California Girl

by Rice, Patricia

  “We don’t need to see Jesse James’s safe,” he argued. “We could be in Tulsa before Mame if you’d get on the interstate.”

  “The interstate doesn’t go through Kansas.” Thank goodness she had kept the keys or they’d be roaring for Tulsa right now. “And if you want to find Mame, you have to follow her route. Take a shortcut, and you might miss her.

  “I’ve never been to Kansas,” she said into the silence that followed her logic. “That’s about the only stretch of the old Route 66 still existing. Mame was adamant about following this route.”

  He gave her a sleepy-puppy-dog stare as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her. Briefly, the sun caught in the dark hairs of his muscled arm. She directed her gaze back to the road.

  “Kansas is not a place many people are eager to see,” he informed her.

  “I am. I want to see everything. I’ve never been outside of Missouri.” Happily, she watched the rolling countryside unfold around them. “Will there be a sign telling us when we enter Kansas? I wish I had a camera.”

  “There’s one in my bag. If you’re twenty-seven, why haven’t you ever been out of Missouri?”

  “My parents were set in their ways and didn’t travel. Fred and I were building our careers and didn’t take the time. And then the cancer happened, and life as we knew it stopped. I regret that.” She set her mouth firmly. She wasn’t much for impassioned speeches, so that was as much of one as he’d get.

  “Cancer is not something one regrets. You fight it, hate it, despair of it, but I don’t see ‘regret’ as the appropriate word.”

  She blinked in surprise at his fervency. “Okay, I regret that life stopped. I should have made Fred quit his job from the very first. We should have traveled, done all those things we’d promised ourselves we’d do one day. He never had a chance to see the Empire State Building or the Eiffel Tower. We never swam in the Gulf or saw Mayan ruins. There were so many things we never did . . .”

  Tears spilled over, and she swiped at them furiously. “I don’t want to go backwards. I’ve been there. I want to move on.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  With a loud pop, the Caddy fishtailed across the pavement. Alys grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and gently pumped the brake, trying to prevent the unruly car from spinning out.

  Elliot leaned over and held the wheel, giving her the leverage she needed to hold the heavy car on the road while she slowed down.

  A semi flew by, air horn bellowing, and the car swayed in the rush of wind. Horns honked behind them. Brakes squealed. The old road might be slower than the interstate, but it was well traveled. Sweat beaded on her forehead while she fought to bring the tires under control.

  She held her breath as Beulah slowed, and she bumped the car off the side of the road. The Caddy listed to the right. Another semi flew past them, rattling the windows. She heard Elliot utter a soft curse, and out of the corner of her eye, caught him wiping his forehead with the back of his arm.

  Shaken but unharmed, Alys leaned into the steering wheel, and took a relaxing breath. “Just like in the movies.” She hadn’t experienced an adrenaline rush like that in years. She didn’t want to relive it again anytime soon, but it was good to know she was still alive enough to experience it. “I didn’t think cars had flats anymore. Do you think there’s a spare, or do we hitch a ride back to Joplin?”

  Elliot stared at her as if she’d sprouted wings. “People get killed hitching rides with strangers.” He pulled out his cell phone.

  “Spoilsport.” The man couldn’t take a joke. Flying high on life, she climbed onto the soft shoulder of the road and admired the autumn cornfield. Stretching, enjoying the tug of each muscle, she breathed in air thick with dust. The Caddy was far enough off the road for safety. She’d done good.

  The back tire was a mess. Mame would be hours ahead of them. Alys suffered a twinge of guilt, then reminded herself that Mame was an adult and in full possession of her faculties. She hoped.

  She gestured, and Elliot released the trunk latch from inside. Opening the lid, she rummaged around for the ice chests he’d insisted on bringing. She’d packed one with soft drinks. He’d packed one with water and yogurt and other disgusting oddities. She’d long ago concluded a healthy spirit and her stomach had nothing to do with each other, unless it involved chocolate.

  Popping the top of a Coke, she took a sip, then lifted the first of the ice chests out of the trunk so she could dig down to the tire.

  Still on the phone—apparently holding for AAA—Elliot grabbed the chest from her and carried it to the side of the road. “I’ll unload it just as soon as I’m off here,” he told her. “We don’t have any idea what kind of shape the spare is in. Or if there’s even one in there.”

  Accustomed to doing for herself these past years, Alys shrugged and removed the second chest anyway.

  A pickup slowed down to check out the Caddy’s tail fins. This was car country and people noticed prime antiques like Mame’s pink Cadillac. When Alys shaded her eyes to see who was looking, the truck pulled off in front of them.

  A pair of good-looking teenage hunks climbed out. “Need some help, ma’am?”

  Elliot instantly returned and planted himself between her and the boys. “No, we don’t,” he called back over the highway noise. “I’ve got it under control.”

  Alys gave him an incredulous look and elbowed him out of the way. “Isn’t this great?” she murmured for his ears only. “It’s just like living in the sixties. Don’t you ever watch those old shows on Nickelodeon?”

  Of course he hadn’t. Modern civilized man considered himself above good ole Andy Griffith. She’d had lots of time over the past few years to watch all the reruns from Mame’s generation. There was a lot to be admired in the old ways.

  Checking out the two burly young men, Alys concluded they looked safe. She cruised in their direction, leaving Elliot behind. “The tire blew up,” she yelled over the traffic noise. “Would you like a Coke? We have a full trunk that we’ll have to empty to get at the spare.”

  Both young men dragged their gazes from her to warily watch Elliot. With eyes in the back of her head, Alys could just about see his disapproving expression. He was probably worried they’d run into the gang from Deliverance or serial killers who wanted to steal their Cokes and thirty-year-old Cadillac.

  “He doesn’t bite,” she said cheerfully as Elliot’s shoes crunched the gravel behind her.

  “Triple A says it will take an hour to get someone out here.” Elliot dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder.

  He may have meant it as a threat to tell her to shut up or as a proprietary gesture to tell the two young men to back off, but Alys felt as a sensual shiver all the way to her bones at his touch. His sexy aftershave added flavor to the dusty air, and his protective attitude had her reverting to adolescence, when she’d thought the big handsome men on the screen hauling their women around were the epitome of romance.

  She glanced mischievously at the stern set of Elliot’s square jaw, then back at the young men shifting uncertainly from foot to foot. “All the Cokes you can drink, boys. Let’s see if we have a spare.”

  Without waiting for Elliot’s permission, she led the way to the ice chest and handed out soft drinks. While she chattered, her two broad-shouldered Good Samaritans emptied the heavy bags from the trunk.

  Elliot studied her with an enigmatic look in his eye. Proving his civility, he hefted the luggage the boys took out of the trunk without comment on her highhandedness. His shoulders strained the seams of his fancy dress shirt, but he didn’t break a sweat carrying them to a safer distance from the rushing traffic.

  With the luggage safely stowed, he leaned against the guardrail and crossed his arms, keeping an eye on the proceedings but not interfering in her little fantasy trip to the sixties.

  Maybe her purpose on this journey was to teach him to share the burden of life’s stresses.

  Chapter Five

  Sipping the water
Alys had carried over to him, Elliot contemplated the two yokels casting surreptitious glances at his companion as she admired their handiwork. Admittedly, she looked almost ethereal with her see-through shirt blowing in the breeze, but what the yokels didn’t know, and he was just starting to suspect, was that there wasn’t a damned thing fragile about Alys Seagraves.

  When the boys removed the spare tire from the trunk, she smiled so proudly at them that they straightened their backs and worked harder to free the no doubt rusty jack. For that smile, Elliot had half a mind to elbow the clods out of the way and show her how a real man jacked cars and changed tires.

  But he wasn’t a teenager running on hormones. He took another swig and let the boys prove their masculinity.

  Seeing the laughter peeking from beneath Alys’s thick fringe of lashes as she walked toward him, Elliot crossed his arms and appreciated the view of her swaying hips and enticing curves. He supposed he’d been young and foolish enough to fall for a woman’s wiles once. He just didn’t remember when.

  “Verifying you still have the old sex appeal?” he asked as she approached.

  Instead of taking insult, she leaned next to him against the rail, crossing her arms over her breasts in imitation of him. “When I was a kid, I was plump and wore thick glasses. My parents knew nothing about the latest fashions, and I had no sister to teach me, so I looked like a geek. I was happily married before I had laser surgery and learned to make myself presentable. I never learned to flirt. Why shouldn’t I start now?”

  She said that without an ounce of whining and with such interest that he couldn’t take offense that she was just toying with him. For the first time, he noticed her ring finger was bare. When had that happened?

  “Because flirting is dangerous?” he asked wryly, unwilling to analyze the meaning of the missing ring. Before she demanded an explanation, he continued in his best radio talk-show manner, “Your husband must have been a man of rare good sense if he married a geek.”

  She turned her approving smile on him, and he felt it clear down to his metatarsals. Maybe it was a damned good thing he couldn’t see his radio callers if they could spit and fry him with a single look.

  “Fred was a geek, too. A brilliant one. We met in a movie theater showing a French film with subtitles. The theater was almost empty and we each had attended alone. We laughed in the same places and started arguing over cultural symbols before the movie ended. Afterward, we spent half the night talking. I missed out on a lot by marrying young, but I’ll never regret it.”

  Her sincerity stirred him. He understood gawkiness. He’d been a beanpole as a teenager. But he’d always been too dedicated to his cause to care about his dateless life. With two younger brothers and a huge responsibility on his shoulders, datelessness had been convenient. But lonely.

  “A real-life love story, I guess.” He wasn’t certain if he believed in love at first sight and had to wonder what would have happened had Fred lived on as a geek while she’d turned into a butterfly.

  He winced at the sadness filling her eyes.

  “One love story a lifetime is about all I can manage,” she said decisively.

  Remembering she’d just lost her husband, he mentally kicked himself. He sought for something reassuring to say. “Mame was like that. She lost her husband in Vietnam and never remarried.” Like that was helpful. Why didn’t he just throw himself in front of moving traffic?

  She crushed her empty Coke can and leaped up, casting him one of her laughing glances. “From the sound of it, she had three young boys to occupy her. Why on earth would she need a man?”

  Knocked off his complacent block, Elliot remained seated while she danced off to thank the young men jacking the car down. The spare tire was a size too small and Beulah listed to one side.

  He’d never thought of life from Mame’s perspective. She must have been young and widowed just like Alys when his parents had died. He knew he owed his aunt far more than he could ever repay for taking in him and his brothers. He was doing everything within his power to make her life easy now that he had the opportunity to do so.

  But he’d never really considered that Mame had given up her life for them. She was intelligent and vivacious and could easily have remarried. Instead, she’d devoted herself to raising children who weren’t her own.

  Had it been a case of one love story a lifetime? Or lost opportunities?

  Rising, he followed Alys to the car, reaching for the wallet in his pocket to reimburse their friendly neighborhood tire changers. Before he could pull out a couple of twenties, Alys reached up to hug one grinning young man and kiss the cheek of the other.

  Something very like jealousy gnawed at the vulnerable place beneath his ribs.

  When Elliot offered the cash, the young men grinned, shook their heads, and wandered back to their truck, finishing off the cans of Coke Alys had handed them.

  “Can’t buy me lo-o-ve,” Alys sang, patting him on the hand holding the money before dancing back to the driver’s seat.

  Trying not to gnash his teeth or laugh out loud, Elliot shoved the bills back into his wallet and vowed to find Mame at the very next stop—before he developed a split personality.

  * * *

  Alys parked in front of the sign welcoming them into Kansas, so Elliot could take her picture. She didn’t do anything so common as to stand in front of the sign, but clung to the top and smiled over it, nearly giving him heart failure when the post swayed.

  She insisted on taking his picture as well. Fascinated with the digital camera, she held on to it afterward, aiming it at the scenery before returning to the car.

  “Perhaps I could take up photography and illustrate my travel columns,” she said with the perpetual enthusiasm that was starting to wear on him.

  Or perhaps it was worry over Mame that gnawed at him. He kept a constant watch for his Rover along the side of the road as Alys wove around tractors and pickups. The incident with the tire had his nerves jumping, but at least he knew Alys could handle emergencies. Could Mame handle a blowout? How far behind her could they be?

  “Maybe you’d better look for a real job and use travel writing as your hobby,” he suggested absently.

  “I could go back to selling real estate, I suppose. I had to let my license go when Fred got too sick for me to attend continuing education classes.”

  In a few short hours he’d learned her moods cast light and shadow with the swiftness of passing clouds. He didn’t hear wistfulness or regret in her declaration. He glanced over to see her gazing pensively at the old arched concrete bridge covered in graffiti ahead of them.

  He studied the Route 66 guidebook he’d found in the glove box. The bridge was apparently another historic monument to the past. If they stopped, he bet he’d find Mame’s name scribbled on it. He refrained from telling Alys that. “If you earned the license once, it shouldn’t be difficult to obtain again. I bet you’d be excellent at real estate sales.”

  She shrugged. “I love houses. Maybe I could be an interior decorator.” She turned back to him and her eyes were alive again. “Is that what you did? Full-time doctoring and writing as a hobby?”

  “I earned my degree but never really practiced. I spend a lot of time in research. So, yeah, maybe the writing was a hobby at first.” Or maybe his life was a hobby. When he wasn’t researching, or taping his radio show, he devoted all his free time to writing up his findings and conclusions. His only other activity in life was sleep.

  He was relieved she didn’t have a crystal ball. She seemed to see right through him as it was. Fortunately, she didn’t call him on it, since the sign for Baxter came into view. He glanced through the guidebook’s description. This might be the only town in the area where Jesse James hadn’t robbed the bank. Maybe that uniqueness was what they should advertise.

  “What does your Rover look like?” she asked as the first sign of the town appeared in the windshield.

  “Black.” Idjit. He should have told her that sooner, but he�
��d been worried about her concentrating on traffic. “Missouri plates, luggage rack, no distinctive markings.”

  Elliot scanned the street for the big vehicle. On the narrow two-lane with parallel parking that comprised the few blocks of the business district, it should stand out like a sore thumb. He didn’t see it anywhere.

  “Does it have one of those computer navigation systems?” she asked with wide-eyed interest.

  “Yeah, but I can’t imagine Mame using it. I’d feel better if I knew she could. What if she’s lost?”

  “She’d ask directions.” Laughter definitely tinted her voice. “Boys prefer toys.”

  “Why would Mame be interested in Jesse James?” he wondered aloud to divert her train of thought. Yeah, he liked toys. And no, he didn’t like asking for directions. But she’d already guessed that.

  “I believe it was her husband who liked outlaws. He was apparently a bit of a thrill-seeker, rode the rodeo, flew balloons, drove a Harley. Maybe he considered himself an outlaw.”

  “Mame married an idiot like that?” Elliot could have bit his tongue but it was too late.

  She laughed and scanned a line of cars down a side road while they waited at an intersection. “Mame was quite proud that he’d done what he wanted to do before he died. I suspect he would have mellowed as he grew older, but he never had that chance.”

  It was amazing that Mame hadn’t died, too, given the family curse. Elliot rubbed the ache developing in his midsection.

  “Where’s the restaurant?” He’d had enough psych courses to know fear of death led to life-paralysis. He didn’t need to dive down that path.

  “On the corner over there. There was a parking space down that side street. Why don’t I circle around, park there, and we can walk and stretch our legs?” Apparently catching his resistance, she added, “We can look down side streets easier.”

  “And everyone in town can see us coming in this pink elephant,” he admitted. “So would Mame.”