And they still had another twelve hours before they reached New Orleans.
But he’d convinced himself it would be fine. He was a master of self-control, and besides, what could happen on a Harley?
As if to prove the idiocy of that statement, Trae shifted again.
He wouldn’t make it. He was a determined man, more stubborn than most, but not even a superhero could drive a Harley cross-country on so little sleep. And with a beautiful woman—check that, an off-limits beautiful woman—snuggled up to his back. He might have good intentions, honorable ones, but he wasn’t going to keep them if they continued like this.
Soon, they should reach Dallas. He had business associates there who would be only too happy to help him. Forget the stupid bet. It would be foolish—no, make that irresponsible—not to take advantage of any available assistance.
He should call ahead, though, to alert them that he was coming so they could start the ball rolling. Spotting a gas station up the road, he decided to pull into it.
“What’s going on?” Trae asked groggily, sitting up straight and looking around her when the Harley rumbled to a stop.
“Getting gas.” Hopping off the bike, Rhys shrugged out of his jacket. The temperature had to be close to one hundred. “Don’t know about you, but I think I might use the restroom. Maybe splash some cold water on my face.”
As she studied his face, taking in his features, Rhys felt suddenly self-conscious of his day-old beard. “Guess I could use a shave, too,” he said, reaching up to rasp a hand across his chin. “Getting kind of scruffy.”
She shook her head. “I like it. Makes you look…rugged.”
Rhys had been called many things in his life, but rugged had never been one of them. He found he liked it.
And there Trae went again, getting through his defenses, finding things in him that nobody else ever noticed. He had to fight the sudden urge to reach out for her and hold her against his chest.
“The restrooms are over there,” he said, nodding at the building.
“Oh, yeah,” she said distractedly, pulling her gaze to the building. “Thanks.”
Watching her wander off, he realized he’d failed to mention the main reason he’d stopped. No big deal, he thought with a shrug. She’d learn soon enough.
Not that it was a hardship, sitting on the cushioned leather chair with a view of Dallas stretching out before her many stories below, but his so-called minute had stretched into five, then ten and fifteen, and here she sat no closer to an explanation. If Rhys didn’t show his face soon, she was going to…
The sad fact was, there was little she could do but sit and wait.
“Ms. Andrelini?” said a soft voice behind her. Swiveling in her chair, Trae faced a middle-aged brunette, dressed in a crisp navy suit. “I’m Ellen Smith, Mr. Petermann’s assistant. Mr. Paxton asked me to inform you that he’s been unavoidably detained. If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you to our executive suite. He feels you’ll be more comfortable waiting for him there.”
Popping up from the seat, Trae fell into step beside her. “How long is this going to take?”
Ellen shook her head. “Sorry, I have no idea.” Pushing open a door at the other end of the hallway, she ushered Trae into a room done in dark wood and several shades of green. Like the waiting room she’d just left, it had floor-to-ceiling windows and a plush leather sofa. A mahogany bar stood in one corner, a plasma TV in the other, yet the overall effect was of peace and relaxation. Even the forest-green carpet looked soft enough to sleep on.
“Mr. Paxton thought you might want to shower, perhaps take a nap,” Ellen went on as she crossed the room and opened a door on the right. “Here is the bedroom, and the bath is behind it. You’ll find towels and a robe laid out for you.”
“Wow,” was all Trae could think of to say. “Thanks a lot.”
Having done her job, Ellen walked back to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to it, then. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call. You’ll find my extension number next to the phone in the bedroom.”
“A phone?” Trae asked, perking up as she thought of checking her messages. “Can I dial out?”
“Of course. Just dial the number nine, then the phone number.”
With a soft, gracious smile, the woman eased out of the room as gracefully as she’d entered it.
Left alone in the sudden quiet, Trae felt unbelievably tired. A shower should help wake her up, she told herself as she headed into the bedroom. But first, she should check if she’d heard anything more from Lucie. She still hadn’t given up hope that her friend might have had yet another change of heart.
No such luck. Trae’s only message was from her mother, her voice increasingly shrill as she fretted over why Trae wasn’t answering her phone. Her mom rang off, reminding her daughter about the importance of being home for Sunday dinner, threatening that if she didn’t hear from Trae soon, she’d be sending her brothers to come get her.
Appalled by the prospect, Trae started to dial home, then thought better of it. Her mother wanted results, not explanations. Besides, if they were in Dallas now, they’d be in New Orleans by tomorrow, which was Saturday. All she had to do was stop at Bobby’s, collect Lucie and make sure she was okay. With any luck, Trae could be home by late tomorrow evening.
Plenty of time to listen to her mother’s ranting and raving then.
She opted to call Vinny instead. Good news, he told her. The Worldways strike was all but over. Warning him that she’d need a standby ticket tomorrow, she promised to call with the where and when in the morning. When Vinny tried to grill her about her whereabouts, she told him her ride was leaving and she had to go. “Tell Mom not to worry,” she added before hanging up. “I’ll be home by Sunday.”
She was only half-conscious of crossing her fingers behind her back.
Remembering her promise to keep her friends updated, she tried calling Quinn next. “Ms. Reynolds is in court,” the voice mail message told her, but if she’d like to leave a message…
Alana answered on the second ring, sounding harried, explaining that she was in the midst of putting together a project. Apologizing for seeming so scattered, Alana asked what was going on. Had Trae heard anything from Lucie?
Trae confessed that she’d hoped their friend might have called there. Alana regretted having to answer in the negative.
Interestingly enough, though, Alana had heard from Jo Kerrin. She and her little girl were all settled in with her parents in New Orleans. Jo had left a voice mail on Lucie’s phone, too, so if Lucie checked her messages she’d have heard the news. Trae might want to try calling Jo. Knowing Lucie, she’d make time to stop by for a visit.
An excellent idea, Trae thought. Using the number Alana gave her, she next tried the Kerrins.
Jo was delighted to hear from her but dismayed to hear about Lucie’s disappearance. If Lucie called, Jo promised, she’d be sure to call Trae the minute she got off the phone.
Trae tried to think of who else she should call, only to realize that the one person she truly wanted to talk to was Rhys.
Where was he? she wondered, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. By now, he’d been gone for nearly an hour. He must have encountered some sort of business emergency—she’d noticed him on the phone at the gas station—but she wished he’d hurry up and take care of it so they could get back on the road.
Speaking of which, she should probably take a shower, in case Rhys suddenly appeared with another five-minute ultimatum.
The toiletries in the bathroom were worth a king’s ransom, and the warm water, washing away the heat and dust of the road, was beyond price. Too bad neither did anything to revive her.
Bundling up in the soft, terry robe, she felt pampered and relaxed, a dangerous combo in her sleep-deprived state. Drifting through the bedroom, her gaze focused on the soft goose down comforter and mountain of pillows on the bed. What could it hurt, she told herself as she plopped down on the mattress. She’d just rest her eyes for a couple of minutes…
“Ms. Andrelini?”
Trae popped up, embarrassed to be caught nodding off. She could hear Ellen Smith in the other room, talking through the door as she waited for Trae to make an appearance. Scrambling out of bed, securing the sash on the robe, Trae tried to make sense of her damp, tangled hair. A quick glance out the window showed that it was just starting to get dark. Just how long had she been on that bed, anyway?
Hurrying to the living room, she found Ms. Smith holding a shopping bag. “Sorry to wake you,” she said in her calm, no-nonsense tone, “but Mr. Paxton is ready to leave.” Smiling warmly, she held out the bag. “He asked us to purchase a new outfit for you. He imagined you’d enjoy something new and fresh to wear. He’s waiting downstairs,” she added when Trae took the bag from her hands. “When you’re ready, I’ll take you to him.”
“But I can’t wear this on a motorcycle,” Trae protested as she held up the cute flowered sundress, leaving the silk underwear and white leather sandals in the bag.
“No, I wouldn’t think so.” Shaking her head, Ellen Smith smiled knowingly as she left the suite. “But I’m sure Mr. Paxton will explain the change in plans.”
Change in plans?
Could the woman make it sound any more ominous? Slipping into the clothes he’d bought her, Trae fretted over what she could have meant.
Rhys had been gone for hours; he could have planned a major battle in less time. Had he arranged to pack her off on a bus while he flew back to the office? Businessman that he was, he’d have assessed the facts, coming to the inevitable conclusion that she was a liability. This little respite, her sojourn into the lap of luxury, could be his way of letting her go nicely.
Increasingly depressed, Trae followed Ellen Smith to the elevators. As they took the long ride down to the ground floor, she couldn’t help but wonder if Rhys would be standing there as the doors opened, his handsome face grave as he waited to hand Trae her walking papers.
She couldn’t find it in her heart to blame him. Their adventure had to end sometime, and after the way she’d clung to him last night, only an irresponsible fool would prolong it. Something Rhys most definitely was not.
However, nobody stood in the elevator banks, nor could Trae find Rhys anywhere in the empty lobby. Not faltering a step, Ellen Smith marched to the revolving door at the entrance, her heels clicking loudly on the polished marble floor.
It wasn’t until they were out the door that Trae spied him, chatting with a liveried limousine driver on the curb. Gone was the black leather jacket, the jeans and flannel shirt, the rumpled hair and scruffy beard. Even the bandage was missing, his forehead now dressed with a small, nearly invisible Band-Aid. Dressed in a sharp navy suit that put his gray one to shame, he seemed almost a stranger.
So it was back to the old Rhys Paxton, she thought in dismay. The brisk, no-nonsense business executive who’d always looked down his nose at her.
She felt suddenly as if she’d just lost a good friend.
“Here she is now,” he said to the driver, turning to Trae. “Ready to roll?”
“In this?” She eyed the sleek black limo with something close to aversion.
“I was going to rent a car, but this way we can both catch up on some sleep. I don’t know about you, but I’m in no condition to be rescuing anyone at the moment.”
There were probably a thousand questions she should ask him, but all she could wrap her thoughts around was her relief. For now, it was enough that he’d waited for her, that he’d included her in his plans.
Enough that they’d keep looking for Lucie together.
This was not what Lucie had envisioned when she had run away from the altar.
Staring at her hands, she nearly cried when she noticed another broken nail. She desperately needed a manicure, but there were no salons in the swamp. No health spas or five-star restaurants, not even a mall. Just miles and miles of muddy water and swarms of pesky mosquitoes.
She was so disappointed, she could have stomped her foot—if she thought the porch floor could take it. What had happened to her grand adventure?
Back in Los Angeles, Bobby had been every bit as exciting as she’d remembered. Heartthrob handsome and oozing with Southern charm, strutting like a king among those wannabe actors and fame-starved agents, he’d promised to make her a star. Awestruck by the future he’d painted, Lucie had been only too happy to follow him to Las Vegas.
But then Lou Carino had shown up, and the Bobby she’d admired had vanished. Scared of the man’s power and connections, knowing he could never repay the fortune Lou had invested in him, Bobby had run like a frightened little boy to hide here in the swamp. Hard to remain a king with your tail between your legs, she supposed, and your palace being this ramshackle hunting shack deep in the bayou.
She hated it here. She even hated Bobby here. No doubt he’d expect her to get her own dinner again, and clean up the place after. Look at the way he’d made her drive the whole distance, being too drunk to get behind the wheel half the time, and too hungover the rest of the time.
And all the way here, she couldn’t help but compare him to Rhys. Rhys never made her cook and clean or even drive, for that matter. He never drank in excess, never even let a single hair stray out of place. Always presentable, always in control. Ever dependable Rhys, who’d never once dreamed of failing her.
Yet…
She paused, realizing that this was how the old Lucie would have thought, the pre-run-away-from-the-altar Lucie. Thanks to her grand adventure, she wasn’t that girl anymore, and she really had to stop acting like her. Deep down, she knew she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life relying on Rhys to rescue her.
Why blame Bobby for all her troubles? If not for him, she’d never have remembered how much she enjoyed acting—if only for a day—and how good she actually was at it. Or how she could do so many more things than she’d believed possible. She, who’d never driven very much, had managed to make her way halfway across the country. Okay, so maybe she still wasn’t a big fan of getting behind the wheel, but hey, she’d proved to herself she could do it. And she was pretty darned proud of her achievement.
Trae would be proud of her, too, she realized. She and Quinn and Alana would encourage Lucie to continue.
Just say no
.
Looking up, she saw Crazy Elmer slowly poling his pirogue in her direction. An elderly Cajun who lived at the other end of the bayou, Crazy Elmer seemed to feel obligated to stop by every evening to see if Bobby needed anything in town. Most times, Crazy Elmer wasn’t even close to sober by the time he returned each night, but then, Lucie wouldn’t need to come back with him, anyway.
And just like that, she realized what she had to do. She had to get out, get away, and really, when she thought about it, was there any better time than the present?
Hurrying inside, she gathered up her few belongings and scribbled off a note. In it, she told Bobby she was sorry but she just couldn’t sit around anymore and watch him drink himself into a stupor.
Then she went back outside and got into the pirogue with Crazy Elmer. As they poled off, she glanced back at the cabin with a sigh. Bobby would be hurt, she knew, but there was little she could do about it. Lord help her, she still loved that boy, and probably always would, but there came a time in every girl’s life when she had to make a decision. She had a life to live, things to accomplish, and she’d never get anything done by hiding out here in the swamp.
As her friends would say, when it came to Bobby Boudreaux, it was time to “Just say no.”