WILD RIDE (2 page)

Chapter
Three

I was glad for the shade the
Welcome to Texas!
sign offered me.  The situation wasn’t great but things weren’t all bad. 
Firstly, I was out of Oklahoma, across an entire
border
from my past and
my disappointments.  Second, I had shade and was thankful I’d worn the cool,
thin, very-short cotton dress.  I had a hat and sunglasses.  The temperature
even in the shade must have been a hundred degrees or more.  But I had water
and a bottle of liquid courage to my name.  I’d had to eat the chocolate before
it melted so I was out of food, but that didn’t worry me.  This was a main
thoroughfare; other people would drive by sooner rather than later, I guessed,
and I’d hitch a ride to the next town.  From there, I’d figure things out.

I put my few belongings into a small red suitcase I
found in the trunk.  The car could lie there and rust for the next hundred
years for all I cared.  I would never come back for it.

And so I sat in the shade and waited for a ride,
sipping on water and occasionally whiskey, watching the path of the sun across
the blue-white sky.  I might have sat there twenty minutes, or less, when I saw
the first tiny glimmer of sunlight on chrome along the horizon.  Placing my
small bag behind me, I stuck out my thumb and hoped for the best.  I’d never
hitch-hiked before, since I’d never had anywhere to go until now, but it wasn’t
difficult.  And a second car followed a mile or so behind the first, I could
now see.  A red one.  If the first car didn’t stop, hopefully the second one
would.

The first car, an older-model white Pontiac sedan,
slowed.  The driver was a man, probably about thirty.  His look matched his
car: cheap and borderline nasty.  He rolled down his window as he pulled to a
stop and removed his sunglasses to get a better look at me.  My pulse fired up
with the warning bells ringing behind my psyche, but I couldn’t afford to be
overly choosy.  I was as desperate as desperate gets.

“Howdy, there, sweetheart.  You lookin’ for a ride?” 
He was staring at my breasts and his eyes dipped to the tops of my thighs,
where the high hem of my dress covered me sheerly.  Maybe this outfit choice
wasn’t so ideal, after all.  He smiled but it came across as more of a
lecherous sneer. 
Don’t get in that car
, some internal voice was
screaming at me.

Genuine alarm iced through my veins, cooling me a
degree.  “Actually,” I heard myself say, “I’m waiting for someone.  My
boyfriend.  I called him and he’s on his way.”

The man looked at my face, as though reading my lie. 
“Aw, come on.  Don’t be like that.  I’ll drive you back that way, if you want. 
Until we see him.  We can flag him down.  You need to get out of that hot sun. 
It’s all nice and air conditioned in here.  Come on.”

The second car approached, slowing as it passed.  A red
convertible Mustang with the top down.  Two men wearing cowboy hats and aviator
sunglasses were looking at me, assessing the scene.  It might have been the
car, or the fight-or-flight instinct, or a combination of both, but I snatched
up my bag and ran towards the Mustang.  “There he is!  Thanks!” I yelled to the
Pontiac driver as I waved my hand, hoping frantically that the cowboys would
tune in to my desperation.  Who even knew?  They might be far worse than the
first driver, but all I had to guide me was my own beating heart, and what I
wanted more than anything at that moment was to get into that convertible and
drive at top speeds in a southward direction, leaving Cal, Oklahoma and Mr.
Pontiac in the dust.

The Mustang, thank God, slowed and I ran up to the
driver’s side, breathing heavily.  In an unthinking gesture, I placed my hand
on the door, as though to keep them there.  “Excuse me, but I’m having some car
trouble and I need a ride to the next town, if you don’t mind,” I said.  As I
stood there, waiting for their answer, I could see that they were exceptionally
good-looking men. 
Amazingly
good-looking men, in fact.  Strapping and
wholesome, somehow, like they’d spent their lives running around football
fields or swimming in pristine, glittering swimming pools.  The driver was
dark-haired, the bigger of the two, and the passenger was blond; sun-lightened,
straw-colored flicks stuck out from under his well-worn black cowboy hat.

The blond man smiled widely, revealing a flash of white
teeth.  “Sure thing, sugar,” he said in a strong Texas drawl.  “We don’t mind
at all, do we, Nate?  The more the merrier.”

Nate, the dark-haired driver, didn’t reply.  His eyes, barely
visible through his reflective sunglasses, assessed my face, my hair, my
dress.  Then he gave the slightest nod, dipping his chin in a barely-there
invitation.

“Climb on in,” the blond cowboy said, his voice deep
and resonant yet edged with friendliness.  “You need a hand with that bag?”

“No, thank you.  I’m fine.”  Beyond grateful that these
god-like Mustang-driving quarterbacks had shown up exactly when I’d needed them,
I threw my bag into the back seat and climbed aboard.  Even if they turned out
to be murderous psychopaths, the ride itself was worth the uncertainty.  The cool,
plush, soft leather seat felt like heaven on earth.

“Who’s that?” the blond man said, flicking his thumb at
the Pontiac, which was now pulling back out onto the highway.  The Pontiac driver
glared at me, clear disappointment written all over his pale, doughy face.

“Some extremely creepy guy whose car I really didn’t
want to get into,” I said, adding, “Thank you so much.  Really.  I appreciate
the ride more than I can say.  If you hadn’t turned up when you did, I just
don’t know …”  This was some crazy sort of day.  I realized I was tearing up
with gratitude, with relief, with something that might have been happiness.  Or
a very mellow near-drunkenness spiked with hope.  And a warmth that hummed
within me that was new.  I couldn’t define it and I didn’t want to.  Maybe it
was Texas.  Maybe
this
was what life in Texas felt like.  I decided I
liked Texas.  “Anyway, thank you for stopping.”

The blond man looked mildly disarmed by my tears.  He
took off his sunglasses and his expression was riveted and concerned.  With his
blond, white-tipped hair and his dark-skinned, blue-eyed look, he was
absolutely stunning.  All I could do was stare at the rugged, golden beauty of
him with rapt wonder.  He reached out to touch my arm with his warm palm in a
soothing, calming touch that fed the slow burn in my low stomach.  The whiskey,
maybe, taking effect.  “Hey, it’s all right.  We’ll take you wherever you need
to go.  Don’t worry about anything.  We’ll stop at a garage and get your car
towed.”

I couldn’t help smiling at him.  For some reason, I
wanted to reassure him, to erase that concern and replace it with his sunny
smile.  I took off my sunglasses, wiping my tears with the back of my hand.  “I
won’t be needing a tow truck.  I think that car has found its final resting
place.  To tell you the truth, I’m glad to be rid of it.”  If anyone did follow
me, or trace my path, they would have no further clues than a useless, empty
pile of rust and forgotten, wind-dusted memories.

With that, Nate pulled out onto the road, saying
nothing.  But our gazes met in the rear-view mirror for a split-second and it
was a look charged with too many layers to name.  This dark cowboy, I guessed,
aside from his ridiculously-sculpted build and aloof silence, was a complex
character.  I found myself looking forward to some time on the road with him,
to see what he might say.  And to see if our eyes might meet again, to spark
that Texas warmth that was simmering its slow heat within me just a little more
insistently.

The blond man’s palm was still on my skin, and he
removed it, only to hold his hand out to me, as an introduction.  “The name’s
Riley.  Riley Walker.  This is my cousin, Nate Walker.”

I took Riley’s hand, grasping it lightly.  “It’s very
nice to meet you Riley.  And Nate.  I’m Lacey.  Lacey Callihan.”

“Lacey.  That’s a very pretty name,” Riley said.  His
grasp was strong, but gentle.  It made me picture Riley as a boy, being taught
by a strapping blond football coach father how to shake hands with conviction,
with strength.  This was the handshake of a young, upright American man with
the edge of a wildchild.  The football-mad father would have had some trouble
with this one; Riley, at sixteen, would have shown up on time for football
practice – it would have been sacrilegious not to – but would have snuck out
the window after dark to party until dawn with a mixture not only of jocks and
preppies but of darker types and fringe-dwellers.  Of moody rebels and edgy
romantics.  I liked how Riley’s sun-golded hair clashed lightly with the
unruliness in him.  I might have been wrong but it was a first impression that
stuck with me.  Riley, like Nate, was more complex than good looks.  Strangely,
it was these complexities in my new escorts that intrigued me as much as the
picture perfection of their wind-blown hair, their Adonis-like features, their
wide shoulders.

We were on the open road now, driving fast.  Easily
overtaking the Pontiac.  Riley gave the guy the finger as we drove past which
made me laugh.

I’d never ridden in a convertible before but I’d seen
on TV and in movies that people who rode in convertibles often looked wildly disheveled,
and I remember wondering if the open air could be irritating, blowing heavily
like that.  This car was the latest model and had been engineered to bypass all
that.  Something about the aerodynamics made the ride incredibly comfortable:
lightly breezy in the hot afternoon sun but not enough wind to mess up my hair,
ruffle my hat or muffle the sound of Riley’s voice as he spoke to me.

“What happened to your face?” Riley asked gently.  At
his question, Nate glanced once again in the rear-view mirror, causing my
stomach to lurch in a soft, oddly-pleasurable curl.  That heat again.  That
Texas heat that hit me right below my navel.

I held my hands up to my face, feeling the lingering
pain as my fingertips touched my lightly-swollen cheekbone.  I’d forgotten. 
The bruise.

“I …”  Not sure whether to be honest or to make
something up, I decided to just tell it like it was.  God knew it hardly
mattered if they knew my pathetic history.  They’d be dropping me off at the
next dead-end town to promptly disappear into a gilded sunset.  “I had a little
run-in with my boyfriend’s fist.  My
ex
-boyfriend’s fist,” I corrected. 
“So I left him.  For good.”

“He hit you?” Riley asked.

“Yeah.  Right after he stole all my money.”

Riley eyed me and shook his head a little.  “
Shit
. 
What an asshole.”

I might have imagined it but it seemed to me that
Nate’s grip on the steering wheel tightened a little.  From what I could see of
his face in the rear-view mirror, he looked pissed off.  And I had to admit I
liked their reaction to my pitiful story.  These hunky saviors were mildly
ruffled by the thought of someone hitting a woman like that.  Of someone hitting
me
.

“Yeah,” I agreed.  “I hope I never see him again as
long as I live.  That’s why I skipped town.  It was time.  Overdue, in fact.”

“Where’d you come from?” Riley asked.  Obviously the
far more out-spoken of the two men, Riley had an easy, conversational vibe
about him I appreciated.  As much as the brooding, gorgeous silent type like
Nate was to be admired, I was thankful for Riley’s lightness.  I couldn’t
imagine traveling alone with Nate.  The silence, spliced perfectly with Riley’s
easy-going extrovert manner, worked.  By itself, Nate’s intensity might have
been uncomfortable.  Almost threatening, even, with his tight grip and those
huge sun-tanned muscles.

“Tulsa,” I said.

“And where’re you headed?”

“Austin.”  After a minute, I said, “What about you?”

“Houston.”  This was not especially welcome
information.  We weren’t too far from Plano, and once we hit Dallas – if they
were even willing to take me that far – the road for Houston ran southeast; the
road to Austin ran southwest.  But then Riley said, “But we have to stop in
Dallas for a night or two.  Got some clients to meet up with.”

“Oh.”  A beat, and Riley’s eyes met mine and held.  I
couldn’t remember the last time I’d blushed or even had a need to, but I felt
the light set of his gaze in a whole lot of unusual places.  “So what do you
guys do in Houston?”

“We run an Internet business and do some property
management, and Nate here manages a couple of investment portfolios as well.  On
his way to the big leagues, this boy.  Bought this car with cash just last
week, isn’t that right, Nate?”

Nate gave an off-hand, “Yup.”

“You two wouldn’t happen to be quarterbacks by any
chance, would you?”

“How’d you know?” Riley said.  “Nate here was first
string for two years in Sugar Land, and I was first string for two years after
he graduated.”

I couldn’t help laughing lightly at that, that my hunch
was so dead-on.  “I thought so.”  There was something so purely alpha written
all over them.  It just seemed like a given that they’d be quarterbacks and
valedictorians and student body presidents and Most Likely to Succeed types. 
Not to mention Most Likely to Get Laid types.

“And what is it the lovely Lacey Callihan does in
Tulsa?” Riley asked me.  The casual compliment quietly charmed me.  Maybe it
was the white-blue-bronze hues of his teeth and his eyes and his hair, or that
mischievous aura he gave off.  I found myself savoring the presence of not only
Riley Walker but his silent, darkly gorgeous cousin as an unfamiliar craving. 
It felt almost like hunger, or thirst, yet different altogether.