by Nora Roberts
She paused, considered. “I don’t think she’d give two damns if she was flat broke, either. Money doesn’t drive Grace. She enjoys it, spends it lavishly, but she doesn’t respect it.”
“People who work for their money respect it.”
“She’s not a do-nothing trust-funder.” M.J. said, immediately defensive. “She just doesn’t care if people see her that way. She does a lot of charity work—quietly. That’s private. She’s one of the most generous people I know. And she’s loyal. She’s also contrary and moody. She’ll take off for days at a time when the whim strikes her. Just go. It might be Rome—or it might be Duluth. She just has to go. She has a place up in western Maryland—I guess you’d call it a country home, but it’s small and sweet. Lots of land, very isolated. No phone, no neighbors. I think she was going there this weekend.”
She shut her eyes, tried to image. “I don’t know if I could find the place. I’ve only been up there once, and Bailey did the driving. Once I get out of the city, all those country roads look the same. It’s in the mountains, near some state forest.”
“It might be worth checking out. We’ll see. Would she go to her family if there was trouble?”
“The last place.”
“How about a man?”
“Why would you depend on something you could twist into knots with a smile? No, there’s no man she’d go to.”
He thought about that one awhile, then blinked, remembered and grinned. “Grace Fontaine—the Ivy League Miss April. It was the hat in the wallet shot that threw me off. I’d never forget that…face.”
“Really?” Voice dry as dirt, she shifted to look at him over the top of her sunglasses. “Do you spend a lot of your time drooling over centerfolds, Dakota?”
“I did over Miss April,” he admitted cheer fully, and rubbed a hand over his heart. “My God, you’re pals with Miss April.”
“Her name’s Grace, and she posed for that years ago, when we were in college. She did it to needle her family.”
“Thank the Lord. I think I still have that issue somewhere. I’m going to have to take a much closer look now. What a body,” he remembered, fondly. “Women built like that are a gift to mankind.”
“Perhaps you’d like to pull over, and we’ll have a moment of silence.”
He looked over, kept right on grinning. “Gee, M.J., your eyes are greener. And you said you weren’t the jealous sort.”
“I’m not.” Normally. “It’s a matter of dignity. You’re having some revolting, prurient fantasy about my best friend.”
“It’s not revolting, I promise. Prurient, maybe, but not revolting.” He took the punch on the arm without complaint. “But it’s you I love, sugar.”
“Shut up.”
“Do you think she’ll sign the picture for me? Maybe right across the—”
“I’m warning you.”
Fun was fun, he thought, but a man could push his luck. In more ways than one. He turned off 15, headed east.
“Wait, I thought we were going up to P.A. to call.”
“You just said Grace had a place in western Maryland. It wouldn’t be smart to head in that general direction just now. Change of plans. We head in toward Baltimore first. Go ahead and make the call. I think we’ve said our last goodbye to our little motel paradise.” He smiled patted her hand. “Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll find another.”
“It couldn’t possibly be the same. I hope,” she added, and dialed hurriedly. “It’s ringing.”
“Keep it short, don’t say where you are. Just tell her to go to a public phone, public place, and call you back.”
“I—” She swore. “It’s her machine. I was afraid of this.” She tapped her fist impatiently against her knees as Grace’s recorded voice flowed through the receiver. “Grace, pick up, damn it. It’s urgent. If you check in for messages, don’t go home. Don’t go to the house. Get to a public phone and call my portable. We’re in trouble, serious trouble.”
“Wrap it up, M.J.”
“Oh, God. Grace, be careful. Call me.” She disconnected with a little catch of breath. “She’s up in the mountains—or she got a wild hair and decided to fly to London for the Fourth. Or she’s on the beach in the West Indies. Or…they’ve already found her.”
“Doesn’t sound like a lady who’s easy to track. I’m leaning toward your first choice.” He cut off on the interstate, headed north. “We’re going to circle around a little, then stop and fill up the tank. And buy a map. Let’s see if we can jog some of your memory and find Grace’s mountain hide-away.”
The prospect settled her nerves. “Thanks.”
“Isolated, huh?”
“It’s stuck in the middle of the woods, and the woods are stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“Hmm. I don’t suppose she walks around naked up there.” He chuckled when she hit him. “Just a thought.”
They found a gas station, and a map. In a truck stop just off the interstate, they stopped for lunch. With the map spread out over the table, they got down to business.
“Well, there’s only, like, a half a dozen state forests in western Maryland,” Jack commented, and forked up some of his meat-loaf special. “Any one of them ring a bell?”
“What’s the difference? They’re all trees.”
“A real urbanite, aren’t you?”
She shrugged, bit into her ham sandwich. “Aren’t you?”
“Guess so. I never could understand why people want to live in the woods, or in the hills. I mean, where do they eat?”
“At home.”
They looked at each other, shook their heads. “Most every night, too,” he agreed. “And where do they go for fun, for a little after-work relaxation? On the patio. That’s a scary thought.”
“No people, no traffic, no restaurants or movie theaters. No life.”
“I’m with you. Obviously our pal Grace isn’t.”
“My pal,” she said with an arched brow. “She likes solitude. She gardens.”
“What, like tomatoes?”
“Yeah, and flowers. The time we went up, she’d been grubbing in the dirt, planting—I don’t know, petunias or something. I like flowers, but all you have to do is buy them. Nobody says you have to grow them. There were deer in the woods. That was pretty cool,” she remembered. “Bailey got into the whole business. It was okay for a couple days, but she doesn’t even have a television up there.”
“That’s barbaric.”
“You bet. She just listens to CDs and communes with nature or whatever. There’s a little store—had to be at least four miles away. You can get bread and milk or sixpenny nails. It looked like something out of Mayberry, except that’s in the South. There was a bank, I think, and a post office.”
“What was the name of the town?”
“I don’t know. Dogpatch?”
“Funny. Try to imagine the route, just more or less. You’d have headed up 270.”
“Yeah, and then onto 70 near, what is it? Frederick. I zoned out some. Think I even slept. It’s an endless drive.”
“You had pit stops,” he prompted her. “Girls don’t take road trips without plenty of pit stops.”
“Is that a slam?”
“No, it’s a fact. Where’d you stop—what did you do?”
“Somewhere off 70. I was hungry. I wanted fast food.”
She shut her eyes, tried to bring it back.
You’re still eating like a teenager, M.J.
So?
Why don’t we try a salad for a change?
Because a day without fries is a sad and wasted day.
It made her smile, remembering now how Bailey had rolled her eyes, laughed, then given in.
“Oh, wait. We grabbed a quick lunch, but then she saw this sign for antiques. Big antique barn-like place. She went orgasmic, had to check it out. It was off the interstate, had a silly country-type name. Ah…” She strained for it. “Rabbit Hutch, Chicken Coop. No, no, with water. Trout Stream. Beaver Creek!” she remembered.
“We stopped to antique at this huge flea market or whatever it’s called at Beaver Creek. She’d have spent the weekend there if I hadn’t dragged her out. She bought this old bowl and pitcher for Grace—like a housewarming gift. I bought her a rocking chair for her porch. We had a hell of a time loading it in Bailey’s car.”
“Okay.” With a nod, he folded the map. “We’ll finish eating, then head toward Beaver Creek. Take it from there.”
Later, when they stood in the parking lot of the antique mart, M.J. sipped a soft drink out of a can. She’d done the same on the trip with Bailey, and she hoped it would somehow jog her memory.
“I know we got back on 70. Bailey was chattering away about some glassware—Depression glass. She was going to come back and buy the place out. There was some table she wanted, too, and she was irritated she hadn’t snapped it up and had it shipped. I won the tune toss.”
“The what?”
“The tune toss. Bailey likes classical. You know, Beethoven. Whenever we drive, we flip a coin to see who gets to pick the tunes. I won, so we went for Aerosmith—my version of long-hair.”
“I think we’re made for each other. It’s getting scary.” He leaned down, nipped her mouth with his. “What was she wearing?”
“What is this sudden obsession with how my friends dress?”
“Just bring it all back. Complete the picture. The more details, the clearer it should be.”
“Oh, I get it.” Mollified, she pursed her lips and studied the sky. “Slacks, sort of beige. Bailey shies away from bold colors. Grace is always giving her grief about it. A silk blouse, tailored, sort of pink and pale. She had on these great earrings. She’d made them. Big chunks of rose quartz. I tried them on while she was driving. They didn’t suit me.”
“Pink wouldn’t, not with that hair.”
“That’s a myth. Redheads can wear pink. We got off the interstate onto a western route. I can’t remember the number, Jack. Bailey had it in her head. It was written down, but she didn’t need me to navigate.”
He consulted the map. “68 heads west out of Hagerstown. Let’s see if it looks familiar.”
“I know it was another couple hours from here,” she said as she climbed back in. “I could drive for a while.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
She skimmed her gaze over the car, noting that the back door was hooked shut with wire. “This heap is hardly something to be proprietary about, Jack.”
His jaw set. The heap had, until recently, been his one true love. “There’s more chance of you remembering if we stick with the plan.”
“Fine.” She stretched out her legs as he turned out of the parking lot. “Do you ever think about a paint job?”
“The car has character just the way it is. And it’s what’s under the hood that counts, not a shiny surface.”
“What’s under the hood,” she said, then glanced at the stereo system. “And in the dash. I bet that toy set you back four grand.”
“I like music. What about that Tinkertoy you drive?”
“My MG is a classic.”
“It’s a kiddie car. You must have to fold up your legs just to get behind the wheel.”
“At least when I parallel-park, it’s not like docking a steamship in port.”
“Pay attention to the road, will you?”
“I am.” She offered him the rest of her soft drink. “I know it looks like it, but you don’t actually live in this car, do you?”
“When I have to. Otherwise, I’ve got a place on Mass Avenue. A couple of rooms.”
Dusty furniture, he thought now. Mountains of books, but no real soul. No roots, nothing he couldn’t leave behind without a second thought.
Just like his life had been, up to the day before.
What the hell was he doing with her? he thought abruptly. There was nothing behind him that could remotely be called a foundation. Nothing to build on. Nothing to offer.
She had family, friends, a business she’d forged herself. What did they have in common, other than the situation they were in, similar tastes in music and a preference for city life?
And the fact that he was in love with her.
He glanced over at her. She was concentrating now, he noted. Leaning forward in the seat, frowning out the window as she tried to pick out landmarks.
She wasn’t beautiful, he thought. He might have been blind in love, but he would never have termed her by so simple a term. That odd, foxy face caught the eye—certainly the male eye. It was sexy, unique, with the contrast of planes and angles and the curve of that overlush mouth.
Her body was built for speed and movement, rather than for fantasy. Yet he’d lost himself in it, in her.
He knew he’d turned a corner when he met her, but hadn’t a clue where the road would lead either of them.
“This is the road.” She turned, beamed at him, and stopped his heart. “I’m sure of it.”
He bumped up the speed to sixty-five. As long as one of them was sure, he thought.
Chapter 9
The road cut straight through the mountain. M.J. supposed it was some sort of nifty feat of engineering, but it made her uneasy. Particularly all the signs warning of falling rock and those high, jagged walls of cliffs on either side of them.
Muggers she could understand, anticipate, but who, she wondered, could anticipate Mother Nature? What was to stop her from having a minor tantrum and perhaps heaving down a couple of boulders at the car? And since it was big enough to sleep eight, it was a dandy target.
M.J. kept a wary eye out of the side window, willing the rocks to stay put until they were through the pass.
Ahead, mountains rose and rolled, lushly green with summer. Heat and humidity merged to make the air thick as syrup. Tires hummed along the highway.
Occasionally she would see houses behind the roadside trees, glimpses only, as if they were hiding from prying eyes. She wondered about them, those tucked-away houses, undoubtedly with neat yards guarded by yapping dogs, decorated with gardens and swing sets, accented with decks and patios for grills and redwood chairs.
It was one way to live, she supposed. But you had to tend that garden, mow that lawn.
She’d never lived in a house. Apartments had always suited her lifestyle. To some, she supposed, an apartment would seem like a box tucked with other boxes within a box. But she’d always been satisfied with her own space, with the camaraderie of being part of the hive.
Why would you need a lawn and a swing set unless you had kids?
She felt a quick little jitter in her stomach at the idea. Had she actually ever thought about having children before? Rocking a baby, watching it grow, tying shoes and wiping noses.
It was Grace who was soft on children, she thought. Not that she herself didn’t like them. She had a platoon of cousins who seemed bent on populating the world, and M.J. had spent many an hour on a visit home cooing over a new baby, playing on the floor with a toddler or pitching a ball to a fledgling Little Leaguer.
She didn’t imagine it was quite the same when the child was yours. What did it feel like, she mused, to have your own baby rest its head on your shoulder and yawn, or to have a shaky-legged toddler lift its arms up to you to be held?
And what in God’s name was she doing thinking about children at a time like this? Weary, she slipped her fingers under her shaded glasses, pressed them to her eyes.
Then slid a considering glance at Jack’s profile. What, she wondered, did he think about kids?
Incredibly, she felt heat rising to her cheeks, and turned her face back to the window quickly. Idiot, she told herself. You’ve known the guy an instant, and you’re starting to think of diapers and booties.
That, she thought grimly, was just what happened to a woman when she got herself tied up over some man. She went soft all over, particularly in the head.
Then she let out a shout that surprised them both. “There! That’s the exit! That’s where we got off. I’m sure of it.”
�
�Next time just shoot me,” Jack suggested as he swung the car into the right lane. “It’s bound to be less of a shock than a heart attack.”
“Sorry.”
He eased off the exit, giving her time to orient herself as they came to a two-lane road.
“Left,” she said after a moment. “I’m almost sure we went left.”
“Okay, I need to gas up this hog, anyway.” He headed for the closest service station and pulled up next to the pumps. “What was on your mind back there, M.J.?”
“On my mind?”
“You went away for a while.”
The fact that he’d been able to tell disconcerted her. She shifted in the seat, shrugged her shoulders. “I was just concentrating, that’s all.”
“No, you weren’t.” He cupped a hand under her chin, turned her face to his. “That’s exactly what you weren’t doing.” He rubbed his thumb over her lips. “Don’t worry. We’ll find your friends. They’re going to be all right.”
She nodded, felt a wash of shame. Grace and Bailey should have been on her mind, and instead she’d been daydreaming over babies like some lovesick idiot. “Grace will be at the house. All we have to do is find it.”
“Hold that thought.” He leaned forward, touched his lips to hers. “And go buy me a candy bar.”
“You’ve got all the dough.”
“Oh, yeah.” He got out, reached into his front pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. “Splurge,” he suggested, “and buy yourself one, too.”
“Gee, thanks, Daddy.”
He grinned as she walked away, long legs striding, narrow hips twitching under snug denim. Hell of a package, he mused as he slipped the nozzle into the gas tank. He wasn’t going to question the twist of fate that had dropped her into his life, and into his heart.
But he wondered how long it would be before she did. People didn’t stay in his life for long—they came and went. It had been that way for so long, he’d stopped expecting it to be different. Maybe he’d stopped wanting it to be.
Still, he knew that if she decided to take a walk, he’d never get over it. So he’d have to make sure she didn’t take a walk.