by Toni Leland
“Now is fine. I don’t cook, you know.” She grinned. “I like to blame it on the apartment.”
The rig slipped into traffic on the interstate and she was surprised when he passed up the exit to the truck plaza by Bud’s, but she didn’t say anything. A couple of miles down the road, he took an exit and pulled into a smaller truck stop.
Dillon gestured toward the diner. “You go in and get us a table. I’ll be along in a few minutes. Watch yourself getting down. That last step’s a doozy.”
Julia’s heart thumped as she entered the diner. As always, she felt vulnerable going into any place that might be packed with travelers and, especially now, during the Christmas holiday. She found a booth at the back and ordered two coffees, then stared out the window at the frozen landscape. How many days until Christmas? She did a mental count, surprised that the big event was only four days away. Remembering her plan to call Chet, she felt confident that Stephen was long gone. She’d make that call tomorrow from wherever she ended up. She smiled, liking the idea that she was on an adventure.
“A penny for that thought.”
Dillon slid into the opposite seat and grinned, sending a hop, skip, and a jump through her pulse. Oh brother, this could get complicated!
She looked at him directly and smiled. “I’m glad you asked me to come along.”
“You ever been to New England?”
“Only…” Yeow. She’d almost said New York. “…on television.”
Dillon gazed at her for a long moment, making her very nervous. Then he nodded.
“You’ll like it, I promise.”
Forty minutes later, Dillon started the engine and looked over at her. “Ready?”
Julia adjusted the shoulder strap and smiled mischievously. “Are we there yet?”
He chuckled and eased the big rig back onto the interstate. “Total driving time is a little over nineteen hours, but truckers are required by law to stop after eleven hours and take a ten-hour break before getting back on the road.” He snorted. “Like that happens very much—the ten-hour break, I mean.”
“Wouldn’t a driver get into trouble for breaking the law?”
“If he gets stopped, or his log-book isn’t up to date at the weigh station. First offense is eleven hundred bucks, and the company gets slammed with about twenty-seven hundred. If a driver or company has repeated violations, they can be shut down, not allowed to operate their vehicles for an extended period of time. You’d think that would solve the problem, but the drivers are under such pressure to get freight moved, regardless of delays from construction or weather, that they push the limits.”
Julia had been watching the long string of semi-trucks traveling in both directions. “Why don’t they just do it right? It’s about safety, after all.”
Dillon gave her a knowing smile. “Because the company will fire them and find someone else who will bend the rules. It’s all about the bottom line.”
“That’s pretty crappy, if you ask me. So, do you have to fudge the log-book?”
“Nope. That’s why I drive for this particular company. The boss is very definite that everything be done according to the rules. He doesn’t schedule jobs that have to be delivered in an unreasonable amount of time, and he doesn’t take any guff from his customers. He’s a tough old bird, but smart as a whip.”
Julia contemplated her companion’s view of the trucking industry. He’d obviously found a niche he liked after his dance with near-death. She glanced sideways at his profile. He looked confident and in tune with the flow of traffic. She still couldn’t imagine him with a badge and a gun, but this life seemed to suit him.
He shook his head and muttered. “What’s this guy doing, anyway?”
They’d been following another semi for quite awhile, but Julia didn’t see that the truck was doing anything unusual.
Dillon pulled down his CB microphone and held it close to his mouth. “Hey, Atlas, you’re gonna run out of blinker fluid.”
A deep voice came over the speaker. “Thanks.” The rear lights flashed twice and Dillon put the handset back and nodded at Julia.
“That’s one of the first signs of being tired.”
Julia thought carefully before speaking. “How long have you been driving?”
He didn’t hesitate. “About two years. I like the flexibility of having time to myself between trips. It gives me time to work on my cabin or do other stuff.”
“After you deliver this load, will you pick up another one and take it back?”
“No, the boss pays me mileage whether I’m hauling or not. That’s another benefit of working for him. I’d originally thought about going down to DC after this, but you probably need to get back, huh?”
Julia ran the idea through her head. Why not? What else am I going to do?
“Bud doesn’t open again until after the First. I hate to be the reason for you changing your plans.”
Dillon’s face widened into a charming smile. “Great. We’ll do that the day after Christmas, and I’ll have you back in podunk-town before you turn into a pumpkin.”
Julia laughed at his absurdities, more relaxed and content than she’d been in years. Had things been different, a man like this would have been in her fairy-tale.
Dillon pushed a button on the console and beautiful soft guitar music drifted through the cab.
“That’s Lake Erie off to the left. It’s more like an ocean than a lake. This route is always a little risky in winter, but it’s no worse than the mountains in Pennsylvania.” He grinned over at her. “Besides, it’s a much prettier drive.”
Julia craned her neck to look, but the lake was a long way off and she couldn’t see much.
Dillon gestured through the windshield. “Up here a few miles you can get a good look. It’s spectacular, especially in summer when the sun is bouncing off the ripples.”
“Do you come this way often?”
“Not usually, but I’ve had a couple of loads to upstate New York, and this is the best way to get there. Just sit back and enjoy the scenery. That’s all there is to do.” He looked over at her. “We’ll stop in Buffalo tonight.”
Julia’s heart came up in her throat as reality hit her. How was she going to handle this? Would she be looking for a bus back to Illinois?
For the rest of the day, Dillon relaxed, enjoying Julia’s company. He entertained her with trucker stories, or historical vignettes about the various locations they passed. The atmosphere was comfortable and, though she didn’t have much to say, he could see that she was enjoying herself too.
After lunch, she settled back into the soft seat and closed her eyes.
He stole a glance at her long body. “If you want to climb into the back, you can stretch out and get some sleep. We should be in the Buffalo area about five.”
A brief shadow crossed her face, and he wondered what thoughts were going through her head. He suppressed a smile. He had a pretty good idea. As though he hadn’t thought of it himself.
“I’m fine right here. I’ll just doze and listen to the music.”
A few minutes later, he glanced over at her again. She was sound asleep, her face soft and feminine, unguarded, vulnerable. Her tousled red hair framed her pale skin and he thought how unflattering the color was, but not as awful as the blond color had been. Why the efforts to look so unattractive? He tried to envision her with soft brown hair and green eyes, and thirty pounds lighter. She wasn’t a knock-out, but she was certainly attractive. Those cheekbones and fine nose…What the hell are you doing, you idiot? He stared ahead at the thickening traffic. What, indeed. The woman beside him was a mystery and, apparently, wanted to remain so. But sucker that he was, Dillon wanted to find out more.
His attention quickly diverted to a truck coming up on the left at a fast clip. He cursed under his breath. Buffalo rush-hour traffic was no place to play hotshot. The truck came abreast, then moved swiftly past and Dillon sucked in his breath. Stafford Casket Company.
“Son of a bitch, t
here they are,” he whispered.
Keeping his eyes on the semi, he groped for a notebook, then eased off the gas long enough to scribble the DOT number in his notebook.
He set it aside, then felt Julia watching him. Her face was flushed from sleep, but her smile was beautiful.
“Taking down license plate numbers?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I think I know that driver, but I couldn’t remember the name of his company.”
“Are we there yet?”
“Just about. I usually stay northeast of Buffalo so I can get on the interstate without battling the morning idiots.”
Julia didn’t reply and Dillon’s thoughts returned to his past. No one at the agency had taken his idea seriously, but some of his buddies had agreed to keep him informed. Though Secret Service had classified the case as dead, he knew damned well that, if he looked long enough, he’d turn up his partner’s killers. Sal’s wife and kids deserved that much.
The parking lot at the TraveLodge was almost empty and Dillon eased the rig around the back to the area reserved for trucks. He set the brake and turned to Julia. She looked pale and nervous in the dim light
“Stay here where it’s warm. I’ll be right back.”
Ten minutes later, he opened the passenger door and helped her down, then handed her a key. “You’re in Room 146, down there on the right, lower floor.”
Astonishment flashed across her face, and he laughed.
“What? Did you think—c’mon, give me some credit.”
She looked so mortified that he had to laugh again. “I invited you along for company, not, well, you know.” He handed over her bag. “I’ll sleep out here in the truck.”
Tears glistened on her lower lashes and Dillon’s heart slammed against his ribs. Oh hell, what have I gotten myself into?
Chapter 20
Julia stepped through the door and turned on the light. The room was nicer than any place she’d stayed in a long time. With a deep, tired sigh, she set her bag on the bed, grabbed her toiletries kit and walked into the spacious bathroom. Her hair stuck out in every direction and the makeup she’d applied that morning was long gone. Her eyes burned and the lids felt gritty.
“Ugh. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sneak off during the night.”
Hector Dillon was certainly an unusual man. His solution to her dilemma was brilliant, yet she wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or offended. Was he just being a gentleman? Or was he simply not interested? She shook her head and set about removing the itchy contact lenses. A shower and shampoo, and she’d be good as new.
Someone knocked on the door and she checked the peephole. Dillon stood back, hands in his pockets, a thoughtful look on his face. She opened the door and he smiled.
“Is the room okay?”
“Sure, it’s great. How much do I owe you?”
He stepped closer, his smile fading a little. “Nothing. The company will pick it up. You want to go get something to eat?”
“After I get a shower, thank you.”
“I’ll come back in about half an hour.”
He tossed her a wave and walked down the sidewalk toward the front of the motel. She closed the door and pondered for a moment. Had she offended him by offering to pay for the room? On top of making it clear that she’d thought he planned to seduce her? She started peeling off clothes as she headed for the shower. She wasn’t doing too well in the tact department.
Two hours later, after a light supper at a nearby bar and grill, Julia unlocked her motel room door.
Dillon leaned against the building. “I want to be on the road by five. That’ll put us in Rutland around noon, as long as we don’t run into construction delays or bad weather.”
“I’ll put in a wake-up call.”
Julia felt awkward in front of this courteous, kind man. She’d need to find a way to atone for her earlier thoughtless blunders. She gave him her best smile.
“Thanks for supper. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She entered her room and set the deadbolt, then glanced at her watch. Eight o’clock Eastern Time was five o’clock in Seattle. Settling down into the overstuffed armchair by the bed, she pulled out her phone. A slightly sick feeling curled through her stomach and her fingers shook as she began dialing. She hit delete and dropped the phone in her lap. What would she say? And how could she disguise her voice? She took a deep breath. All she really wanted to know was that Coquette and the others were still there and okay. She could accomplish that with one, maybe two sentences. She dug into her backpack and pulled out a wad of tissue. She focused for a moment, calming her jitters, then dialed again. Placing the tissue over the mouthpiece, she waited.
Chet’s familiar voice came through and she struggled with the lump in her throat, but her voice came out squeaky and strained.
“Is this the Dorsey farm?”
“Yes, it is. Can I help you?”
“I was wonderin’ if any of them horses was for sale.”
Chet didn’t respond immediately and, when he did, caution colored his tone. “No, they’re not. Where did you get this number?”
Julia closed her eyes in horror. She’d dialed the private barn number without thinking.
“The owner gave it to me at a horse show. Thanks anyway.”
She disconnected and began to tremble all over. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
The adrenaline subsided and she blew out a long breath. At least she’d gotten the answer she wanted. She prayed that Chet would dismiss the call and never mention it to Stephen. She glanced down at the cell phone. Time to get a new one with a different number and home base location.
She leaned her head back and gazed at the ceiling while she took stock of the past couple of months. She’d made a lot of mistakes, mostly through impulsive actions. She’d been so determined to disappear completely, so sure it couldn’t be that difficult, so vulnerable to her emotions and basic timid personality. With the phone call home, she’d just broken the last of every rule there was for starting a new life.
And for that new life, what had she given up? Every person she’d known or loved, every bit of knowledge she’d gleaned over the years, her beautiful horses, and the state where she’d grown up. For what? To avoid standing up for herself to a deranged and cruel husband. She’d really blown it. The Refuge had given her all the tools and answers she could need to extricate herself from the situation, but she’d taken the coward’s way out. And now there was no way to repair the damage.
Julia groped in the dark for the shrilling telephone. How could it already be time to get up? She’d only just gone to bed. She flicked on the light and sat upright, aching from long hours of sitting in one position. She dressed and combed her hair, then picked up her duffel bag and stepped outside. Large fluffy flakes of snow were drifting on the cold air and, across the parking lot, lines of yellow lights illuminated Dillon’s truck. The engine rumbled softly.
As she approached, he jumped down and smiled. “Sleep okay? I’ll bet you were gone the minute your head hit the pillow.”
She chuckled. “Just about.” She looked skyward. “Weather changed overnight.”
He helped her into the cab. “Yeah, forecast says we could run into some serious stuff today.”
He handed her a white foam cup. “Motel coffee. Not too bad. I got some sugar and creamer, too, if you need it.”
Julia smiled, her worries of the previous night disappearing. “I like it black. Thanks, this should help.”
The truck moved slowly forward and Dillon guided it around the motel and back out onto the road. “We’ll get up the highway a ways before we stop to eat.”
Julia sat back and sipped her coffee, staring out into the dark and watching the snowflakes dance in the headlights. For now, she was quite content.
Dillon cleared his throat. “You know, it’s none of my business, but you should really just wear clear contacts. Your eyes are beautiful—much nicer than the brown color.”
Julia almost choked on a swallow
of coffee. “How did you—”
“Your eyes were green last night when you came to the door.”
“Oh, yeah. I took them out to clean them. I got the brown ones ’cause I thought they looked better with my hair color.”
Dillon just nodded, his eyes on the road, and Julia was reminded of her growing list of missteps in this charade. But it was interesting that he was so observant. One quick face-to-face and he’d noticed. She took another sip of coffee. What else might he have noticed? She’d better not let her guard down with this man or she’d be telling him her life’s story. Another glance at him reminded her that he had his own story, and she could get really screwed up if she wasn’t careful. Her good spirits drooped. This trip had not been a good idea.
Twenty minutes later, Dillon took the exit ramp to a truck stop outside Pembroke, New York. They found a booth in McDonald’s and made short work of breakfast sandwiches and hash browns. Julia excused herself to the restroom and, when she returned, Dillon was just closing his cell phone, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Boss just called. The freight office in Rutland contacted him, said they were closing down early because of a blizzard. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to deliver the load.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not really, but the talk here is that we’re heading into some bad weather.”
“And…?”
“We could be stuck somewhere for a few days. Lake-effect blizzards are nothing to fool with.”
For the next hour, they rode in comfortable silence, just listening to music, but Julia began to realize that her “no personal conversations” edict would make this a difficult and extra long trip. What stories could she come up with that would protect her secret, but ease up the strained conversational silence between them? What did Dillon already know about her? That she liked horses was a given. He also knew she didn’t have a driver’s license, but hadn’t asked why. He knew she was single and had only lived in Illinois for a short time, but not how long. What else? She watched the snow-covered landscape fly past. In the space of just a few weeks, he knew only what she had allowed, but the time was at hand to open up a bit, especially if she was interested in pursuing this relationship. Was she? If not, why the hell was she sitting in a semi-truck headed for Vermont?