Joyride

by Patricia Coughlin

  “My God, Bolt, what are you doing?”

  “He’s crazy,” cried the boy he was holding by the neck. “He charged in here and jumped us with no warning, Aunt Maddy.”

  “Is that true?” Madelaine asked, her voice shaking. Then, more firmly, she added. “And I’ll thank you to please let those boys up. Now.”

  Bolt looked over his shoulder at the women, his expression fierce. Something in his eyes sent a shiver through Cat. She could easily understand why the kid thought he was crazy.

  “Is this your nephew?” Bolt asked.

  “Of course, he’s my nephew,” Madelaine replied. “Who else do you suppose would be working out here in my barn? Max, darling, are you hurt? How about you, Andrew?”

  “I’d be all right if this jerk would get his hands off me,” Max shouted.

  Sensing support, both boys began to struggle in earnest and Bolt straightened and released them. They scrambled to their feet, chests heaving angrily, and glared at Bolt.

  “Who are you?” Max demanded. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  He was the taller of the two boys, a handsome kid with broad shoulders and thick, dark brown hair. His friend Andrew was a couple of inches shorter and at least twenty pounds lighter. He had a stringy blond ponytail and an earring.

  Andrew brushed dirt from the sleeves of the red plaid shirt that hung loose over his baggy jeans. “You’re a sicko, man. Sneaking up on people that way. I think you broke my back or something.”

  “Oh, no,” Cat exclaimed, instinctively taking a step forward to see if she could help him.

  Bolt froze her with a look.

  “If your back was broken you wouldn’t be standing up,” Bolt told him in a monotone.

  “Yeah, well, it’s no thanks to you if it’s not broke. What the hell were you trying to do?”

  “Yeah, what are you doing here anyway?” Max demanded.

  “He’s one of my houseguests for the evening,” Madelaine spoke up. Both boys stared at her in amazement. “And I’m sure he can explain whatever happened out here.” She drew herself up and Cat recognized in her manner the same unyielding strength that marked her work. “You will explain this to us, Bolt.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  Bolt nodded to her, then faced the two boys. “I apologize,” he said, his tone like sandpaper on cement. “I made a mistake.”

  It wasn’t an explanation, not really, but it looked to be all they were going to get. Turning, he stalked from the barn.

  “That’s it?” Max shouted in angry disbelief. “He made a damn mistake? End of story?”

  “What a jerk,” Andrew muttered.

  “I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Cat said feebly. She wasn’t sure of anything at that moment, least of all what had driven Bolt to attack two kids who were minding their own business on their own property.

  But she was determined to find out.

  “I’ll talk to him,” she said and hurried out of the barn in the same direction he’d gone.

  She found him leaning against the car, breathing as if he’d just run a long, hard race.

  He didn’t look at her as she approached and stood leaning against the car beside him.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her.

  “So you said. It’s not enough.”

  “Sorry, it’s all there is.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t care what you think.”

  “Obviously. You obviously don’t care what anyone thinks, or about other people’s feelings or rights, or about little things like good manners and gratitude.”

  He spun to face her in the thick darkness. Cat couldn’t see more than the angry glitter of his eyes. Judging from the fury in his tone, it was just as well.

  “You think I wanted to hurt those kids?” he demanded. “You think I wanted to repay Madelaine’s hospitality by jumping her nephew? You think I wanted to screw up your visit here, knowing how much it means to you? And make a damn jackass out of myself in the process?”

  “Then why did you?” she asked, her tone softly pleading to understand. As he spoke, the anger in his voice had broken and given way to a heart-wrenching contempt that she sensed was directed at himself alone.

  He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand. None of you would.”

  “Try me.”

  She heard his sigh, saw him arch his neck and lift his hand to knead the back of it as if it hurt.

  “I thought I saw that car again,” he said at last.

  “What car? You mean the same car from the rest stop?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “Out there.” He tipped his head toward the road. “Pulling past real slow. I watched for a while, but it didn’t come back. I was carrying the wood inside when I heard the shot.”

  “That was just the car backfiring.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out,” he said, contempt in his voice. “Right after my foot connected with that kid’s back.”

  “Why on earth did you jump them?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head and looked at the sky. “I heard the shot—what I thought was a shot—and I wondered where you were. When I ran into the barn, the first thing I saw was that damn red plaid shirt, just like the one that guy back at the rest stop was wearing. And the other kid, Max, you have to admit that from the back he looks like the guy who helped you with the wires.”

  “So you thought—”

  “I didn’t think,” he interjected. “I acted. That’s what I do, what I was trained to do. That’s why your uncle sent me here in the first place. I act, and react. And sometimes it doesn’t work out quite the way I expect, all right?”

  “No,” she snapped. “It isn’t all right at all. I don’t care what you were trained to do. You’re not in the Army now and you can’t just attack two innocent kids because you imagine you saw a car that you think might be following you.”

  “I didn’t imagine it,” he said firmly.

  “Even if you did see it, it’s no excuse for your behavior.”

  “I know that. I said I was sorry.”

  “And I said sorry’s not good enough.”

  “What do you want me to do? Give the kid a back rub?”

  “No, but I want more than lip service. I want you to show a little remorse.”

  “You want remorse?” he demanded, reaching out and grabbing her by the arms and yanking her close to him. Now she could see his expression clearly and her heart began to pound furiously. “Lady, I’m carrying around an ocean of remorse. More than you could ever understand in your worst nightmares. More than I would wish on my worst enemy.” He loosened his hold slightly. “I said I was sorry I scared those kids, and I know what I feel. If you can’t see it, that’s not my problem.”

  When he let her go, Cat took a step back from him and stood rubbing her arms for a moment. Finally she said, “I’ll go inside and try to explain it to the others, smooth things over somehow.”

  “All right. Get your things while you’re in there,” he added.

  “Get my things? Why?”

  “We’re leaving.”

  “Tonight?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Tonight.”

  “That’s out of the question. After what just happened I can hardly add insult to injury by refusing to stay the night as planned...if we’re still welcome.”

  He stepped close to her, crowding her against the car without even bringing his body in contact with hers. The heat and strength she sensed in him held her motionless. She sensed something else, as well. Desperation, Cat realized. She thought that, all things considered, she probably ought to be afraid. But she wasn’t. Instead she felt a crazy urge to put her arms around him and pull his head to her shoulder and just stand there in the darkness holding him. The way she’d so often longed for someone to come out of the darkness to hold her.

  “I can’t stay here tonight,” he said quietly.

  “Because you’re emb
arrassed by what happened?”

  His laugh was a harsh, bleak sound. “Embarrassment doesn’t have anything to do with it. I just can’t stay in this house.”

  “But why?”

  “Remember when you first told me you had to make these stops along the way?” he asked.

  Cat nodded.

  “I agreed to go along with you without knowing any more than that.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m asking you to go along with me on this now the same way. No questions asked.”

  Cat bit her bottom lip, trying to think what she should do.

  If she did as he asked and left with him now, it would mean getting in the car alone with a man she barely knew and driving away on dark, lonely country roads that stretched for miles in all directions.

  She could refuse, she told herself. He probably wouldn’t leave without her or he would have already done so.

  She could go inside and call Uncle Hank and demand to know just what kind of man he had sent to watch out for her.

  Or she could follow the small, steady inner voice that told her she already knew what kind of man Bolt was. Over the years she’d spent a lot of time alone, listening to that voice, and she’d come to trust it more than she did most things in life.

  “All right,” she told him finally. “I’ll get my things.”

  Chapter Six

  It was all new to Bolt, this sensation of wanting to vanish into thin air. Granted, there had been moments in his colorful past when the ability to vaporize and disappear would have come in handy. It definitely would have saved him from some sweaty palms, a few physical poundings and several broken bones.

  As painful and frightening as those other moments might have been, however, he had never before actually wished he could just fade away into nothingness. It wasn’t his style. Fighting his way through the fear within and the danger outside, now, that was more his style. Act and react and save the second thoughts for later, just like he’d told Cat. He’d never been one to even consider slinking from sight as an option.

  Until now. He wouldn’t mind slinking out of this one. Unfortunately, the old Chevy, as spacious as it was by current standards, still didn’t provide for a whole lot of slinking room between the driver’s and passenger’s seats. He resisted the urge to turn and glance at Cat. He’d done that only once in the half hour or so they’d been back on the road, and the watchful, almost wary way she’d been looking at him, as if he was something in a petri dish that might lunge at any second, left him in no hurry to turn her way again.

  Back at Madelaine’s, before he’d followed her inside to repeat his apology and help carry their things to the car, Cat had asked him if he was embarrassed by what had happened in the barn, if that might be the real reason he didn’t want to stay as planned. He supposed it was a natural assumption, but he’d been telling the truth when he denied it. He regretted his behavior because it had been a mistake, a failing on his part, not because the impulse was wrong or because of what Madelaine and the boys might think of him as a result.

  The fact was, he didn’t much care what they thought of him. He shouldn’t care what Cat thought, either, he told himself. But for some reason he did. The realization that he had screwed up badly in front of her, that he’d come off looking like some sort of overzealous, trigger-happy goon, was what made him want to vanish from her sight. Just thinking about it left his skin feeling too hot and his gut too cold. Was this what it felt like to be embarrassed? he wondered, not liking it. Not liking it at all.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” Cat asked softly.

  Bolt felt his grip on the wheel tighten. “About what?”

  “You know, about what happened back there.”

  “I thought we already did.”

  “I mean about why it happened.”

  “I told you, I made a mistake. It was a case of mistaken identity.”

  “I think it was a little more than that. Be honest, Bolt, you were obsessed with the idea that we were being followed. Now you’re sitting there brooding as if you lost your best friend, and I’m sitting here trying to figure out why.”

  He stiffened, and his gaze, locked on the road ahead, turned savage.

  “All I mean,” she continued, the words hitting him like relentless drops of scalding hot water, “is that it doesn’t take Sigmund Freud to see that you’re still very upset. If you ask me, you overreacted to something that even you call a simple mistake, and I just thought you might like to talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

  “No. Thanks anyway,” he retorted. “That’s something else we probably ought to get straight right now. I don’t talk about what bothers me. Not to Sigmund Freud and not to you. Not to anyone. Not ever.”

  “Fine, have it your way.”

  Even though she barely moved, he could sense her withdrawing from him, battening down the hatches somewhere deep inside. That was exactly what he wanted, for both their sakes. So why was the relief he felt mixed with something else, a feeling of loss that was unfamiliar and sharp?

  Another new feeling he didn’t like.

  Fine, have it your way, she’d said, all the sweetness gone from her voice. It’s not my way, he wanted to tell her. It’s just the way it is. He didn’t know how to tell her that without telling her more, more than he ever told anyone. So he said nothing.

  After a while, she spoke again.

  “I really think we ought to look for a place to stop for the night.”

  “Why? I’m doing fine,” he said. He was in no mood for stopping and trying to sleep in a strange room.

  “Well, I’m not. I’m exhausted.”

  “So sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep when I’m worried you might join me and drive us into a pole at any time. How can you possibly still be going strong after all these hours on the road? You’re not taking anything to stay awake, are you?”

  “No,” he retorted, annoyed at the suggestion. “Unless you consider willpower an illegal substance. Believe me, I’ve had to will myself to stay awake for longer stretches than this in the past, and under much worse conditions.”

  “How admirable. Pity you don’t have such absolute control over all your impulses.”

  Bolt figured he deserved that and declined to rise to the bait.

  “So are you going to look for a place to stop?” she asked.

  “Eventually.” Like tomorrow night, he thought.

  “I see a motel with a vacancy sign just up ahead,” she pointed out a minute later. “Let’s pull in there.”

  Bolt frowned at the small roadside motel. “Wouldn’t you rather wait and look for something bigger after we get back on the interstate?”

  “Bigger?” she echoed.

  “And maybe nicer.”

  “Why?” she retorted, shrugging. “I’m not planning to raise a family there, simply grab a few hours’ sleep. This place looks fine.”

  Swallowing a frustrated sigh, he slowed and turned into the motel parking lot. He parked in front of the office and they both got out.

  Inside, they registered separately, to the unmistakable amusement of the night clerk who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Cat in that black dress. Old coot probably thought asking for separate rooms was just a cover and that they’d be sharing a bed within the hour, Bolt thought irritably. He wasn’t sure exactly what irritated him more, the old man’s smug smile or the fact that he was so flat-out wrong about them.

  Bolt had to admit that looking the way she did in that dress, it wasn’t a stretch for any man to link thoughts of Cat and a warm bed. The way the dress left the center of her back exposed and clung to her nice round butt tempted him to forget things he’d sworn not to, like the fact that she was hardly more than a kid and that she was the general’s niece. Not to mention that he was supposed to be looking out for her, not wondering what it would be like to unlace the back of her dress and peel it from her shoulders. He hated bony shoulders and hers were anything but bony. They were softly rounded and tanned and smo
oth-looking.

  He did his best not to think about her shoulders or any other part of her as he moved the car to the other side of the lot and followed her to the door of her room. His willpower must be overtaxed, because he wasn’t very successful.

  “I’ll take a look inside your room and check it out for you if you like,” he offered as she unlocked the door.

  “Thanks.”

  He stepped inside and flipped on the light, walked to the bathroom and did the same there, pulling aside the shower curtain for a glance at the tub.

  “Looks all right,” he said.

  Cat stood inside the open door watching, her lips curved with amusement. “Did you really expect otherwise?”

  “I always expect otherwise. Good night, Cat.”

  He sensed more than saw the patronizing roll of her eyes as he passed. After waiting to make sure she locked the door behind him, he walked the few feet to the door of his room next door. As soon as he got inside and tossed the bags he was carrying onto the bed, he realized he still had Cat’s as well as his own.

  He turned toward the entrance, hesitated and moved instead to the door connecting the two rooms. Unbolting it from his side, he knocked and called her name. “It’s me, Bolt,” he added.

  It was a minute before she undid the lock on her side and opened the door.

  “Yes?” she said quizzically.

  “I forgot to give you this.” He held out the tote bag, which matched the suitcase now open on the bed. Already a silk nightgown was tossed across her pillow and intriguing-looking bottles and jars, full of what he hadn’t a clue, were scattered on the dressing table beside her.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll need this in the morning.”

  “No problem. If you like, you can keep this door unlocked. Just in case you need me or something during the night.”

  “I won’t,” she said.

  “All right. It was just a thought.”

  “Night, Bolt.”

  “Just one more thing.” He rested his shoulder against the door and tried to disguise his uneasiness with a smile. “Do you need a hand with your dress? Getting out of it, that is. I mean, with the laces.” He made a fumbling motion at the back of his own neck. “I wasn’t sure if you could reach them.”