by Devyn Quinn
Getting the morning paper, she sat down at the table to eat. Munching her toast, she glanced over the features, read the comics, and then turned to the lifestyle and travel section.
The idea of taking a vacation was still very much in the forefront of her brain. Trouble was, she didn’t know where she’d want to go. She and Phil had always vacationed together, and he’d always chosen the destinations, planning their itinerary down to the minute. They did what he wanted to do, saw what he wanted to see. When it came to travel, her passport was stamped many times over. England, Germany, France, Belgium, Holland, Italy, Spain, Egypt, Ireland… They’d traveled all over the world.
Hardly in the mood to trot around the world on her own just yet, she immediately vetoed the idea of going out of the country. What about other parts of her own country? There were plenty of sights the good old US of A had to offer.
What about her home state?
A smile lit up her features as she licked the last of the preserves from her fingers.
Carlsbad Caverns. She’d always wanted to visit them, but Phil found the idea of underground caves and masses of bats boring. Carlsbad wasn’t very far away, only a couple of hundred miles. She could make a weekend of it.
Excited by the idea, she took her cup of coffee into the den. Phil had taken the big desktop, but she still had her laptop, though she rarely used it. Fetching it from the closet, she set it up, plugged it in, and waited for the programs to load. Ten minutes later, she was browsing the Internet, doing a search for information. Jotting down notes on a yellow pad because Phil had also taken the printer, she looked over the information she’d gathered. The Caverns were open seven days a week, excluding Christmas.
The commuter airline out of Albuquerque offered the option to fly. Small planes scared the bejesus out of her. The bus was another option, but she wasn't fond of it, either. She just wasn’t willing to let the busing system do the driving, having to endure stop after stop, strange stations, and too many people. Driving seemed the best option. She could make the drive in a day, rent a hotel room, see the sights, shop and explore, spend another night, and be back by Sunday evening.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” she said, copying down the directions off an Internet map site. They were fairly simple. Even an idiot like her couldn’t get lost if she followed the signs.
Finishing her coffee, she glanced up at the clock. It was ten after eleven in the morning. If she hurried to pack, she could leave by noon and be in Carlsbad by around seven in the evening. That would give her time to find a place to stay and relax for the rest of the evening.
Feeling very much the take-charge woman, Melanie hurried into the kitchen to clean up her breakfast mess. Next, she headed upstairs to pack. Dragging out an overnight bag, she made some quick choices she thought suitable for the late summer season. It was nearing the end of August, and the weather was broiling hot, in the high nineties, sometimes sending the mercury into the low hundreds. She picked out a few cute outfits, low-heeled sandals for walking, other toiletries she’d need for an overnight trip.
Bag packed, she dressed herself just as carefully, choosing a nice skirt and matching blouse. She put her hair up in a flirty style, curling a few loose strands of her blonde hair around her neck for a sexy effect. She’d just had her long mane cut and frosted with lighter streaks, her manicure and pedicure freshened with new coats of nail polish. Unlike Angela’s dragon-lady nails, she preferred an active length French style. With her tanned skin and perfect white teeth, she believed she looked every bit the California blonde. She applied her makeup with more care than normal, putting on her full face. If she was going out, she was going to be seen looking her best.
It was well past one in the afternoon when Melanie finally made it outside to the car. She’d double-checked the doors and windows and set the burglar alarm. Cell phone tucked into her purse, bag in hand, she was finally ready to go.
I’m going to have fun, she told herself. I’m going to get out and do something on my own.
She was more than a little bit anxious. She’d never done anything wild or spontaneous in her life, much less gone off on her own. This would literally be her first trip alone as a grown woman.
She slid behind the wheel of her car, a convertible. The day was already burning hot, so she put up the roof and cranked up the air conditioner. There was no way she was going to broil in the sun. Sun damage was the fastest way to wrinkles. Her own tan was faux, done in a salon.
Starting the engine, she pulled out of the driveway. It was two hundred and seventy-seven miles to Carlsbad. Following directions, she expertly wove her way through the insane traffic.
Couldn’t be simpler, she thought, merging into a busy lane. Exhilarated by the wide-open spaces in front of her, she slid a CD into the player and cranked up the tunes. No staid classical music today. It was going to be rock and roll all the way!
Chapter Six
Melanie reached Cline’s Corners without any problems. Pulling into a gas station, she refilled the car’s tank, hit the ladies’ room, stocked up on snacks and drinks and prepared for the longest part of the drive, which would take her through Roswell and on to Carlsbad.
Through the long stretch of highway, towns were few and far in between, the dead desert lands of New Mexico going as far as the eye could see. In this part of the Land of Enchantment, there wasn’t much to see except the flat brown plains and the long black stretches of asphalt crawling across the land the way the desert rattlers slithered across the arid, sun-baked earth. The desert stretched as far as the eye could see and beyond.
Because the rainfall had been non-existent for the year, there was little greenery to be found. Even the weeds had been singed to the color of straw. Whoever had dubbed the state the Land of Enchantment must have been high on peyote. It was more like the land of disenchantment. The best sight to be seen in New Mexico was waving goodbye as you left it.
Not for the first time did Melanie think about leaving the state entirely. Indeed, she’d been born in Texas. But where would she go? Her parents were deceased. She did have miscellaneous aunts and uncles and cousins scattered around the state, but those were people she hardly knew, much less cared about. She wouldn’t know any of them if they were to walk up and slap her.
That’s the way the cards fell for me. No family. No kids.
And, it seemed, no close friends.
It occurred to her she’d been living her life as though under a bell jar, breathing the rarified air that came with being the extension of a successful man. Life with Phil had spoiled her. As his practice had taken off, she’d come to believe that his success was also hers, that his social standing was hers, too. How wrong she was. She’d only been privileged as long as he allowed her to be.
I need to focus on what I can do, not what I can’t. I can go to school or to work. Whatever I want. The future is wide open for me, if only I let it be.
Uncomfortably, she pushed away the thought. What was the matter with her? Didn’t she have far more important things to do than dwell on the past? Her marriage had broken up, for heaven’s sake. Hardly a catastrophe. Sure, there has been elation, grief, pain. That was part of life. She could hardly expect to be spared. All in all, she seemed to have emerged reasonably intact.
Not wanting to think anymore, she cranked up her music and concentrated on the wide-open road. Drive. That’s all she wanted to do, just drive and never have to come to the end of the journey.
The trouble began after passing through Ramon, a little blink in the road. First, she accidentally took the wrong exit and ended up going down a long stretch of highway, obviously leading nowhere fast. The farther she drove, the more her instincts began to tell her she was lost. Just when she’d decided she should turn around and go back to a point she recognized, the gods of heat and car trouble struck.
First, the air conditioner was blowing hotter instead of cooler. By time she thought to kill the AC and sweat out the desert heat, her precious, brand-damned-ne
w car began to overheat.
The first time the car lurched, she thought for sure it was running out of gas. But a look at the fuel gauge said that wasn’t so. The problem lay elsewhere, in the TEMP light lit up like a Christmas tree in December. A minute later, the car pitched alarmingly. By the time she’d managed to maneuver the car to the side of the highway, the engine had spluttered one final time, then died.
She cursed, getting out the car and hurrying around to the front. Steam poured out from under the hood. “What the hell happened?” One minute she’d been driving down the road at a fair clip, the next she was standing on the side of an empty highway, looking helplessly at her car.
Hoping to find help, she turned and looked in every direction. Of course, there was none. She was out in the middle of the desert where cars were few and far between. She was completely and utterly alone. What’s more, she knew zip about cars and barely knew how to change a tire. She could feel the sun beating down on her unprotected head, sticky sweat beading on her skin and running down between her breasts. The heat had gone way past one hundred degrees, and if she didn’t get out of it soon, she’d have a case of sunstroke to contend with.
A little laugh broke from her lips. “Well, naturally this is something that would happen to me.”
She wasn’t worried, though. She had her cell phone. She’d call Triple A and wait for them to send a tow truck. Getting back in the car, she dug her membership information out of the glove compartment and her cell out of her purse. Flipping open the phone, she quickly dialed the 800 number and pressed it to hear ear. Instead of the friendly sound of a ringing phone, all she heard was silence. Lowering the phone, she looked at the digital display.
No Signal.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she cursed in quick succession. Thinking she would get a signal if she got out of the car, she wiggled her butt out of the seat and stood up, pressing the button.
Nothing.
The damned phone was as dead as her car.
“Well,” she muttered. “Looks like I’m going to have to depend on the kindness of passing strangers.”
It didn’t look like she would have long to wait. A pickup came roaring up the road at a rapid rate of speed. Catching sight of it, Melanie put up her hand and waved.
The driver waved back, but didn’t stop.
Melanie lowered her hand. “Asshole.” Why hadn’t he stopped? Then it occurred to her. She didn’t have any flashers on or her hood up. He probably thought she was giving a friendly wave.
To remedy the situation, she put up her hood. There, that should get her some help.
Two more cars roared by. Neither stopped.
“What the fuck? Do I look like a serial killer or something?” Her frustration was building. Was it just her imagination or were the drivers of New Mexico the unfriendliest people on earth? “Can’t they see I am stuck here all by myself?”
She shook her head. Apparently, they couldn't.
All by herself on this hot stretch of barren highway, she was beginning to feel like the last person on earth. Moreover, she’d finished the last of her bottled water and now, she needed to pee.
She looked around. Since she was alone, she didn’t see the harm of taking a little outdoor piss. Grabbing a napkin to wipe her butt with, she hurried around to the far side of her car, lifted her skirt, lowered her panties, and hunkered down.
“If anyone comes by,” she muttered, “they won’t see my rear hanging.”
She was almost finished with her libations when she heard the roar of the engines and saw them pass, probably two-dozen bikers riding by on their motorcycles, smiling and waving at her—and all getting a great view of her bare ass. Both sets of cheeks burning, she scrambled to her feet, hurriedly tugging her skirt down around her legs as a couple of the bikers pulled over.
Stiffening in fear, heart beginning to hammer in her chest, Melanie quickly sized up the two men. Immediately she could tell these weren’t weekend road warriors, men who worked all week and took to the highways come Friday. These were hardcore bikers. The bikes they rode weren’t machines usually garaged and kept beautifully polished. These were bikes well-ridden, dinged and dented, saddlebags packed with the supplies needed for living and literally sleeping on the road.
Both the men were rough and scary looking, dressed identically in heavy black boots, faded jeans, T-shirts with the sleeves cut out. Both were heavily tattooed, long-haired, bearded. Their skin was deeply tanned, almost leather-like from all the hours they’d spent riding in the sun. They looked like the kind of men who would beat their grandmothers and rob convenience stores.
Though she was a fair-sized woman and had taken a few self-defense classes, Melanie knew she wouldn’t have a chance if these guys decided to get tough with her. They would eat her up and spit her out. An image flashed through her mind, of herself lying dead under the desert sun, throat slashed, jewelry and credit cards riding off with these two tough thugs.
Where the hell is the highway patrol when you need it?
She watched warily as the men sauntered over to the car.
“Looks like you got a problem,” one said. Demonic-looking faces glared up from both his arms. He was a big bear of a man, sporting a pair of enormous shoulders, and an even larger beer belly. His greasy black hair was caught up in a ponytail halfway down his back. He looked like he hadn’t bathed in at least a year.
“I do,” she said, giving a timid smile. Might as well be friendly. There was literally nothing else she could do. Two more cars passed. Neither stopped, the drivers probably figuring she had enough help.
The second man bent over the engine, lifting his dark sunglasses so he could examine it closer. His eyes were gunmetal gray, flinty and hard, but also intelligent. He had to be at least six feet tall. Under his scraggly beard he appeared to be handsome in a rugged kind of way. Unlike his buddy, he was lithe and lean; tight jeans hugging his ass like a second skin, his heavy metal T-shirt practically undulating over his flat abdomen and broad shoulders as he moved.
He was sharply sculptured, shockingly masculine in every way. He oozed with a potent, almost unnerving aura of male sexuality. Everything about him seemed overtly sexual, even his arms, which were heavily inked, one forearm hugged by a beautiful naked woman in a very suggestive pose. His sun-bleached blond hair was shoulder length, flowing free in the wind winnowing across the dusty desert plain. Crudely put, he was built like a brick shithouse, and looked like he could fuck all night long.
Melanie found the tattoo obscene, but also strangely erotic. She was stunned. Something about the way he moved set the hair at the nape of her neck prickling, her stomach fluttering. It wasn’t revulsion, or fright. It was…attraction. She just couldn’t help it. She wouldn’t mind being that woman on his arm, her body wrapped around his.
Nice package, she thought, eyeing his crotch. In a moment of unbidden fantasy, she imagined him pulling her close, his hands moving up and down her back and the other in her hair. Her breasts would press against his chest, and her body would rub against his as he slowly moved his hands down to her ass, kneading her cheeks. Leaning down, he’d press his lips lightly against hers, taste her, his fingers weaving through her hair. Her breathing became a little faster as she imagined how his cock would feel pressing against her, his lips against her temple as his hands moved to her front to unbutton her blouse.. She almost moaned aloud, wondering what it would feel like to have her pussy muscles clench his shaft.
Aware her daydream was going into forbidden territory, she blushed red clear to her roots. She felt a lump in her throat. Her stomach began to churn, and her legs felt weak. Her head spun from the heat, and her heart pounded so hard inside her chest she was sure he could hear it.
What the hell am I thinking? she thought wildly. He’s not my type. He, too, looked like he didn’t know the meaning of soap and water, yet here she was, wondering what it would be like to take him to bed!
She gulped, feeling both sick and shaky, like someone sufferin
g from the aftermath of a nerve-shattering shock. She told herself she was being ridiculous. Still, she could not take her eyes off him. He was magnificent. Savage. A beast.
He had been poking around under the hood, and he finally came up with a length of frayed rubber. “Looks like she snapped a belt and overheated.”
She shrugged. “That’s bad, right?”
The men laughed.
“Only bad if you don’t have one to replace it,” the blond said. He twisted off the radiator’s cap, bent, and peered inside. “Damn, not a drop of water in this thing. Did you just take off across the desert without checking the fluids in your car first?”
She gave another helpless shrug. “I guess I just didn’t think about it before I left.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “It can be fixed, right?”
The fatter biker nodded. “Oh, yeah. Some water, a new belt, and you’re back on the road. Probably just overheated.”
She held out her cell. “Uh, my phone seems to be dead, too. Is there any way you guys could help me out?” She hated to ask, but right now she was at the mercy of the desert, a broken-down car and…these men.
The blond eyed her. “Sure, I’ll give you a ride. That okay with you, Bill?”
Bill shrugged. “Whatever. I ain’t going to stand out here in the sun all day. We got places to go, Jake. Hurry up.”
“Yeah.” To Melanie, “You coming?”
She quickly shook her head. “Ah, I don’t need a ride,” she said. “Maybe you could just call the police when you reach the next town. I can stay here with the car.”
“Be a long wait.”