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Authors: Lori Wilde

Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance

Night Driving (10 page)

BOOK: Night Driving
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“It’s a shame you can’t go.”

“So close and yet so far,” she said glibly, trying to keep the wistfulness from her voice. Seeing the reenactment of the battle her ancestor had died in was on her own personal bucket list. She’d heard stories about the bravery of great-great-great-grandfather Sykes for years. His sacrifice stirred patriotism inside her. His blood traveled in hers and it made her feel connected to history in a way nothing else did.

“You really want to see the reenactment.” Boone put it as a statement, not a question.

“How do you know?”

“When you want something badly, you act like you don’t care.”

She turned her head sharply, surprised that he’d nailed that about her.

“I’ve been watching you for several weeks.”

“Oh, you have?” she said lightly, trying to ignore the thrill that shot through her at his admission and it was only then that she fully acknowledged how much she wanted his attention. When had this started?

“You’re not fooling me one bit.”

“No?”

“You act like you don’t care so that if what you want doesn’t happen you’re not disappointed. Must come from growing up in a big family.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “When I was growing up, if I acted like I really wanted something, one of my older siblings would invariably get to it before I did.”

“You’re pretty easy to read, Duvall.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not a bad thing.” Boone paused. “Fact is, I wish I could be as open as you. It would make life easier.”

“I think you’re pretty darn terrific just the way you are,” she said.

“Ditto,” he said, his voice oddly husky.

Melancholy settled over her, but she batted it away. For one thing, she didn’t know why she was feeling it. For another, she wasn’t one to feel sorry for herself. “I really would like to see the battlefield someday.”

“A guy has to be on the ball around you,” he murmured.

“Oh?” She sneaked a glance over at him. His eyebrows were drawn up in a pensive expression. “What?”

“For all your openness, you’re much more complex than you appear on the surface.”

“Why, Boone Toliver, is that a compliment?” she teased.

“You’re surprising and fun and...well...I was putting you in the same category as my mother and you don’t belong there.”

“No kidding,” she said fiercely. “I would never ever abandon my kid. No matter what.” It twisted her up inside to think of Boone as a little boy, left without a mom. It had affected him deeply, even if he didn’t want to admit it. It had to have. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for him, growing up knowing that your own mother didn’t want you.

“You’ll make a good mother someday. You’ll be the cool mom and all the kids in the neighborhood will want to hang out at your house.”

That pleased her. “Hey, I’m not a pushover.”

“I know that. You’re something else, Tara Duvall.”

If, three days ago, someone had told her that she’d be in a car on her way to Miami with her grouchy neighbor and he would be saying such nice things about her, she would have laughed until her sides ached. But now? It was alarming how easily she’d grown accustomed to having him around.

Then she realized something extraordinary. She would never be the same after this road trip. Getting to know Boone on a personal level made her realize there were certain qualities she wanted in a man. Qualities she’d never searched for—or found, for that matter—before now. Boone epitomized everything she’d never known she’d wanted in a mate.

Heck, she’d never even known she was ready to start thinking about a mate until this trip.

He had his rough edges, no doubt about it, but didn’t everyone? Those sharp edges and prickly patches were part and parcel of who he was. He was gruff, yes, but it was just a camouflage to hide his vulnerability, and he could admit when he was wrong. Eventually. Not easy for a strong man who was used to being in charge.

The main thing troubling him was that he hadn’t found his place in the world now that he was no longer a soldier. She hoped that she was helping him with that. He seemed pretty directionless since his last knee surgery.

“So,” she said. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when your knee heals?”


If
it heals.”

“It’ll heal. Third times a charm.”

“You oughta find a way to bottle it.”

“What?”

“That optimism of yours.”

“Would you buy some if I could?”

“Maybe.”

She laughed.

He scowled. “What’s so funny?”

“The fact that if you could buy optimism in a bottle you’re still hesitant to commit to it.”

“I read a study that said pessimists have a firmer grip on reality.”

“Probably, but reality is overrated.”

“The study said that, too. Obviously, the paper was written by an optimist.”

“You know, if I had just a few more months I bet I could turn you.” Tara slipped a sideways glance at Boone.

“Turn me?”

“Into an optimist.”

“You would have your work cut out for you.”

“Would have been fun to try.”

He was studying her intently. “I wish I’d gotten to know you better before. I missed out on some lively conversation.”

“Through no fault of my own. I tried knocking down those walls you’ve got built up around you, but it was a no-go.”

“I should have given you a fair shake.”

“As a friend?” She felt suddenly breathless, but had no idea why. Was he suggesting that if she wasn’t moving to Miami there might have been something between them? But if not for this road trip they would never have gotten to know each other. Such a shame the way things turned out.

“As a better neighbor,” he corrected, crushing any fantasies she once might have had about them being a couple. But hey, the door had closed on that a long time ago. Ah well, it was better this way, wasn’t it?

“You never did answer my question,” she said, realizing it wasn’t the first time he’d avoided the topic of his future. “What
are
you going to do with yourself when you’re healthy again?”

He squirmed in his seat. “Stupid knee.”

She wasn’t letting him off the hook with the knee excuse. “You know,” she said. “I went through something similar once.”

“You went through a bomb blast?”

She ignored that. “When I was eighteen and in secretarial school—”

“You were a secretary?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. It’s not rocket science.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I just can’t imagine you chained to a desk. That would be like putting a butterfly in a jar.”

“Anyway, I got mono.”

“That’s not quite the same as going to battle.”

“I know that. I’m not comparing your injury to my mono, I’m just trying to prove a point.”

“Continue.”

“For six weeks, all I did was sleep. My boyfriend who gave me the freaking mono dumped me—”

“What an ass.”

“Thank you. I thought so, too.”

“He did you a favor. You deserve better.”

A sweet tingling started in her stomach, spread lower as she took in his sultry gaze. “Anyway, I also got fired from my job—”

“This was the job as the chipmunk at the amusement park?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t very well run around in a chipmunk head with mono, now, could you.”

“Exactly. And I flunked out of secretarial school and had to move back home. When you’re sick and all this bad stuff happens to you, it’s really difficult to fight back. You start to think that this is the way your life is going to be from now on. It’s easy to get depressed and not see all the joys that are waiting around the corner for you.”

“You think?”

“Once I started to feel better, I began to realize something.”

“What’s that?”

“Getting mono was actually a real gift. I’d been studying to be a secretary to please my parents when what
I
really wanted was to style hair. So I enrolled in beauty school and the rest is history.”

“Glad it worked out for you.”

“Life’s little detours often lead us to our real destination.”

“You sound like a fortune cookie.”

“Clichés are clichés for a reason.”

“They’re trite for a reason, too.”

“I know my little story doesn’t compare to all the suffering you’ve been through, Boone, but what I’m trying to say is that everyone comes to a crossroads in their life, and it’s okay to sit and mull for a while until you figure it all out.”

“I’ve done a helluva lot of stewing,” he conceded.

“What is it you really want to do?”

“Be a soldier.”

“But that path is closed. What else are you passionate about?”

“Hell if I know.”

“What appealed to you about military service?”

“Knowing what’s expected of you.”

“You could find that in another line of work.”

“Tara,” he said. “I’m not you. I’m not a bright little ray of sunshine. I don’t know how to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and move forward as if nothing had happened. Every minute of every day the pain reminds me of just how broken I am.”

She couldn’t help it—she had to peek at him. The deepening twilight cast shadows over his face. His eyes were hooded again. The scruff of stubble darkened his jaw. His breathing was ragged and she realized he’d been sitting in the passenger seat a long time without stretching his leg, and he hadn’t taken a pain pill all day.

And here she’d been chattering glibly about mono. As if she could even begin to imagine the level of pain he’d suffered. Was still suffering. She could be so silly sometimes. No wonder Boone had never been her fan.

Up ahead lay an exit. Gas stations and fast food joints.

Tara did what she did best. She plastered on a happy smile, pretended everything was just fine and chirped, “Pit stop, coming right up.”

9

Thursday, July 2nd, 8:52 p.m.

“I’
LL
PUMP
THE
GAS
,”
Boone offered. It was the least he could do since she was doing all the driving. She was a good sport, too, putting up with his bellyaching. He should do something nice for her. Maybe he’d buy her something special.

“You do that and I’ll pop next door and grab us a bag of burgers.” She nodded at the fast-food hamburger joint near the gas station. “What do you like on your burger?”

“See if they’ve got a salad.”

“You need something more filling than a salad,” she argued.

“Hey, I gotta keep a handle on my weight while I’m out of commission.” He patted his belly. He might not have control over anything else, but he was determined to at least have control over his body.

Right. Good luck with that.

“I’ll surprise you.” She waggled her fingers at him over her shoulder.

He watched Tara walk away, hips swaying, her white shorts showing up brightly in the dusk and felt himself harden.

Classy, Toliver. Real classy.

He just had to hang in there. They were less than a day away from Miami. By this time tomorrow they would be going their separate ways. Forever.

Why that thought ate at him, he had no idea.

That wasn’t the truth. He did know why. It was because of how he felt when he was with her. Hopeful. She made him want to do better, be better.

Not to mention that she was hot as the Fourth of July rockets they were selling at the fireworks stand across the road. He should never have kissed her. Things were going along just fine until he’d kissed her in that cornfield, completely changing the sulky-war-vet-versus-sunny-ditz thing that had up until then kept them apart. When you slapped a label on someone it was easier to dismiss her, but spending this time in close proximity with Tara there was no label on earth that he could stick on her. She was unique.

He finished pumping the gas and holstered the nozzle just as Tara returned with a delicious-smelling brown paper bag.

“Guess what?” she said.

“We’re going to need arterial bypasses after dinner?”

She laughed as if his joke was truly funny. “There are picnic benches and a pretty little pond behind the gas station. Let’s go sit and eat. I saw lightning bugs. I love lightning bugs.”

Of course she did. Lightning bugs were just like her, bright and pretty and temporary.

“This way, soldier.” She headed off again, leaving him no choice but to follow her if he wanted something to eat.

He had to admit it was nice under the trees, the sound of frogs croaking, the flicker of the lightning bugs, the cool evening breeze blunting the highway noises. He sat down on the far corner of the cement picnic bench, angling his right leg out straight.

Instead of sitting across from him as he’d anticipated, Tara plunked down next to him, sitting so close he could feel her body heat. Her long, slender fingers, the nails painted a sweet salmon, unfurled the paper bag.

Disconcerted, he quickly glanced away, only to find himself peering down the V-neck of her shirt that revealed some amazing cleavage. She was just the right size. Not too big. Not too small. The size of ripe navel oranges. He loved oranges.

Purposely, he stared out across the pond. In the distance, some early fireworks popped and bright starbursts of yellow, green and red streaked into the night sky. Saturday was the Fourth of July. The day his sister, Jackie, was marrying that coastie.

“I got you a chicken wrap,” Tara announced, her fingers curled around the paper-wrapped sandwich. She settled it in front of him, her graceful hand moving up the sandwich in a delicate stroke, those delectable fingers plucking at the paper as she undid the wrapping.

What was wrong with him? He was getting jacked up over a hand.

“I can unwrap it myself,” he growled. “It’s my knee that’s out of commission, not my hands.”

She raised her palms in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. Didn’t mean to offend.”

Crap! He’d done it again. Gotten crabby because she’d unwittingly stirred him. It wasn’t her fault she was so damned sexy.

They ate in silence, watching the fireworks and the lightning bugs, listening to the night noises and eating their sandwiches. It had been a long time since he’d had someone to share meals with and even though he was loath to admit it, he enjoyed the companionship. And she’d forgiven him again. She was munching her food with a smile on her face.

Another couple came strolling through the spot, holding hands, and they settled in at the next picnic table. They were both dressed in Civil War garb. The man was in a replica rebel uniform and the woman wore a bonnet and ankle-length calico dress.

“They must be reenactors headed for Shiloh,” Tara whispered. She turned her head and the fruity scent of her hair drifted over him, enthralling him.

“How far is it from Nashville to the Shiloh battlefield?” he asked.

“A hundred miles or more.”

He shifted on the bench. They were a thirty-minute drive from Nashville. At sixty miles an hour—their average speed pulling the U-Haul, a hundred miles would take them over an hour and a half. That meant it was over two hours to the Shiloh battlefield.

Tara started talking about the battle and her face lit up. Clearly, she’d done her research.

“I’m gonna go talk to them,” she said, hopping up and rushing over to strike up a conversation with the couple.

Boone sat watching her. He remembered what she’d looked like coming out of the bathroom at the B&B dressed in nothing but a towel. Freaking hell, his erection was already half-mast again.

A few minutes later, she came bounding back, chattering up a storm about the reenactment. He’d never seen a woman so worked up about a battle. He got to his feet and tossed the wrapping from their sandwiches into the nearby trashcan. He wished she’d get that worked up over him.

Since when? She gets on your last nerve.

Yeah? Well that was before the trip and before he really got to know her. He swallowed his inexplicable need to kiss her again. A craving to taste those luscious lips.

This was bad news. The way she made him feel. He’d already begun projecting into the future, picturing what life would be like without her. No impromptu visits. No surprise casseroles. No funny stories or jokes. Doing something nice for her would simply make it that much harder to let go. It was better for him to keep his distance. He’d just pay a couple of hundred extra dollars. Money ought to do the trick. There was no need for him to do anything personal for her.

“You wanna go to Shiloh?” he blurted impulsively.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“You want to go watch the opening salvos? The battle starts at dawn, right?”

Pure excitement flared in her eyes. “You mean it?”

“We are this close. It would be a shame to miss it. Especially since you have a family connection.”

“But what about getting to Key West in time to stop your sister’s wedding?”

“It’s a sixteen-hour drive from Nashville to Miami give or take. Throw in another two hours for the detour to Shiloh and two more to watch the beginning of the battle. That’s twenty hours. Still time to make it to Key West by Saturday afternoon.”

“Really?” She jumped up and down, a ball of exuberant energy. He’d put that expression on her face.

Boone was...well, hell...he was happy that he’d made her happy. “Sure. Why not?”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “I’m never, ever going to forget this. You’re absolutely awesome.”

“Which means we need to get a move on,” he said, alarmed by how good it felt to be clutched in her enthusiastic embrace. “Now.”

“Yes. Right. Let’s go.” She grabbed his hand, pulling him headlong toward the car.

Great. Now you’ve done it. You’ve bonded. You’re bonding with her. You, Toliver, are sunk.

* * *

T
HEY
REACHED
THE
Shiloh National Military Park just before midnight, but after an hour of checking out the local motels, they were alarmed to discover that there were no vacancies to be had. Tara hadn’t even considered that.

“We can sleep in the car,” Boone said, with an amazing amount of patience.

“But your leg. You need a bed to stretch out in. Maybe we could drive back to the last town and see if they have any vacancies there.”

“The battle starts at dawn. It wouldn’t be worth the drive back and forth for just a couple of hours’ sleep. We’ll be fine in the car. I can put the seat back as far as it will go.”

Tara nibbled her bottom lip. She felt terrible about the motel situation. “Boone—”

“Stop over-thinking it.” He yawned. “Just pull into a parking lot and let’s get some shut-eye. Compared to what those Civil War soldiers went through, cramped quarters in a Honda is a luxury.”

“At least take a pain pill.”

When he didn’t argue but pawed the pill bottle from his pocket and swallowed two with the watered-down drink left over from their previous stop, she knew he must really be hurting.

She drove into the empty parking lot of a nearby mall, and by the time she killed the engine Boone appeared to be fast asleep, his fingers interlaced, hands resting on his chest.

Hyped up about the Shiloh battlefield reenactment, it took Tara several minutes to settle down. She put her seat back and squirmed around trying to get comfortable.

She lay on her right side, hands stacked under her head, watching Boone sleep. God, he was devastatingly handsome, even when he was asleep, maybe especially when he was asleep, because there was a vulnerable air to him now that he fought hard to keep at bay when he was awake.

Her heart thumped loudly and she had no idea why. She wished she could build a wall around herself the way he did, hold her silly infatuation at bay. Why did she have to fling herself headlong into everything? Including falling for the big lug?

Tara pulled in a sigh. What was it about him that had her heart tripping all over itself?

Maybe it was the inner gentleness he tried so hard to cover up, but couldn’t quite hide. Or maybe it was the way his hot eyes made her body heat up every time he looked at her, as if he’d never noticed another woman before.

A frisson of pleasure passed through her at the thought. That very well could be it.

For the longest time, she lay there, happy for a time simply watching over him. He deserved someone to look after him. He hadn’t had nearly enough of it.

She must have dozed off, because some time later something stirred her.

A throaty moan came from the other side of the car.

Boone! Something was wrong.

She jerked wide-awake and rammed her hip into the steering wheel.
Ouch!
She blinked, forgetting for a second where she was, her muscles cramped and achy.

“Get down!” Boone shouted.

Distressed, she ducked her head. Get down? What was happening? She shot a glance at the man beside her. He thrashed around in the seat, his eyes closed. “Stay back. There’s a bomb!”

Tara sat up, gnawed her bottom lip. He was having a nightmare. A lump swelled in her throat. Poor guy, the horrors of the past that he hid so well while awake overcame him in slumber. His inner battle reached deep inside her, touched her soul and broke her heart.

She didn’t know what to do. Should she try to rouse him? She’d heard somewhere that you shouldn’t startle soldiers when they were sleeping.

“Boone,” she whispered.

“No safe place,” he mumbled, grunted and then winced.

Did he have post-traumatic stress disorder? It would explain a lot about him. Why he kept to himself and put up emotional barriers.

It took everything that she had in her not to touch him. “It’s okay. You’re not overseas. You’re here, safe with me.”

He shook his head. “No, no.”

“Shh. Shh.”

His eyes moved behind closed lids, the rapid action of dream sleep. “Tara?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Yes, I’m right here.”

“Pretty Tara.” His tone turned dreamy and he reached out a directionless hand, slowly pawing the air as if he were stroking her.

Oh, wow. What now?

Unexpected tingles spread throughout her body. It moved her to see him so vulnerable. It might be dangerous to wake a sleeping soldier, but she didn’t feel comfortable eavesdropping on his dream apparently when he appeared to be dreaming about her now. “Boo—”

“So pretty.” His hand made contact with her hair, his fingers slid through it.

His touch sent her pulse reeling. “Ah, Boone.”

“I want you, Tara. I want you so bad.” His eyes were opened now, but his gaze looked dazed. Was he awake or still sleeping?

Her breath slipped shallowly through her parted lips. His hand moved to cup her cheek and he slowly sat up.

“Are you awake?” she murmured.

Instead of answering, his mouth caught hers in a demanding kiss. Every muscle in her body weakened even as she willed herself not to respond. This wasn’t right. Not under these circumstances. But the things he was doing to her with his tongue unraveled her completely.

“Tara,” he said her name, a hot whisper in the night.

She succumbed. There was no excuse for it. She wasn’t proud of herself, taking advantage of a man who might very well be sleep-kissing, but she was helpless to resist.

Dumb. Dumb. She knew it was dumb. Even if he were fully awake and in charge of everything he was doing, she should not be doing this. Because she was in danger of losing her heart to this man whom she would never see again after Saturday and if she made love to him, she feared it would seal her fate.

Whoa. Make love? You’re just kissing the dude.

Yes, but she wanted to do so much more with him. Had wanted it for months. Her pulse pounded. She leaned forward, leaned into the kiss when she should be pulling away from it.

His mouth moved from her lips to kiss the underside of her jaw, turning her into liquid pools of pure heat. A soft moan slipped from her lips.

BOOK: Night Driving
12.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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