The Long Road Home (8 page)

“Let’s not forget the flat tire.” Clarisse dried her hands. A fly buzzed past, swirled above her head, and landed on her shoulder. She swatted it with the back of her hand. She missed.

“Who could forget that?” Vivian gave her a grudging smile. “You’ve been taking things pretty well.”

Clarisse shrugged. “I can’t think of how else to behave. Granted, we’ve had a couple of problems. But without the bad times, you’d never know the good.”

“That’s a strange way of looking at things.”

“No, not really. At least not for me.” Clarisse threw her towel in the waste bin and met Vivian’s unhappy green eyes. “If you hate this trip so much, why don’t you have John drive you to the airport? You can fly to San Diego, and he can meet you there later.” Not that she wanted Vivian to leave. Emotionally, she couldn’t handle being alone in the car with him for hours on end. Granted, they’d had a couple of confrontations, but Clarisse knew without Vivian’s presence there would have been far more damaging and bitter clashes between John and herself.

“Flying does sound tempting.” Vivian flicked her wet hands into the sink and grabbed a paper towel. She gave Clarisse a shrewd glance. “But I’ll stick it out and keep the two of you company. I think we’ve gotten through the worse.”

They found John under the shade of a veranda, contemplating the vending machines encased in large black metal bars.

“I have change, if anyone wants something,” he offered.

Clarisse looked at the soda machine and back at John. Her lips curved into a wry grin. “Do you think it’s safe? I can’t afford to dirty another shirt so early in the morning.”

John smiled back, pleasure lighting his eyes to a metallic gray, a rare dimple materializing along one cheek. “You can always borrow one of mine.”

The memory of John lending a number of his t-shirts for her to sleep in washed over her. She had never returned the two she borrowed, wanting the scent of him against her skin those nights she slept alone. They were still tucked away in one of her drawers.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

His eyes roamed over her face. “You’re probably right.”

The attraction brightening his eyes warmed her cheeks with pleasure.

“Diet?”

“Sure.” Clarisse broke into another grin. She almost forgot how much she had enjoyed being in his company. Glancing at Vivian’s glacial expression, her smile faltered.

“Am I missing something here?” Vivian asked impatiently. “Or is this an inside joke?”

“Yesterday while you were shopping, Clarisse had a fight with a soda can and lost.”

“How very amusing.” The redhead gave them a frigid smile.

John’s lips thinned. “Did you want a drink, Vivian?”

She nodded stiffly, fluffing the hair at the nape of her neck. “Please. Anything to cool down. It’s hot.”

Clarisse wiped a bead of perspiration along her temple. “It’ll probably get worse when we cross New Mexico and Arizona.”

“You might want to change into a pair of shorts while we’re here,” John suggested.

“I don’t have any.” The way he was looking at her oddly made Clarisse say, “I-I mean I didn’t bring any.”

“That wasn’t very smart.”

Clarisse clamped her teeth shut. Vivian would not ruin her morning. “Those cupcakes look awfully good.”

Vivian’s eyes rounded in horror as John tossed the snack to Clarisse. “How could you put that in your mouth? It’s like a fat pill.”

Determined to ignore her barbs, Clarisse unwrapped the package and bit into a cake. Swallowing, Clarisse surveyed Vivian’s reed thin figure in a pair of crisply pleated chocolate shorts and cream blouse. Vivian’s breasts seemed unnaturally large in comparison to the rest of her body. Were they real? Not that she was trying to be catty. During her modeling career, she had been one of the few in her circle to reject the idea of breast implants. Luckily, she had not felt the need to go under the knife. Actually, she was just plain lucky to be out of the business.

With her second bite, Vivian sneered. “Sugar and fat. What a combination at ten in the morning. But hey, if you want bulging hips, that’s your business.”

John selected a bag of chips. He turned and frowned at Vivian. “Don’t start. None of us are in the mood.”

Vivian’s eyes narrowed to icy slits, and she spun around and strode to the car. John and Clarisse followed more sedately.

Vivian flung her door open. Its hard metal edge hit Clarisse’s knee. Pain ripped into her knee and shot up her leg. She bit off a scream and nearly fell to the ground but managed to latch onto the side of the Explorer. Tiny white dots swirled before her eyes. She fought against the nausea that rose to her throat.

“Vivian, for God’s sake! Can’t you watch what you’re doing?” John’s hands came up and supported Clarisse’s weight. His voice gentled. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t get sufficient air to answer.

“I didn’t mean to hit her!”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Clarisse clutched on to John’s shoulder and regained some of her composure.

“Are you sure about that?” The skin around John’s jaw tightened with anger.

Vivian flicked her red mane behind one shoulder and regarded them with narrowed eyes. “Excuse me!”

John searched Vivian’s face. “You know, I’m beginning to wonder if I even know you.”

Vivian raised her hands in supplication. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. This heat’s getting to me.” The thin-lipped smile she gave Clarisse didn’t reach her eyes. “I hope it doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Her false concern grated on Clarisse’s nerves. “I’ll be fine,” she said in a strained voice. She slid into the back seat, gingerly moving her leg into a comfortable position. John closed the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. Clarisse glanced to her right and saw Vivian’s dress lying in a rumpled heap on the floor. Oh hell! She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t about to touch it. The last time she’d tried to help, she’d almost had her head bitten off.

“My dress!” Vivian cried in dismay. She jumped out and opened the back door. Picking the gown from the floor, she brushed the creases and carefully hung the garment on the hook. She threw Clarisse a disgusted look before slamming the door and climbing back into her seat.

Determined to ignore the other woman, Clarisse pulled her painkillers from her purse. Without water, the tablets grated past her throat to her stomach. She grimaced, hating the things because at times they made her feel sluggish.

Clarisse glanced down at her watch and absently pulled her shirt from the waistband of her pants. Ten thirty and already exhausted. And the heat wasn’t helping.

“Do you have the air on?” Clarisse asked.

“Yes.” John put a hand in front of air vent. “And the fans are on high. It looks like the air-conditioner isn’t working.”

“What do you mean the air’s not working?”

“Exactly that.” John’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “The compressor’s blowing hot air.”

Wearily, Clarisse rubbed the heel of her palm against her forehead. Of course, why not? It seemed appropriate. After all, everything imaginable was going wrong.

“For crying out loud!” Vivian wailed. “This can’t be happening. Can’t you do something?”

“Like what?” John bit back.

“Well, I don’t know! Fix it. You must know cars. You’re a man.”

“Come off it! Talk about reverse sexism. Be reasonable. Just because I’m a man doesn’t automatically mean I’m an expert mechanic.”

“What ever!”

Clarisse ground her teeth and balled her hands into fists, curbing the angry retort on her lips and the urge to throttle the redhead. Goodness knew she was tempted. Vivian possessed the talent to drive a rational law-abiding citizen to assault and battery.

“Vivian, I don’t want to hear another word. You’ll have to deal with the heat.” John smacked the control panel and simultaneously opened the windows. “We’re stuck with it, whether you like it or not.”

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into another rest area that looked suspiciously like the last, the only difference being a darker shade of brown brick and trimming on the buildings. He slammed the door, strode around to the front of the Explorer and yanked the hood open.

Clarisse decided a breeze, however hot, was preferable to staying and sweating in the confines of the car. She left Vivian stewing in the front and found John staring grimly into the engine compartment.

She eased her hip against the fender, relieving the weight from her injured leg and peered under the hood, not that she knew anything about the mechanics of a car. “How bad does it look?”

He continued to stare at the engine, his stance rigid. “Not good.”

“Can you tell if we’re low on Freon?”

“No.”

Clarisse frowned, sensing the anger and tension in his corded muscles. “What do you mean?”

John straightened. “I’m not a mechanic. The problem might not be the Freon. I could have a bad compressor.”

“Then why did we stop?”

Tiredly, he brushed the sweat from his face, leaving a black smudge near his temple. He squinted up to the sky, his square jaw rigid. He remained silent for so long that she wondered whether he was going to answer. But after a moment, he said, “I needed some space.”

“Oh.” Damn, she sounded stupid.

Lines of strain bracketed his mouth and fanned from his eyes. The fatigue in his eyes made Clarisse realize that even though John kept his complaints to himself, he was having just as difficult a time as the rest of them.

“Here,” she said in sympathy. She leaned over and brushed his temple with her thumb. “You’ve got grease on your face.”

The instant her hand touched his skin she recognized her blunder and froze. The strength and warmth of his big body and the rugged planes of his face enticed her, ignited a longing for his touch. She met his gaze. Something stark, yet intense, flared in their gray depths. Stunned, Clarisse gasped. Her pulse thundered through her veins and drummed in her ears. She wanted him. There was no denying the desire curling deep inside her belly.

John’s hand clamped around her wrist. His fingers dug painfully into her flesh, and his eyes narrowed angrily, darkening to deep charcoal. His glanced at the place where Vivian sat hidden by the hood, and his expression altered, grew remote and bitter.

He flung her hand away. “Don’t do that again.”

Clarisse stiffened. Did he hate her that much? “Why? Does my touch bother you?”

His nostrils flared. “Why would it?”

She shifted and turned from his cold eyes. She stared in front of her, barely seeing the woman and child walking across the grass lawn, or the teenage couple holding hands. A humid breeze stirred the tendrils of her hair, and she irritably brushed them away from her face. A door slamming and a toddler’s laugh carried over the wind.

Clarisse swallowed down her anxiety. She couldn’t withstand much more of John’s company, of being stuck in the same car with him, of sleeping and eating in the same quarters, of constantly watching her tongue. “I need to get to San Diego as soon as possible. I don’t want to take the time to get the air-conditioner fixed. If we stop off at the next city, we’d lose at least another half-day, probably more. I can’t handle—” Clarisse stumbled to a halt, afraid of revealing how much John disturbed her. “My sister’s expecting me in four days. There’s rehearsals, the gowns, and other preparations.”

“I don’t know if we have a choice, Clarisse. It’s hot, and it’s going to get worse. Stuck inside a car with no relief is going to make tempers fly.”

“So what do you think we should do?”

“Hell if I know.” Impatiently, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I guess we can keep on driving and stop off early. I’ll use my cell to change our reservations to another hotel. We’ll have an early night and get up when it’s still dark and cool. That way we’ll miss most of the heat tomorrow.”

“Can you make sure there’s two rooms available before you make the change?”

“Sure.” He slammed shut the hood and threw her a cynical smile. “Last night a little too crowded for your taste?”

She tensed at the memory of him waking her in the middle of the night. Her mouth twisted sardonically. “What do you think?”

She turned her back and opened the door.

“Clarisse?”

She paused and met John’s questioning gaze.

“About your leg.”

Swallowing, Clarisse felt the color drain from her face. Dread slithered into the pit of her stomach. Oh, hell. He couldn’t have guessed. “What about it?” She waited, forcing the air in and out of her lungs, while John’s gaze probed her figure.

“You’re limping. Your sprain must be still hurting.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, striving to ignore the concern in his face. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she lied.

“I think you need to have a doctor check your ankle tomorrow.”

“I—No. That’s fine.” The hell she would. “We don’t have the time.”

“No, it’s not fine. If you’re still favoring that leg by tomorrow, I’ll drive you to a doctor’s office. A delay of a couple hours is nothing when someone’s health is at risk.”