“Yeah, I did. As a kid, I wanted to design and build boats. I read every book I could find on the subject. I hounded the local boatyards during all my free hours until I became quite the little expert. Then I made the mistake of mentioning my hopes to my father.”
He winced, remembering the unpleasantness of that night. He might have stopped right there, but Trae leaned closer with a concerned expression and he found himself wanting to tell her more. “It was one of those rare nights he was home, and we were sitting in front of the fire. It was warm and cozy and he seemed mellow enough, so I started blurting out my plans for the future. It was the first time I’d ever opened up to him. Come to think of it, it was also the last.”
“Oh, no. He shot you down?”
“His exact words were, ‘Son, you’re a brainless twit.’ The fact that I could even consider opening a boatyard in the current economy proved that I didn’t have the sense God gave a mule. He wasn’t investing in my harebrained scheme, he said. He’d as soon pour his hard-earned money down the drain.”
She shook her head sadly. “Talk about harsh. Not to mention shortsighted.”
Rhys felt guilty for enjoying her concern. “I’m sure he felt he was acting in my best interests. In his mind, we had a business to run. There was no room for dreaming.”
“No offense, but did the man have a heart? He was your father, not your business advisor. His job was to support you, whatever your dream.”
“Like your family?” he asked wryly.
For an instant, he wondered how different his youth might have been if he’d had someone like Trae for a champion.
“Well, he isn’t here to stop you anymore,” she went on, ignoring his comment. “With all that money at your disposal, what’s stopping you from building your boats now?”
“I’m head of a major corporation. Too many people depend on me.”
She swiveled in the seat, leaning toward him. “And that means you’re not entitled to happiness, to fulfillment? Your boatyard might be a risk, but so was the first magazine your dad acquired. And what about the sports team he had to sell because it was losing so much money?”
For someone who’d always been so disdainful of his company, she sure seemed to know a lot about it. About him.
Uncomfortable with her questions, he tried to change the subject. “So, what do you think of the scenery? Nice place, huh?”
She ignored him, well aware that the landscape hadn’t changed much in the past several hours. “We’re talking about your dream, here,” she pressed, her voice ringing with urgency. “Your vision.”
“Not me. I’m talking about the scenery.”
“Stop hiding from the truth, Paxton,” she pressed, stubborn to the core. “And start listening to what your heart’s trying to tell you. No more quibbling over the dollars and cents, and for heaven’s sake, no more parroting your father. Or the next thing you know, you’ll be passing the same sterile legacy down to your own children.”
Rhys had the sudden uncomfortable memory of Jack accusing him of sounding too much like their old man. Was that what he’d left them? A sterile legacy? And was Rhys that close to following in his footsteps?
“Let’s just drop the subject, shall we?” he said, not happy about where his thoughts were leading him.
“Listen to you.” Green eyes flashing, she faced him squarely, her entire posture a challenge. “What a hypocrite. You sit there berating me for not following my dream, while making lame excuses for not pursuing your own. What is this, do as I say, not as I do?”
She was right. He could come up with a thousand reasons for not building those boats, most inherited from his father, but the bottom line was, the only real limitations were the ones he put on himself.
Fulfillment, Trae had said. Something to do himself, for himself. He didn’t have to build the Queen Mary, for crying out loud. He could start small, start slow and see how it went.
“Tell you what,” he said after a long pause. “You sell your first book and I’ll invest in my boatyard.”
“And aren’t you the clever businessman? You figure you’re safe, that I’ll never finish a manuscript.”
He shook his head “On the contrary, I know you’ll finish that book.”
“Is this where you go all ‘one for the Gipper’ on me, giving me the rah-rah speech about my talent and potential?”
No, this was where he dared her, knowing Trae Andrelini never backed down from a challenge. “I doubt you need a speech. All I’m suggesting is a bet. Your completed manuscript versus my first seaworthy vessel. Let’s see who gets there first.”
“Another bet, Paxton? Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?”
“I haven’t lost yet. The fact that I’m still wearing these jeans is living proof of that. C’mon Trae, what’s with the hesitation? You chicken?” He made the same clucking sounds that she had used on him.
“In your dreams.” She leaned over the seat, reaching for Lucie’s backpack. “I just so happen to have a notebook. Maybe I’ll get started right now. If I were you, Paxton, I might want to find a name for my boatyard.”
Trust Trae to meet his challenge, to challenge him back.
And in the process, forcing him out of his comfort zone, pushing him to think and say and do things he’d never before imagined, leading him to a world in which he had no prior experience and no hope of control. She infuriated him, yet she invigorated him and left him eager to go at it again. All too easily, all too enjoyably, he could envision a life of one confrontation after another.
He frowned. Unfortunately, he’d be marrying someone else.
Chapter Eleven
S cribbling in the notebook, Trae marveled at how quickly words and ideas were coming to her. She’d been at it for hours now and still had plenty more. She had Rhys to thank for her sudden burst of creativity. Talking with him—really talking—she’d realized what she wanted to write about. The story of two very dissimilar people, off on a quest, learning about each other bit by bit along the way.
She paused, glancing over at him, struck by how he’d become an entirely different person than the one she’d known last week. Listening as he’d told her about growing up in such a sterile environment, she’d understood so much about him. All too easily, she’d pictured that younger Rhys, sitting all alone in his big, empty kitchen. Broke her heart, made her wish there was something she could have done, could do now, to keep that lonely note out of his voice.Yet comparing his childhood to her own, she could see why they always came at a problem from different directions. And how sometimes it wasn’t such a bad thing to have different perspectives. Take what he’d said about her writing. Being around her parents all the time, she’d never thought she might be blocked by their blatant disapproval. It took someone from the outside to pick up on that possibility.
His suggestion had planted a seed, and when he’d issued his challenge, none-too-subtly egging her on to finish her novel, inspiration had blossomed. She needed a new approach, her own approach. In the past, she’d been laden with literary aspirations, which in her mind meant wringing every last ounce of angst out of the situation. But listening to Rhys tell her about his life, hearing the pain beneath his words, she’d realized it wasn’t enough to merely tell a story. She had to feel it. A little bit of Trae Andrelini had to be there on every page.
So no more indulging in literary pretense, she decided. She found it too constricting. In writing, as in life, she was better off just being herself.
And on that thought, the car made an ominous coughing sound. Rhys muttered an oath. Focused on his scowl, she didn’t realize that he was pulling off the road until the car chugged to a stop.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting bolt upright, blinking as she glanced around her. All she could see were the low, rolling hills of sand and brush, and in the distance, a glowing orange sun rapidly sinking below the horizon. “Why did you stop the car?”
“I didn’t.” Rhys seemed as confused as her. “It stop
ped itself.”
“We must have run out of gas.”
“I don’t think so.” He pointed at the dashboard. “Unless that gauge is broken, we still have half a tank. I’m guessing it’s something with the engine, the way it sounded there at the end.”
“Okay, then let’s pop the hood.”
He eyed her as if she’d just suggested flying to Saturn. “I don’t know what each part is, much less how to repair it. You know anything about the inner workings of the automobile?”
“I always let my brothers fix my car.”
“So there you have it.” He pulled on the emergency brake, cursing when it didn’t engage. “Useless piece of…”
Shoving open the door, he got out of the car. “Grab your stuff, we’re going for a walk. I noticed a truck stop about a mile or so back.”
Trae eyed the dark, dusty road behind them. Now, more than ever, she missed her cell phone. “I don’t know. Maybe I should stay with the car.”
He leaned in, scowling. “I’m not about to leave you out here in the middle of nowhere. Come on, Trae. While they fix the engine, we can get something to eat.” Leaving no room for argument, he slammed the door shut.
Trae stuffed her notes in the backpack and joined him on the side of the road. He’d had her the moment he mentioned eating. She was ravenous.
As they started off, Rhys put himself between her and the highway. A few days ago, she might have scoffed at the gesture. Talk about hopelessly heroic—as if he could absorb the impact of a megaton truck before it could crash into her. Tonight, though, she merely felt warmed, knowing it was just part and parcel of the man Rhys was. One of the last genuine good guys.
As if to prove this, he put his arm around her and eased her off the shoulder, shielding her with his body as another ten-wheeler barreled by. He didn’t even realize he was doing it, she realized. Being protective came naturally to him.
She felt a sudden urge to lean into him, to absorb his strength and warmth, but once the truck whizzed past, he promptly let her go, leaving Trae feeling desolate, and more chilled than the warm night air would warrant.
This was bad, very bad. She’d promised herself she could handle being around the man, that she wouldn’t let errant thoughts get the best of her, yet here they were—she, Rhys and the soft, sultry breeze—and all she could think about was snuggling closer.
“Look,” he said suddenly, gesturing ahead at the welcoming lights of the truck stop. “We’re almost there.”
Almost being a relative term. Trudging into the area a good fifteen minutes later, they paused for a moment to scope the place out under a huge neon sign urging motorists to Come Fill-Er-Up, whether it be with food, drink or gasoline.
“Oh, good, they have a diner,” Trae remarked. “I was afraid we might have to make do with that prepackaged mini-mart stuff.”
“It’s crowded. That’s usually a good sign. Though out here in the middle of nowhere, I guess there’s not much of choice for dining. Even the mini-mart is bustling.”
The truck stop did seem to be a popular spot. The gas station was three cars deep at the pumps and two in the bays, while another vehicle was waiting outside the garage with its engine idling. Inside the mini-mart, a good half-dozen people waited at the counter, with at least that many more milling about the aisles. The diner had them lined up at the door, while music blared from the bar on the right. Only one area appeared to be deserted. The dingy motel on the left, advertising cheap rooms for the night.
Following her stare, Rhys shook his head. “No sense worrying about that unless we have to. Let’s go talk to the mechanic first, and then we’ll get something to eat.”
The mechanic was far from encouraging. He estimated it would take an hour before he could tow the car, and even then it might be ten or eleven o’clock before he got the chance to look it over. Of course, if the problem required a part and he didn’t have it in stock…
He let the words trail off with a shrug, his message clear. Miles from anywhere, they were at his mercy. They’d find no public transportation, no car-rental agency, not even another garage to render a second opinion.
If they needed a place to sleep tonight, the mechanic suggested with a brief nod behind him, they could try his brother’s motel. Not much to look at, maybe, but Irv kept the place clean and the price was nothing to gripe about. When it came to overnight lodgings, they could do a lot worse.
“Thanks,” Rhys said quickly, “but we’ll take our chances that you can fix the car.” Informing the mechanic that they’d check back with him in an hour, Rhys took Trae by the elbow to steer her toward the diner.
“What, we’re not going to have a chat with Irv?” Trae asked all too sweetly. “I thought you liked to plan ahead.”
“I do. Just call me optimistic.”
“Okay, Mr. Sunshine, got any positive thoughts for that?” she asked, pointing ahead at the line gathered in front of the diner.
Rhys groaned. The crowd seemed to consist mainly of truck drivers, all cranky from the road and in no better mood to be waiting than they were. Twenty glares followed them as they pushed inside to ask how long the wait would be. Making it plain that his woes were not her own, the beefy waitress imagined it could easily be an hour.
Though if they didn’t mind sandwiches and were okay with the two-drink minimum, they could get served a lot quicker over at the bar.
“What do you think?” Rhys asked Trae.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but our choices are waiting here for half the night, dining alfresco with a plastic hot dog from the mini-mart or belting down a beer and a hot pastrami? Me, I’d say it’s a no brainer.”
“Yeah, but the bar seems dark. And loud.”
“Spontaneity, Paxton. Trying new things, remember? We can at least check it out. If it’s truly awful, we can always come back here and get in line.”
The bar was dark, and the jukebox by the door could probably blast out their eardrums, but since the only other patrons were a young couple in the corner and a lone man in a Stetson nursing a bottle at a dimly lit booth in the back, they decided to give it a try.
Seeing no hostess to seat them, they went to the bar. Built completely of oak, which had darkened with age, it dominated the large room. A mirror covered the back wall, with bottles lined up in front of it, while a series of ladder-back swivel stools sat waiting for customers.
The bartender was a solidly built man, his thinning salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail. He introduced himself as Max, eldest of the three brothers who ran the rest area. Used to be a biker bar, he told them—which explained the black clothes and tattoos on his arms—but nowadays it catered mostly to truckers.
While Rhys ordered beers, Trae took in their surroundings. To the left of the bar, the room held a small stage and an empty area no doubt meant for dancing. On the right, lining the walls, sat a series of padded booths, each with its own window. Add in the scuffed pine floorboards covered with sawdust and the round wooden tables that could easily seat ten, and the place looked like a Hollywood rendition of an Old West saloon. All that was missing was the swinging double doors at the entrance.
“Let’s sit there,” she told Rhys, pointing at the first booth. “Then we can watch and see when the car is towed in.”
Fifteen minutes later, seated on the bench across from Rhys with her iced mug of beer and a slab of pastrami piled high on rye, Trae felt as if she’d died and gone to heaven. She noticed that Rhys had no trouble in wolfing down his cheeseburger and fries, either.
“Not bad, huh?” she asked as she watched him drain his beer. “Admit it, Paxton, you’re glad we tried this.”
He shrugged. “Except that now we’ll never know how the blue plate special tasted. For all we know, we could have missed something special.”
“Try this,” she said, offering him her sandwich. “This will help you forget about the diner.”
He leaned across the table to take a bite. Suddenly aware of how close her fingers were
to his lips, Trae felt a stirring deep within her. As her eyes met his, a jolt of desire rocketed through her body. It was all she could do not to drop the sandwich on the table.
“Hmm, you’re right.” Smiling as he chewed, Rhys sat back, completely oblivious to her reaction. “Want to try mine?”
Aware of the double entendre—though he apparently was not—Trae shook her head. What was wrong with her? Who got turned on while eating a sandwich?
It was all his fault, she decided. Did he have to look so rugged and appealing? The sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong, capable forearms. Couple that with his windblown hair and five o’clock shadow, and he looked like he’d just felled a tree somewhere. Or something just as physically demanding.
Certainly a far cry from the “surfer dude” of last night, or the annoyed executive she’d originally hooked up with. How was she supposed to regain her equilibrium when he was never the same man twice?
Finding his gaze on her, she realized she must have sighed out loud. Flustered, she looked away.
“How about another beer?” Not waiting for an answer, Rhys signaled Max with two fingers.
“But who’s going to drive?” she asked, anxious to focus her attention on anywhere else but his face.
He raised an eyebrow. “What’s this? Trae Andrelini, recommending caution? What happened to living life on the edge?”
“I’m just pointing out that two beers, on top of so little sleep, will make me worse than useless in the driving department.”
“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Besides, they haven’t even gone to tow the car yet. The two beers will have more than worn off by the time we get back on the road.”
He nodded out the window where the bright-red tow truck still sat beneath the huge sign. To the right, she could see the mechanic, still working on the car he’d been repairing when they had talked to him.
Grabbing the ketchup bottle, she slathered some on her fries. “So we’ll have to kill some time. Ready to get back to your training?”
The Tycoon Meets His Match Page 15