Never Let You Go (13 page)

Jordan leaned over. “You think he’s burying a body in there?” he murmured.

Megan laughed in spite of herself. “How are we going to carry those bags up there?” They walked over to the slope, which was slick with mud. The shed had to be at least a quarter mile up. “The guy’s insane!”

“Yeah, he’s a nut job,” Jordan agreed. “But don’t worry, I’ve got this one.” He turned and walked back to the barn. At the door, he stopped and called in. “Mr. Coothy?”

The farmer appeared out of the gloom. “What?”

Jordan smiled easily, as if he were about to invite his favorite nephew to play catch in the yard. “We’re happy to help you with the corn, but we’re going to need a wheelbarrow.”

“Wheelbarrow’s broken,” Coothy grunted. “Just carry them up.”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s kind of far up,” Jordan said calmly.

Coothy said nothing.

“Okay,” Jordan finally said. “We’ll just stack the corn somewhere dry, and we’ll be happy to come back later, once your wheelbarrow’s fixed.”

Coothy opened and closed his mouth a few times. Megan guessed he wasn’t used to having people refuse his orders. Jordan didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he walked back to the truck and began dragging out the bags of corn and piling them neatly on the porch, against the wall of the house, where they would be protected. Megan hurried over and helped him stack the bags. All the while, Coothy still hadn’t moved from his place in the barn doorway.

“That guy’s going to stab us with a pitchfork or something,” Megan hissed, hefting one end of her bag.

Jordan just smiled. “Nah. There were a ton of guys like him on the road crew. They just got off on ordering everyone around. It was a big power trip for them. Seriously, what are we going to do? Break our backs hauling that stuff up that hill? We’d be here forever!”

After they’d finished dragging the bags onto the porch, Megan expected they’d get right back into the truck. But Jordan walked back over to the barn. Coothy had disappeared again.

“Jordan, stop!” Megan stage-whispered. “What are you doing?”

He paused at the barn entrance and called out cheerfully, “Everything’s unloaded, Mr. Coothy. Thanks—we’re going to get going.” There was only silence. “Hope you have a good day.”

Megan almost sprinted to the truck, collapsing in the seat. She raised her head as Jordan climbed in beside her. “You’re lucky we didn’t get shot. It would’ve been your fault.”

Jordan grinned and twisted the key in the ignition. “I could’ve taken him.” He drove back down the muddy driveway and out
onto the blacktop. Even the sunshine seemed brighter now that they were off that farm. Megan glanced at the dashboard clock. “Noon. That’s not too bad.”

Jordan stretched first one arm and then another over his head. “I know, right? Dave said they were grilling tonight for dinner too. I wouldn’t want to miss that.” He swung the truck around another curve. There were no farms on this stretch. The road sat low down, with high, rocky embankments rising up on either side. Almost above their heads stretched rough rail fences. Thorny wild-rose bushes hung down thickly, their simple white flowers gazing out at the roadside.

“That was great, the way you handled that guy,” Megan said.

He waved his hand in dismissal.

“No, seriously,” Megan insisted. “I mean, you didn’t argue with him. You just told him what we were doing and then did it. I’d never be able to stand up to someone like that.”

Jordan hesitated. “I’ve noticed that’s hard for you, isn’t it? Standing up to people?” He didn’t say “Anna,” but Megan knew that’s what he meant. She started to feel embarrassed that he’d noticed Anna pushing her around, but when he looked over at her, his face held nothing but understanding. The embarrassment flowed away.

“Yeah,” she just said softly.

The gears ground as Jordan urged the truck up the hilly road. The rubber smell was stronger than before. Jordan threw Megan a look like, “Don’t say it.” She smiled back and bit her lip, gazing ostentatiously out the window.

A popping noise came from under the hood, and the engine noise grew louder. The truck started to shake.

“Whooaa.” Megan gripped the side of her door. The steering wheel looked like it was trying to rip itself out of Jordan’s hands. Megan glanced at the dashboard again. The needle on the temperature gauge was all the way over to the right. Megan couldn’t read the numbers from where she was sitting, but she could see the colors, and she figured that red probably meant “hot.”
Do engines ever explode?
she thought nervously.

The shaking grew more violent. “Hang on!” Jordan said. He managed to guide the truck over to the side of the road just before the engine died.

They both sat frozen for a moment, Jordan still gripping the wheel. Off to her right, Megan heard a bird chirping loudly in a rosebush.
Dreeep. Dreeep.
If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine they’d pulled over to stretch their legs.

Jordan opened the door and went around to the front. He held his palm an inch above the hood, then called to Megan. “Hey, is there a rag or something in there?”

Megan searched around and found a torn towel stuffed behind one of the seats. She climbed out and handed it to him. “What’s up?”

Using the towel like a pot holder, Jordan gingerly popped the latch and opened the hood. “Ah! Jeez, the engine’s superhot. See, the fan belt broke.” He pointed, and Megan peered in at the wide, flat loop of rubber that now hung limply, the two ends shredded. “Without a fan belt, the radiator overheats in, like, one
second.” He sighed and released the propstick, letting the hood bang down.

Megan’s shoulders sagged. “So basically, we’re screwed.” She looked both ways on the road. There wasn’t a single sign of life, unless you counted a robin pecking enthusiastically on the berm. Also, she recalled with increasingly sinking spirits, not a single car had passed them the whole time they’d been pulled over. “What are we going to do?” she almost wailed. Visions of herself and Jordan lying by the truck starved to death and picked at by vultures swam through her mind.

Jordan put his arm over her shoulders. He felt very solid and very warm, Megan noticed even through her distress. And very nice.

“Hey, what’re you getting all upset for?” he asked. “Have you forgotten what century you’re living in?” He pulled out his cell phone, and Megan sighed with relief.

“Duh,” she said. “I feel stupid.”

He thumbed his phone. “Not at all. We’ll call Thomas and have him come out. . . .” He trailed off, staring down at the phone.

“What?” Megan asked, but even before the word was out of her mouth, she knew.

“No service,” they both said at the same time.

They looked at each other. Megan dug her own phone from her pocket. Zero bars. She held it up and waved it around in the air, as if that might help. Still zero bars.

“Well, should we start walking?”

Megan looked around at the deserted road. “Back to Coothy’s?”

Jordan steered her along the side of the blacktop to the right. “I’m not sure he’d be thrilled to see us. Besides, it’s almost six miles back.” He started walking briskly. “It’s not like we’re in the middle of the desert. We’ll just knock at the nearest house and ask to use their phone.”

Megan trotted by his side. At least she’d worn her trail sneakers. “Let me ask you something,” she said after a minute. “Are you
ever
in a bad mood?”

“I don’t know, why? Do I seem unnaturally happy or something?” He reached out and plucked a rose from a nearby bramble and twirled it between his fingers as they walked.

“Well, not happy, exactly.” The road was steeper now, and Megan tried not to pant as they walked. “Just . . . I don’t know. You don’t get rattled.” But as she spoke, she remembered his embarrassment when she’d found Anna and him in the stall before Sweetie’s birth. She smiled to herself. Maybe he wasn’t quite as unshakable as he seemed.

Jordan caught her look. “What? Why’re you smiling like that?” He reached over and gently tucked the little rose behind Megan’s ear. His fingers brushed her cheek, and she swallowed. Her cheek burned where he’d touched it.

“Hey, there’s a house,” she fumbled, not quite ready to figure out just what that moment meant. She pointed to a small brick bungalow atop a gentle rise. A large American flag fluttered from a pole in the center of the lawn.

They walked a little faster. The sweat trickled down the side of her temple. Very attractive. They neared the driveway. The
flagpole was surrounded by a ring of pink geraniums, the front walk spotless and the grass edged as if with a ruler. The front door was shut, but a large, shiny truck sat in the driveway.

As she followed Jordan up the front walk, Megan fingered the flower behind her ear. Was he flirting with her? Was that right, since he was with Anna?
But are they officially together, Megan?
the voice in her head asked.
Isn’t it Anna who likes
him
?

Megan pictured herself cradling Jordan’s hand against her cheek. And then him putting his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. . . . Megan shook her head and blinked hard. They were standing at the front door. The image had been so strong that, for an instant, it had blotted out anything else.

Jordan pressed the bell and they waited, staring at a small wooden plaque on the front door that read
EAST, WEST, HOME’S BEST.
The words were surrounded by a pattern of apples. A few minutes later, the door was opened by a pleasant-faced blond woman.

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Jordan and this is Megan. We work for Thomas Neale at Given Farm.” Jordan smiled confidently, and Megan tried to look sweet and harmless. “Our truck broke down about a half mile back, and we can’t get any cell coverage. Do you think we could use your phone to call our boss?”

The woman looked doubtful for a moment, and Megan didn’t blame her. It sounded like the perfect setup for a robbery in a movie or something. But people must be more trusting out in the country, because the woman stepped back and
held open the door. “Come on in. The phone’s in the kitchen.”

They stepped into the cool hall. The house smelled of lemon Pledge and old furniture. Megan caught a glimpse of a huge sectional sofa and a TV on mute.

In the yellow-tiled kitchen, the woman pointed to a phone on the wall. “There you go.” She hesitated as Jordan lifted the receiver. “Are you two hungry?” she asked.

Megan’s stomach gave a hollow rumble. They’d eaten the pasta salad a long time ago, and who knew when they’d make it back to the farm? “Oh, no, we’re okay,” Megan said politely.

But the woman was already pulling open the refrigerator door and taking out bologna, lettuce, and bread. Megan shifted on her feet.

Across the room, Jordan was nodding his head and twisting the phone cord around his wrist. “Okay, okay. Got it.” He looked around, then grabbed a pen from the counter and wrote a number on the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Megan said apologetically. “May I use your bathroom?”

“Oh, sure.” The woman pointed to a door with a mayonnaise-smeared knife.

When Megan returned, Jordan was sitting at the kitchen island with his arms on the counter, talking to the woman as if he’d known her for years. She smiled and nodded as she wrapped two bologna sandwiches in foil.

“Meg,” Jordan said as she came in. She did not fail to notice the nickname, but she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—dwell on its
meaning right now. “Thomas said to call for a tow, but the driver said he doesn’t know when he can get here. We’re supposed to wait by the truck. Sarah’s selling at the farmers’ market all day, so the guy’ll drop us there and we can catch a ride home with her.”

The nice lady stuck the sandwiches in a grocery bag, along with two bottles of water. “This will keep you while you wait,” she said. “I’ve never known a tow truck to take less than two hours.”

“Thank you so, so much.” Megan gratefully accepted the sack of sandwiches, and they walked toward the door. The woman waved at them from the porch as they headed back down the driveway.

The sun was not quite as fierce overhead now, the sky broken up by a few fluffy white clouds. Without saying anything, Jordan took the sandwiches from Megan’s hand and swung the bag as they walked. Even that little gesture seemed sweet and gentlemanly.

They didn’t say anything for a long moment, but the silence didn’t feel awkward. Then Jordan pointed down. “Look.”

They were walking in stride together. Right, left, right, left, perfectly matched. She laughed up at Jordan. “That wasn’t even on purpose.”

“See, this makes it even easier.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him as they walked. His hand was firm against her upper arm. Megan’s heart gave a thud and she stumbled, almost toppling into the drainage ditch on the side of the road.

“Whoops!” Jordan caught at her arm.

“Thanks,” she managed, trying to catch her breath. For a moment, they stood facing each other, very close. No guy had ever,
ever
looked at her this way before. His eyes dropped to her lips. Megan thought her heart was going to pound its way out of her chest.

“Um, so, should we keep going?” she stammered, breaking his gaze.
God, my hands are dripping sweat.
She wiped them surreptitiously on her jeans.

“What?” Jordan didn’t seem to hear her at first. “Oh, yeah. We should.” He sighed.

A few minutes down the road, Jordan stopped. “Hey!”

Fat, red raspberries hung off several bushes by the road. Megan looked at Jordan and grinned. “Dessert,” she said. He nodded and pulled the sandwiches out of the bag. They quickly started picking into the grocery sack. In only a few minutes, the bag was half-full of juicy, syrupy-smelling berries.

Back at the truck, they settled down on the shoulder, away from any traffic, though this had to be the loneliest country road Megan had ever seen.

Megan unwrapped her sandwich, and they chewed companionably for a minute.

“You’re a good person to get stranded with, Meg,” Jordan said, swallowing.

There it was again. Her nickname fell like a caress on her ears. “Thanks.” She tried to pry a layer of bread off the roof of her mouth. “You are too. Like I said before, you don’t seem fazed by
very much.” She opened one of the water bottles and took a long, cool swig.