Road Rage (4 page)

She fell back on her butt and yelled, “Get me out of here! I want to wake up!”

The man didn’t stir. No sound came from down the hall.

Loneliness closed around her, and she desperately wished she could remember her name. “It’s only a dream,” she told herself, but bands of despair squeezed her chest.

Time passed far too slowly for her to buy the dream theory any longer. Dreams shouldn’t be this boring. And crazy ought to be way more fun. Which meant she’d have to consider the possibility she might be–

A quiet sob drew her attention to the bed. Eager to abandon the depressing train of thought, she crept to the man’s side. Anxiety lined his forehead. His chest rose and fell erratically. He made soft whimpering sounds, terrified sounds.

Worried he might cry out again and wake up his daughter, she said, “Easy. Take it easy. You’re okay. You’re not alone.” She brushed her knuckles over the hair at his temple. The soft strands moved under her touch.

The knot of unease in her stomach relaxed. So did the man’s brow. He stopped whimpering.

“That’s right. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She stroked his hair less tentatively, letting her fingers comb through to his warm scalp. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

She kept stroking even after his dream seemed to be over, unsure who was more comforted.

Chapter 3

The cab of Derek’s truck smelled like coconut sunscreen and French fries. Across the console, Haley bounced to the beat of some pop song on the channel he’d let her choose. She had on a purple sundress, and the laces of her swimsuit made a neon-blue bow behind her neck. Her tanned shoulders glowed from their afternoon at Shasta Lake, and she kicked her sandaled feet at a rumpled McDonald’s bag.

“Thanks for the fries,” she said as she licked salt off her fingers. “Mom won’t let me get them. If we go to McDonalds, I have to get apple slices.”

“Well, that’s okay. Apples are better for you than fries.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“But fries are okay sometimes,” he added, reaching over to ruffle her hair.

She swatted his hand away with a roll of her eyes. But she had a lopsided smile for him too.

“Want to get a movie?” he asked.

“Sure. Can it be
Tyler’s Ransom?
”

“No. I hate those teen movies. And you’re too young for them.”

“Am not. Mom let me see it with Annabel in the theater.”

He’d have to talk to Deidre about that. He’d seen the previews for
Tyler’s Ransom,
and he didn’t like the thought of Haley seeing a film where a teen-singer-turned-actress showed that much cleavage and kissed a guy with tongue. “How about
E.T.
?”

“That movie’s so old.”

“It’s not old, it’s a classic. I loved it when I was your age.”

“It’s low budget.” She tossed her ponytail in disgust. “They didn’t even have CGI back then. And classic is just another word for old.”

He shook his head. His little girl was growing up too fast. “How’s this? You can pick the movie, but I get veto power.”

“You get two vetos.”

“I get unlimited vetos, but I’ll throw in a bucket of popcorn.”

She puckered her mouth while she thought about it. “And a bag of Red Vines?”

“Deal.”

Half an hour later, he pulled the extra-butter popcorn bucket from the microwave and lowered himself to the floor to curl up with Haley in front of the couch. She was too old for cartoons, she’d informed him at the video kiosk when he’d extolled the virtues of Pixar, but she wasn’t too old to cuddle with her daddy. It wouldn’t be long, though. Pretty soon she’d want to do her own thing on the weekends, and he’d be relegated to the role of chauffeur or chaperone. Then before he knew it, the only female in his life he’d ever been able to keep his temper around would be off to college and all grown up.

“Why don’t you date anyone, Dad?” she asked.

“Why don’t you watch the previews? Someone worked really hard to put all those clips together and try to get you interested in their movie.”

She dug her elbow into his ribs. With a mouthful of popcorn, she said, “Mom says you’re in danger of becoming a crotchety old man. She thinks you need to have a girlfriend.”

Deidre dated enough for the both of them, but Haley didn’t need to know he thought so. “I appreciate your mother’s concern, but my social life is none of her business.” He did his best to keep the ire out of his voice, but when Haley’s shoulder tensed, he worried she might have picked up on it.

He fast-forwarded the previews and got the movie going. The upbeat musical set in a high school that had never seen budget cuts failed to hold his attention. His mind wandered to the nightmare he’d had last night. Seeing that crash on the freeway must have done a number on him. He’d never dreamed the same thing twice in a night. Until last night. Fortunately, the second version hadn’t been as bad. He’d never forgotten it was a dream, and he’d had the strangest feeling he hadn’t been facing it alone. His arms erupted in goose bumps as he remembered what Haley had said.

Who was she? The woman who tried to wake you up.

Had Haley seen what he’d glimpsed? Auburn hair? Eyes so pure a blue they reminded him of the ocean when he went deep sea fishing?

Impossible. Must have been part of the dream. Just his subconscious working out the kinks of witnessing something pretty hairy. He didn’t have to worry about it anymore. He’d had a great time with Haley today and had hardly thought about the wreck. Ancient history. Time to move on.

The movie ended, and he called bedtime. Haley tried bargaining for an extra half hour, claiming he’d eaten more than his share of the popcorn and thus owed her. He appreciated her effort, but didn’t give in.

“I’ll go to bed if you promise you’ll ask someone out this week,” she said.

“Not this again.” He got up off the floor about as gracefully as a drunken elephant. His back made a series of pops, and a rope of aggravated muscle kinked his neck on one side. “Sorry kiddo, but bedtime’s non-negotiable.” He extended a hand to her, and she popped up like one of those Whack-a-Mole things.

“I just don’t want you to be lonely,” she said, swinging his arm by their clasped hands, then letting go to pick up the popcorn bucket that now held nothing but kernels.

He followed her to the kitchen and poured her a glass of milk. “I’m not lonely,” he said as he plunked the glass on the table. “I’ve got my Haley-girl.”

She downed half the glass, then wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist. “But you only have me on the weekends. What about Monday through Friday?”

“I work hard Monday through Friday, and on Saturdays and Sundays, I like doing things with you. I don’t have time for any other woman in my life. Now go get ready for bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. Hiking at Whiskeytown, then shopping for school clothes.”

“But pancakes first, right?” She drained the glass.

“Wouldn’t miss pancakes with my Haley-girl.”

Ten minutes later he found her on the futon amidst the sea of stuffed animals he kept for her. She’d wrapped herself up in the quilt his grandmother had made for him when he was a baby.

“Night, Haley-girl.” He kissed her forehead and switched off the light. “Love you.”

“Night, Daddy-man. Love you too.” She only called him
Daddy
at bedtime now. The rest of the time it was
Dad
.

His chest tight with love, he pulled her door shut then sat down with a beer to watch
SportsCenter
on low volume. An hour later, he brushed his teeth and headed to bed.

While he ran through his nightly workout, he found himself entertaining the idea of dating again. “Wouldn’t work,” he concluded, exhaling as he crunched forward in a sit-up. He wasn’t the strutting quarterback who had girls hanging all over him, anymore. And he’d married too young to get much practice at the whole bar-hopping, pick-up-line thing. He wouldn’t even know how to start talking to a woman.

He was thirty-four now. Practically middle-aged. He didn’t have a six-pack anymore, even though he did sit-ups every night. His knees creaked when he did squats. Hell, sitting on the floor with Haley for two hours had nearly crippled him.

He was a classic.

And he was a dad. He didn’t need any more than that out of life.

Besides, he didn’t think he could take the failure of losing another woman because of his quick temper. Better to focus on his daughter and his day job and steer clear of that whole relationship mess.

* * * *

She had to be dead. There were too many checks in the column to keep denying it.

After spending the night on the edge of the man’s mattress, soothing him through his nightmares, she’d found herself back in the fog. Interminable hours later, it still held her prisoner.

She could move her limbs, but had nothing to move against, no foundation, no gravity. She didn’t know whether the person she’d been had believed in heaven or hell, but the fact that this disorienting nothingness clearly wasn’t heaven felt like a betrayal.

“Was I that bad?” she asked the fog. It didn’t answer. “Do you hear me? Anyone? Please!”

Frustration and desperation were her only companions.

“I hate this!” she yelled. The fog swallowed her protest without so much as an echo.

She felt abandoned. Worse than alone. A lonely person at least had a sense of self. She didn’t even have that.

But she’d had the blond man for company, even if just for a night. And she’d had the feeling he’d needed her. Maybe she had some kind of weird commission to comfort people having nightmares, and if she did a good enough job, she could earn her way into heaven. Since that hope stood between her and despair, she clung to it like a lifeline.

Suddenly, the fog thinned. A solid surface came up to meet her feet, and the last of the smoky wisps parted to reveal the man’s room. She was back in her corner.

“Oh, thank God!” She fell to her hands and knees in relief. Being somewhere, anywhere, beat that nothingness. But she had to admit, this room made her feel safe.

As she regained her composure, she noticed the man doing push-ups between the foot of the bed and the dresser, in nothing but a pair of tight, black boxer briefs.

His toes braced on the floor mere inches from her hands. Directly in front of her, his calves and thighs made a long, muscular line to a cotton-hugged rear end. His tanned back flared from a narrow waist to broad, muscular shoulders. Powerful arms bunched deliciously as he pumped the plank of his body up and down. The hair at the nape of his neck curled with perspiration. She had an urge to plant her nose in that moist hair and draw in his scent of Irish Spring soap and summer sunshine.

Virile, masculine flesh filled her vision, and the rhythmic rush of heavy breathing bathed her ears with a sound of life so welcome after the deathly silence of the fog. After hours of sensory deprivation, she greedily feasted her senses.

Before she could think better of it, she extended her hand toward the man’s right foot and stroked a finger down his sole, tracing the arch from heel to ball. His skin was warm and taut, slightly pink, and toughened with every step he’d ever taken. The touch sent a thrill of connection through her while at the same time she cringed back, fearing his response.

He gave no sign he’d felt anything.

Disappointment settled in her belly. Some sort of reaction would have been nice.

She thought about attempting something more insistent, like a pinch, but the man finished his push-ups and got to his feet. He moved out of reach and bent at the waist to stretch his hamstrings. On the one hand, being dead sucked. On the other hand, if she got to drool over buns like that as part of her afterlife, she supposed she could make peace with it.

She gave herself a mental shake. This man needed her help. That had to be why she was here. Therefore she should not be staring at his behind and wondering if it felt as firm as it looked.

Focus, girlie. Moving on is the name of the game. You don’t want to go back to the fog, do you?

With a renewed sense of purpose, she watched the man roll his head on his shoulders, stretching his corded neck. Cautiously, she approached him.

“Why you?” she wondered out loud.