by Toni Leland
Dillon looked up from his laptop. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send out a search party.”
“There are at least forty people camped in the lobby. I’m amazed the motel would allow that, but it’s a good thing—this mess doesn’t show any signs of stopping.”
“For now, but the national weather site says we could catch a break midday tomorrow. And in this part of the country, it doesn’t take the snow crews long to get things moving again.” He closed the computer lid and set it aside. “I take it you don’t have much history with snow.”
This is it…the perfect opportunity to start the story. She smiled, trying to act offhand.
“You got that right. I’m originally from Florida.”
Dillon sat back and laughed. “I see. Well, how do you like it?”
“Florida? Or the snow? Not much on either count.”
“Where in Florida?”
Julia thought quickly. Someplace innocuous. “West Florida, sort of close to Louisiana.” Damn, I should have thought this out a little more. I have no idea what I’m talking about.
“Well, no offense, but you can have Florida. I’ve been in the Miami area and couldn’t wait to leave.”
Federal agent, drugs, counterfeiting, racketeering. He’s seen it all. Time to change the subject.
“Your turn. Where are you from?”
“You saw my license. Massachusetts.”
Julia narrowed her eyes. “Always?”
He looked away. “No, I was born in New York, but lived all over the country. Military brat.”
Why had his answer seemed evasive? Was he ashamed of something? Or was he even telling the truth?
“What did you do before you starting driving a truck?”
Dillon’s face paled and he hesitated. “I was in the Army. Got shot in a freak accident, so I was discharged. Took awhile to heal good enough to wrestle with a big truck.”
Julia sat back and nodded. He was lying and he wasn’t very good at it. Suddenly, she didn’t feel quite so guilty about the stories she would tell.
Dillon stood up and walked into the bathroom, appearing a moment later with the other two beers. “They’re gettin’ warm, we better drink up.”
He cracked his and took a long swig, then cocked his head. “So, Florida—what did you do there?”
She licked her lips and met his gaze. “I was a housewife. A military spouse.”
Dillon’s stunned look almost made her laugh. “You’re kidding.” Then his eyebrows furrowed. “Was?”
Julia took a deep breath and launched herself into yet another invented life.
“I was real young, and real naïve. I married an Army private just out of boot camp and we moved to Orlando so he could go to the training facility there. I had no idea he was being trained to go to the Middle East.” She stopped to have a sip of beer. “Six months later, he was on his way to Iraq.”
Dillon’s tone was sympathetic. “Was he killed?”
She shook her head, thinking of Stephen. “No, but there were times when I wished he had been. After two back-to-back tours, he came home, but he wasn’t the same. He became surly and argumentative. He couldn’t get a job, and that made it worse. I learned later that he’d been sent back because he was mentally unstable. Anyway, we moved to a small town on the Panhandle and found a shabby apartment in an area that had been devastated by hurricanes and never restored.”
She was starting to worry about how far to go with the story, and one look at Dillon’s face told her she’d have to be very careful about certain fabrications.
“Anyway, Jake started to drink and became abusive—” She shuddered. “Really abusive. Then he began accusing me of sleeping around while he was off fighting the war. I simply had to leave. And now you know why I live in Armpit, Illinois.”
He set his beer can down. “Did you divorce him?”
“I never got around to it. I was only interested in disappearing off his radar and making a new life.”
“You know, disappearing is harder than it might seem.”
You’re telling me.
A few minutes later, Dillon went out to check on his truck and call his boss, leaving Julia to review the story she’d just told him. There were only a few key points. Surely she could remember them long enough to keep from blowing it. She hoped.
She sat down at Dillon’s laptop and opened the Internet browser. Might as well do a reality check. Her usual search brought up only one new item. Stephen’s company was making headlines again with record earnings predicted for the fourth quarter and soaring stock prices. Something bumped around in her subconscious, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Some remembered detail that wouldn’t surface. She typed in her farm name and found a small item from the Seattle newspaper. The property was for sale. She closed her eyes, a weight settling into the pit of her stomach. If the property sold, the horses would be sold as well. How would she ever keep track of Coquette?
Sickened by the news, she closed the browser and set the computer aside. Staring out the window at the flying snow, she felt isolated and alone, even though she was with a kind, caring man who seemed to like her. The word helpless didn’t begin to describe how she felt at that moment. She was so lost in self-pity, she didn’t hear Dillon come in.
“Ginger?”
She whirled around, whisking away her tears. His features were tight with concern as he closed the gap between them in three strides.
“Are you okay? What’s the matter?”
She took a deep, shuddery breath. “Just talking about the past, it caught me off guard.”
Without hesitation, Dillon wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She gasped, then sank into his warm chest, inhaling the sharp fragrance of snow on his leather jacket. The strength of his embrace and the emotional turmoil it ignited sent one thought charging through her head. She’d survived Stephen’s violence, and yet she still wanted physical contact—something she’d avoided for too long.
Dillon’s voice rumbled through his chest. “You should close the door on the past and get your legal freedom. The military is good about helping spouses survive these kinds of situations. I can help, if you want.”
She stepped back and gazed into his marvelous blue eyes. He was sincere, and the story about his Army past was clearly real. But why had he left out the part about being a Federal agent? Did it matter? He obviously cared about her in some small way, and her own needs were beginning to surface. She didn’t want to be isolated any longer.
“Thank you, Dillon. I’d planned to see a lawyer right after the first of the year, but I appreciate your support. That makes it so much easier.”
She became aware that he still held her arms and, now she wasn’t so sure she was ready to go there. She stepped back, gently extricating herself and smiling.
“I need to get some fresh air.”
He nodded and pointed at the bed. “I found more food. It’s a great story—I’ll tell you when you come back.”
Julia hurried out and closed the door, her heart pounding. How the hell would she spend the night in this room with him? She was becoming too comfortable. Her biggest threat here was herself. Dillon wasn’t pushing or even hinting that he’d like to take the situation to a different level. She had to count on him to remain that way, because right now, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and forget everything for awhile.
By evening, they’d consumed several hotdogs, a bowl of chili, and a couple more beers apiece. Julia was feeling positively giddy.
“I can’t believe that driver just gave you all this stuff. Won’t he get into trouble?”
“He said it would be thrown away when he finally got back to his home-base. Those concession trucks are under strict state health regulations, especially for hot food.”
Julia smiled, thinking about the effect disasters had on people. So many Good Samaritan stories came about by just such a situation.
“I suspect the folks in the lobby were very happ
y to have something to eat. The vending machines must be empty by now.”
Dillon stretched out on the other bed and picked up the remote. “Let’s find a movie to watch. I’m sick of the news and weather.”
Julia plumped her two pillows and kicked off her shoes. She had a pleasant warm buzz from the beer and, coupled with the soft bed and no current worries, she settled down to pass a relaxed evening with her new friend.
Sometime later, she woke with a start. The television was off, the room was dark, and a soft rolling snore emanated from the other bed. She peered at the digital clock. Three a.m. She smiled and pulled the covers over her shoulders. She’d dodged another bullet. For now.
Chapter 22
At seven the next morning, the motel lobby was empty except for an elderly couple dozing on one of the sofas. The parking lot was devoid of cars and a moderate amount of traffic moved up and down the highway. Dillon glanced at Ginger as they made their way across the slippery pavement. Who would’ve thought taking the job with A to Z would lead him to a woman like Ginger? Or whoever she was. Her personality had softened since they’d left Illinois, and yesterday’s open window into her private life had awakened that protective feeling again. But now he felt justified in that reaction—he had no use for men who slapped their women around. Cold anger rose and he expertly quashed it as he had so many times in the past. He couldn’t afford to let the sorrow of a ten-year-old boy rule his emotions. Everything had eventually turned out for the better and, at some point in his young life, he had stopped looking back. He smiled, thinking of his mother, now happily retired in Florida with his stepfather, a Marine two-star general. How that man had razzed Dillon about joining the Army. It had been good-natured kidding, with just a hint of disappointment that Dillon hadn’t signed up with the brotherhood. But the most important aspect of the man was that he’d saved Dillon’s mother from a plight like Ginger’s.
The atmosphere inside the truck cab was cozy and warm, and Ginger sighed, throwing him a grateful look as she settled into the seat.
“How long ago did you start the engine?”
“I was out here about five-thirty. These old diesels take a while to clear their throats. It gave me a chance to check the weather out East. Highway Patrol says the interstate is plowed and traffic is moving okay.” He put the truck in gear and checked the mirrors. “Another big storm is forecast for late tomorrow. What a winter this is turning out to be.”
He pulled onto the highway, thinking about the other research he’d done that morning on the Internet. The only Ginger Green that showed up on a search in Florida was an African American singer in Miami. But far more interesting was the fact that, after using his computer, Ginger had erased her search history. What was she looking for that warranted such an action? She was a lot savvier than he’d thought. If he wanted to, he could get one of his geek buddies to find those searches, but for now, he’d let her keep her secrets.
“There’s a big truck plaza up by Syracuse. We can stop to eat and gas up, then I’m gonna make a run for it.”
She tilted her head, her eyebrows raised. “Why? You said the storm isn’t coming until tomorrow.”
He chuckled. “We need to deliver this load and hole up before it hits.” He glanced over to watch her reaction. “My cabin is just south of the border.”
Surprise, then concern, then acceptance flashed across her features and he smiled. “I’ve never had houseguests, so you’ll have to excuse the clutter of bachelorhood.”
“I’ll manage.”
Dillon concentrated on the road, but something akin to happiness threaded its way into his mind. Little by little, the woman was thawing out.
Julia gazed out the window, enchanted by the wonderland crafted in snow. Sculpted and glistening, the landscape in every direction looked like something from a Christmas card.
“Tomorrow is Christmas.”
“By golly, you’re right. I lost track of the days.” He smiled over at her. “Merry Christmas, Ginger.”
An ache moved through her chest as she gazed at the man who’d briefly whisked her away from her sad existence.
“Merry Christmas to you too,” she whispered.
The black glistening pavement ribboned through the white countryside and the big truck hummed along at the speed limit. Julia watched the scenery, dozing occasionally, her thoughts flitting from one scenario to another. Even though at first she’d felt relieved about telling Dillon her “story,” anxiety was now creeping in again. There were so many things she couldn’t adequately explain, but to his credit, Dillon wasn’t probing too deeply.
The next barrage of thoughts centered on spending another night with him, only this time it would be on his own turf. Would that make a difference in the way he acted toward her? Or the way she responded to him? In that brief moment in the circle of his arms, she’d felt safe for the first time in years, a feeling she could quickly get used to. But to enter that realm again meant being prepared to let herself follow where it led. Was she really ready? For the next few days, she would be with him in private settings, with no escape unless she wanted to make a scene and take a bus home, which she definitely did not want to do. So, it was time to make a decision and hope it was the right one. You’re over-thinking this. Just let your feelings guide you.
By noon, the clouds had cleared off and an incredibly blue sky stretched in every direction. The sun lit up the snowscape with a painful brilliance, and Dillon put on sunglasses.
“There’s an extra pair in the door pocket, if you want them.”
A billboard loomed ahead, heralding the beauty of Saratoga Springs.
“Oh my gosh, I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“You a big racing fan?”
“No, I just like horses and I’ve heard so much about this area. Too bad it’s a holiday and such crappy weather.”
“Maybe we could do it on the way back.”
Julia leaned toward him, delighted. “Really? You’d do that?”
He gave her a funny look and nodded. “Sure, why not?”
Her smile faded. “I dunno, aren’t you on some kind of a schedule?”
“Not that a half-day would disrupt.” He laughed. “I’m a free spirit—life’s too short to be worrying about playing by the rules.”
She nodded slowly. “You’re absolutely right. I read something a long time ago, and I remember vowing it would be my life motto. I guess I’ve forgotten that promise.”
“What was it, what did you read?”
“‘Don’t be afraid your life will end…be afraid it will never begin.’ Someone named Grace Hansen wrote it.”
Dillon didn’t respond right away, and when he did, his tone was thoughtful. “That’s pretty deep.”
“I love to read, spent most of my younger years either in a library or curled up with a stack of books.”
“You ever go to college?”
Uh-oh, here we go. More half-truths. Do I ever learn?
Julia stared out the front of the truck. “I tried community college for about a year, then decided I’d rather get a job and make some money.”
Dillon nodded, but he was obviously paying more attention to the traffic, which had picked up considerably as they’d taken the north ramp onto Interstate 87. The snow-covered mountains were magnificent and Julia thrilled to the sight, views she’d only seen on calendars. Shortly, they exited to a state highway and Dillon pushed a button on his cell-phone.
“This is the driver from A to Z…yeah, about an hour…” He chuckled. “Just wanted to make sure you guys didn’t close up early.” He set the phone back on the dashboard and grinned at her. “Sounds like they’ve already started with the Christmas cheer.”
The road threaded through rural northeastern New York State and, in spite of the snow, the area reminded Julia of home. Mountains were mountains, and she’d sorely missed them.
A sign at the border read, “Welcome to Vermont. Home of the Morgan Horse.”
Oh my God, this must be a
n omen.
“Hey, instead of going to Saratoga, could we go up to the Morgan Horse Headquarters?”
He threw her a surprised glance. “Sure, why?”
“I’ve always said if I could have a horse, I’d have a Morgan. I’d just like to see the place…that is, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. It’s up Route Seven. Hey, do you ski?”
She chuckled. “No, Florida doesn’t get much snow.”
“Want to learn?”
She thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’m game, but I have to warn you, I’m not at all coordinated.”
“If the weather holds, that might be a good way to spend Christmas Day. There isn’t much to do at my place.”
Julia looked away. She’d forgotten about his place.
At exactly three o’clock they entered the city limits of Rutland and Julia exhaled softly.
“Another Christmas card scene. Currier & Ives must have used these towns for their ideas.”
Dillon’s features softened. “Yeah, there’s no other place in the country that quite measures up when it comes to quaint, charming, and beautiful.”
Julia heard something else in his voice—a longing perhaps? What was it about this part of the country which affected him that way? If he had moved around a lot as a youngster, why would he have ties to New England? A niggling prick of jealousy found its way into the thought. Maybe there had been a woman here. Maybe there still was. Julia shoved the unsettling thoughts aside, and focused on the fact she was in Morgan Horse Country. An idea began to take shape and she cleared her throat.
“How long will it take to unload?”
“Couple of hours. Depends on what shape the loading dock guys are in.”
“Would you mind dropping me at the public library? I’d rather wait there than in the truck.”
“I can do that, but we’ll have to find out where it is.”