of Sam's eyes and caution seemed to move sluggishly in his pickled brain. He sat back on his stool, giving Babs a little breathing room.

Sam could feel the tension in her leg where it was pressed against his and he wanted to reassure her but now was not the time. With luck, they could eat their breakfast and get out of here without any trouble. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention.

George sank into a sullen stupor next to Babs and Sam was hoping he'd pass out. Beyond him, his friend Luke seemed comatose. It looked as if everything was going to be all right until the song on the jukebox changed to a fast-paced tune. Dolly Parton's clear voice rang out over the quick rhythms. The music seemed to have the same effect on George that electricity had on Frankenstein's monster. He jerked upright and jabbed an elbow into Luke's ribs. Luke sat up with a startled yelp.