by Thomas, Thea
CANYON ROAD
by
Thea Thomas
Emerson & Tilman
Publishers
Canyon Road
EmersonandTilman.com/publishers
129 Pendleton Way
Suite 55
Washougal, WA 98671-0055
© Thea Thomas
Chapter 1
Sage hated driving the limo on the Canyon Road at night, it was unwieldy on the sinuous road. She heard the echo of motorcycles behind her and hoped she'd be in her driveway before they caught up to her, but just then the cycles came roaring over the hill.
She slowed. She didn't want them to see where she lived. The motorcycles surrounded her, the drivers jeering and taunting. "Hey, guys! Look at that gorgeous babe!" A sandpaper voice shouted beside her as she pushed the button to roll the window up.
Sage's hands perspired in her black driving gloves, but she refused to stop, though they had slowed her to a crawl.
"She's mine!" The abrasive voice close to her went on. "First dibs."
"Cool it, Dutch! We ain't into that," a huge bulk shouted from the other side of the limo. "We just wanna teach these sorts they don't own the roads."
"Aww, come on Bull-Man, let me have me fun!"
Sage couldn't see through the mass of high-beam head-lights as they circled her, and she suddenly felt the car slipping – the motorcycle gang was guiding her into the ditch! She slammed on the brakes and heard a thud and a curse as one of them drove into her from behind.
"What's the matter?"
"She doesn't want to go into the ditch," Bull-Man said. "She wants to keep taking up the whole road. We just might have to push her."
"Hey – a car's coming!" one of them shouted.
"Clear out!" Bull-Man commanded.
They roared around her and continued on down the road as if they'd only smiled and waved as they passed.
Sage gripped the steering wheel, shaking to her core, sweat on her brow, yet numb with cold. As the roar of the motorcycles faded, the clatter of a sports car came up behind.
She tried to back the limo away from the edge of the ditch, although its back end already straddled the road. She realized she was forced with the decision whether to roll into the ditch or stay put and perhaps get broad-sided. Ditch, she decided, which would avoid hurting someone else.
The approaching car coughed and sneezed as it crested the hill behind her. He wasn't coming too fast – she'd sit tight.
She turned and watched the dark hilltop.
....................................................................* *
Michael missed his country life. Especially today he'd ached to see the moon in an open sky, stars brightly twinkling without the dimming, dulling city lights. He wanted to feel the wind through his hair, as if his very thoughts could be cleared out though the strands of his hair. He'd gotten out his vintage MGB and drove to the Canyon Road, escaping his city routine for just a couple hours. But instead of peace of mind, the MGA gave him no end of trouble on these hills. He'd have to rebuild the carburetor – again!
He crested the hill, wondering if the car would even get him home, when he saw in the darkness a white limousine stretched across the road like a beached, albino whale.
Michael slowed. He coasted slowly toward the limo then stopped thirty feet away, and flashed his high beams at the car. The limo flashed its high beams. He rolled a little closer, cautious, unable to see through the tinted glass.
Michael pulled over onto the shoulder. He walked around the limo, then knocked on the driver's-side window, telling himself this was not a smart thing to do.
The window rolled down a small crack.
"What's going on?" He still couldn't see the driver.
"Oh... the motorcycles, and the ditch..." a woman's voice whispered.
"The motorcycles, the ditch... well, that's clear. What's the idea?" Michael gestured broadly in imitation of the limo stretched across the road. "Are you a suicidal chauffeur?"
"No. I'm not... I'm... ahhh...."
Michael felt his frustration rising. Just a couple hours of peace and quiet, just a simple drive in the country – was that too much to ask? "Do you suppose you could roll the window down a bit? Maybe that would help us approach something resembling conversation."
There was a pause.
"I'm... afraid," a quivering voice answered.
Michael melted. "Don't be afraid, I'm going to help you. Your car is in a dangerous position. If someone with a car that can actually get over that hill comes up on you, it could be...."
"Yes, yes, you're right," the voice from inside said. The window hummed down.
Michael was unprepared for the stunning features of the anonymous woman faintly revealed in the hollow darkness of the quarter moon light. Dazzling white blonde hair escaped from a black silk scarf wrapped tightly about her alabaster face. Huge pale blue eyes checked him out with mistrust, but softened, taking in his tousled brown hair, the studious horn-rimmed glasses.
"I'm trapped," Sage said. "When I let go of the brake to give it gas, it rolls farther into the ditch. I'm afraid to try again. I'm going to roll nose first in the ditch. I'm so shaky now, I don't know which end is up."
"No, no nose first for you. Put on the emergency and get out."
"Get out?"
"Yes. If it does go nose first, no point in both of us going with it."
"I see, yes." Sage pulled on the emergency brake and got out. Her knees buckled. She grabbed the door. Michael reached out and steadied her.
"Sorry," Sage apologized. "I was really frightened. I'm usually tougher."
"Just be calm." Michael led her to his MGA and gave her a hand into the passenger seat.
He went back to the limo, put it in reverse, revved the engine and popped off the emergency brake. Throwing gravel, he pulled the limo back onto the road. That was too easy, he thought. What's this woman doing driving a limo if she doesn't know how? She must have gotten the job with her looks.
Well, it was none of his business. If his personal philosophy held up, it just meant he'd done a good deed and now his car should at least get him home. He pulled the limo onto the shoulder and walked back to the MGA.
"Do you think you can drive now?"
"I don't think I'll drive for a month!" Sage said.
"Hmmm..." Michael said, wondering about the extent of this good-deed-of-the-evening. "Well...."
"Oh! I see what you're saying," Sage smiled up at him. What a smile! "But this is my driveway right here. Do you think you could drive it up to the house?"
Michael let his eyes wander up the three-quarter mile long drive. "Well, sure. Okay."
"Will it cause any problems if I park my car here at the edge of the drive?"
"Problems? Why would it cause problems? It'll cause problems if you don't and someone runs into it."
"Right. I just meant, if anyone else was coming into the driveway and my car is sitting in the way."
"No one's coming at this hour."
"Good." Michael escorted Sage to the passenger side of the limo, pulled it into the drive, then went back and parked his MGB at the end of the drive. Then he climbed back in the limo and drove it up the curving road to the unlighted mansion on the black hillside.
They said nothing on the way.
Sage rehearsed introducing herself a couple times, stealing a glance at him, but she felt so, shaky, peculiar, and relieved, that no words would come out of her mouth.
"Where shall I park this beast?" Michael finally said when they came to the front door.
"Right here is fine. Beast is right – I hate this thing!"
Michael turned off the engine and handed Sage the keys.
"Thank you so much!" Sage said, finally beginning to relax. "I'm awfu
lly lucky you came along. I think you saved my life!"
"Oh, I doubt it, things weren't that out of control."
"If you'd been there five minutes earlier, you wouldn't be saying that."
"There's more to the story?"
"Yes. Believe me, yes!" Sage abruptly changed the subject, "I feel like I've got to have some warm milk or something. Can I make you some coffee, or something?"
"Actually, yes, I'd appreciate that very much."
They got out and walked to the front door. Sage unlocked it and they walked in. This chauffeur has privileges, Michael thought.
"Do you want to keep me company in the kitchen, or do you want to sit out here alone?"
"Since you put it that way, I want to keep you company, of course."
"Good."
They walked through a long hall with small night-lights that lit up along the baseboard as they came to them. Michael could not make out much, blindly following the swish of black silk in front of him.
They came into an open space, sand as they did so, blinding white light came on. Michael squinted in the glare of lights and the reflection of lights off exotic pots and pans hanging from a network of brass, and the light gleaming from what looked like acres of white ceramic tiles.
Sage flung her black silk scarf and the floor-length black silk cape onto a chair exposing herself in a strapless, floor-length, form-fitting royal blue velvet dress, white blonde waves of hair cascading down her bare back.
Michael's eyes grew huge. Sage, her back to him and flustering with a pan, didn't notice.
"I hope you don't mind instant coffee. I'm just going to put water on and I'll be right back." She put the water on and kicked off her four-inch royal blue heels in one movement. Picking up her shoes, she waved at Michael with them as she bolted from the kitchen.
In her wake the black silk cape fell deftly to the floor. Michael walked over, picked it up and, with a behavior he would never expect of himself, buried his face in it's dark softness, into a heady fragrance. He believed he was as shaky as this woman had been at the moment he met her... but his reasons were quite different.
He picked the scarf up, folded both the scarf and the cape neatly and sat in one of the straight-backed chairs, holding them in his lap. He was not one to lose his composure. At least, that's what he told himself.
Sage came back in the kitchen in blue jeans and chambray shirt, bare-footed, hair caught un in a tortious shell colored barrette.
"There now, I feel better!" She looked at Michael. "You look... not better. Why are you holding these?" She took the scarf and wrap from him.
Michael shrugged.
Sage flung them onto another chair. "So...I was heating milk and making coffee." She got another pan, poured in milk, got out mugs, coffee, spoons.
"I think I'll have warm milk with you. That sounds... soothing."
Sage nodded. "Excellent!" She turned, extended her hand, "by the way, I'm Sage."
"It's a pleasure," Michael stood and extended his hand. "I'm Michael," As their hands touched, a shock arced between their fingers. They both jumped and giggled.
"From handling the silk," Sage said, shaking his hand. "I'm very glad to meet you, Michael." She poured the warm milk into two mugs, brought it and a sugar bowl over to the counter by Michael's chair.
She put a couple spoons of sugar in the milk and stirred. "Want some sugar?" Michael shook his head. "Keeps me sweet," she said. "I'm calmed down now. So let me tell you what happened. A band of marauding motorcyclists accosted me."
"Really?!"
"They surrounded the limo and tried to force me into the ditch. When they heard your car, they roared off."
"So I really did rescue you from a terrible fate," Michael said.
"Yes. You really did."
"I thought you were just a really poor driver."
Sage laughed. "I'm a terrible driver of that yacht-sized thing-in-the-name-of-a-car. Ordinary cars I drive, well, in an ordinary fashion."
Michael studied Sage with an oblivious intensity. She looked down at her shirt front, then back up at him. "What?"
"I'm sorry," Michael said, embarrassed. "It's just, you look so familiar, but not quite. I can't put my finger on it."
"I know what it is," Sage said, "but let's see if you can figure it out."
"I don't know. It sounds idiotic to say, 'haven't I seen you somewhere before,' But haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
"It happens to me all the time."
"I'm sure! You're very... beautiful."
"Thanks. But that's not the point... I happen to have the exact features of someone who has had a high public profile."
"Of course!" Michael said. "You look exactly like the singer Cher in her glory days! But your coloring...."
"I know, my coloring throws it off. My mother was Zuni Indian, my father, white blond Southern Californian. I got her features, but came up with the recessive coloring." She smiled. "I look like Cher right down to the crossed front teeth." She pointed them out.
"Charming," Michael said. "I've always found symmetrical anomalies in teeth very charming."
"Probably because yours are so perfect. My dentist feels as you do. He said I'd have to go to someone else if I wanted them changed, that they are 'personable' as they are."
"A little bump in stunning beauty is a plus, not a minus."
"Stop, stop, please," Sage laughed. "I warn you, I can be embarrassed!"
They both fell silent for a moment.
Sage sipped at her warm milk. "Boy, I needed this... I can just feel myself relaxing!"
"My cue!" Michael stood.
"Oh no, no, I didn't mean... oh how rude! I'm not even thinking about what I'm saying. I've... it's been a difficult week for me. I've not been myself."
"No offense taken, I really do have to get on the road. My car's giving me trouble and I don't want to end up stuck out there all night in the wee hours. Or hours that are more wee than now," he added, glancing at the clock.
"Almost one! My goodness, I had no idea it was that late. You... you could stay here," Sage said cautiously. "After all, you did just save my life, and you may have noticed there's a room or two to spare."
Michael had a fleeting consideration of Sage's irate boss if he, a total stranger, stayed over night, as well as an irate boss of his own if he didn't get to work on time in the morning.
"Thanks, but no, I've got to get home and get up at five-thirty to go to work. But if I could spend a few minutes looking at my carburetor under a yard light, it 'd be a big help."
"Of course. Here...." She went over to the far wall, flipped a switch, the back yard became flooded in light. "See? Shall I drive you down to your car?"
"No, thanks. You've been through enough, and I don't mind a quiet walk in the country night."
"Okay." Sage stifled a yawn. "Nerves," she said. "I'll just leave this door unlocked. When you're through, you can turn off the yard lights and lock this door?"
"Will do," Michael said, exiting the indicated door.
"Thanks again. Good night," Sage said.
"Good night."
Michael walked to his car in the peaceful moon light, wondering about this beautiful, curious woman.
Chapter 2
Sage woke up the next morning in her darkened room, crying. "Aunt Vicky!" she strained to call out in her dream, but the words wouldn't come and the effort woke her up, her face wet with tears.
She climbed out of bed and dragged herself down a long hallway, passing closed doors. At the opposite end she opened a huge dark walnut double door, just wide enough to let herself into the rooms. Heavy pale green draperies and sensual, massively over-stuffed furniture seemed to fill the rooms almost to the dark-beamed ceiling. Brilliant swaths of light came pouring through the parted curtains of the windows and the French doors. A giant walnut four-poster bed stood on a dais dominating the room, and across the room, a natural stone fireplace faced the bed.
Sage stole across the thick creme and pale g
reen Chinese carpet to the mantle. She reached out her hand in a bird-wing flutter toward an array of pictures of a stunningly handsome woman with a stunning hour-glass body, captured in moments of not-entirely-candid poses – evening gown, riding gear, bathing suit – wearing an inflexible smile less comfortably than the clothing, the poses.
Sage touched the cold face of her favorite picture of her aunt with gentle affection, then turned and left, closing the solid door behind her. She went down into the kitchen and poured water in the tea kettle and set it on the stove. A yellow-lined sheet of paper on the white-tile counter caught her eye, and then the memory of last night tumbled like an avalanche into her mind.
The note read:
To the limo driver - Thanks for the yard light and warm milk.
Michael
"You're welcome," Sage said, feeling oddly rebuffed. It was a thank-you note, but she wished he'd not written anything, it's tone sounded so peculiar and cold, as if this man acknowledged a distance between them that would have been perfectly fine left unsaid.
She balled the note up and threw it in the trash, dismissing it as she poured her tea.
In the breakfast nook she sat staring out at the sunshine and ivy. Well, she thought she'd dismissed the note and its author. But there, in her mind's eye, suddenly and clearly, appeared Michael's sweet, sincere face with that winsome tousle of hair.
Even when at first he'd been angry and cold, she'd noticed he had the looks she loved. Wind-tossed auburn hair, round, brown eyes, a sprinkling of freckles. Thin as a lightning bolt, strong, sure of himself, but shy too. She'd never even met a man who had all the features of... Michael. Sage smiled. Go ahead, be familiar, she thought. You'll never see him again.
So she let her mind wander over his lean body, his wide strong mouth, straight nose and studious brown... actually, perhaps almost hazel... eyes behind the glasses. She didn't realize that his face had etched itself so completely in her mind but now the bright sunlight faded as she recalled the plane of his cheekbone as she stole a glance at him in the dark limo.
"Anyway, I can't be angry with him, he probably saved my life," she said aloud, watching the wren dancing in the bushes outside the window. Then she realized this was the first waking moment she'd actually taken her mind off Aunt Vicky in three weeks.