One for the Road

by Lynne Marshall

  Finally, she sat and for a moment her mind shut down while she struggled to form the words she knew had to come next. “Shall we talk business, Mr. White?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, finally sitting.

  He withdrew a folded map and a piece of notebook paper from his back pocket. She craned her neck rather than slide too close.

  He carefully unfolded the map. “As Marlene probably told you, I’ve arranged two concerts a week for the next three weeks starting here,” he pointed with a calloused finger to Nashville, “—and ending here,” he pointed to El Paso. “Then we’ve got two days to get from El Paso to Las Vegas.” He slid his middle finger across the remainder of the trip. “We’d be doing a bit of traveling in between. Nothing that isn’t manageable. If you want, I can help with the driving.”

  “Oh, no. Thanks, but I had to get a special license to drive this motor home.” It took me three weeks at the Behemoth Driving School and two attempts at the DMV, but I did it. She made a victorious smile for Tyler, an all-of-her-teeth smile, and sat a little straighter. “So, for insurance purposes, I’ll do all of the driving.”

  “All right.” His concentration went back to the map. “We’ll cover Tennessee, Arkansas, Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona.”

  She noticed his right hand had longer nails and the left fingertips were covered in calluses. He must also play the guitar.

  “End up in Las Vegas, like I said.” He smiled. “I got a gig as opening act for Tanya Lockwood. She owed me a favor.”

  He’d pronounced the name as if D’Anne might need sunscreen, Tan-ya. His sky-blue eyes sparkled. Like she had a clue who Tanya Lockwood was. She nodded and pretended to be listening while she studied his face. With those eyes and that smile, she could understand why he’d been a big hit a decade back.

  “We could drive at night, after work, if you like, or during the day. That’s your call,” he said.

  “Right.” She tried to sound decisive. “I guess.” She cleared her throat. “Would you like a tour?”

  He answered with a slow blink and nod of the head.

  Tyler stood…and stood, to what must have been six feet four inches, possibly more. D’Anne gestured with her head to his hat. “You may want to take that off.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe I will.”

  All the “yes ma’ams” were beginning to make her feel old. “Please call me D’Anne.”

  “Dee.” He nodded.

  Something held her back from correcting him. She opened the door to the RV for her possible future tenant. Reality kicked back in. Are his shoes clean? She glanced at his boots.

  He scuffed them over the “Welcome traveler” doormat as though he’d read her mind.

  When they entered, the spacious RV subtly shifted with his weight. She cleared her throat again and fought a surge of nerves. “This is the living room and kitchen. The couch turns into a bed. The two benches under the dinette also become a bed.” She caught herself motioning like an airline attendant. “The cockpit chairs are comfortable enough to sleep in, too.” Why all the talk about beds with a stranger? She grabbed and fluffed a pillow with jittery hands and quickly tossed it back on the chair. “Are any of you short?”

  “We’ll make do, ma’…Dee.”

  “D’Anne.”

  He twitched his mustache the slightest bit. “D’Anne.”

  A flush trickled across her chest and neck. Not a hot flash. Not now! “If you don’t mind, I’d like the bedroom for myself.” She fiddled with the knob.

  “Course.”

  “But during the day, anyone who wants to nap can crash here while I’m driving.” She entered and unable to stop, she smoothed the comforter and punched the pillows. “That’s totally fine with me.”

  He nodded again, staying outside the door. “This is very nice. Too nice.”

  “Oh?”

  “Musicians tend to get rowdy, Dee. This here RV might not end up the same way it started out.”

  “I see.”

  “Wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”

  “I understand.” A pitiful, nervous laugh escaped her lips. She wanted to kick herself.

  “Doesn’t mean I’m not interested.”

  She tried her damnedest not to look grateful. Wait a second. He might be playing her to get a cheaper price. She didn’t need him. Oh, yes she did. Leaving the bedroom, she said, “I’m a bit anal about keeping things clean, and I’ve written a list of rules.” She pulled the paper from her bib pocket. “You’ll probably feel insulted by some of them, but if you can swear on a stack of Bibles to keep them…”

  He reached for the list, and she held her breath. He cleared his throat once, then twice, while he read. She watched every nuance on his face: a raised brow, a twitch of the corner of his mouth, a quick sniff. No comment came when he finished and handed back the sheet.

  Well, there goes my ticket home.

  “What’s your fee?”

  Relief. Was he giving her a chance? No. No. That’s not the right attitude. You’re giving him a chance, remember? You’re in charge. “I’ll need gas money. So that depends on how many miles we travel each week. And I’ll need grocery money. That would depend on how much you guys eat.” Gathering her nerves, she blurted, “$400.00 a week plus expenses.”

  Tyler stared at the floor for a few moments then lifted his head to meet her eyes. “$250.00.”

  She stopped herself from snorting. “$350.00 plus expenses. That’s really as low as I can go, Mr. White.” Recalling the assertiveness training workshop she’d once attended, D’Anne dug in her heels and stood straighter. “And I’ll need the first week up front.”

  “Tyler.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Call me Tyler.”

  “Tyler? Oh.” Was he trying to change the topic? “Did I tell you it’s a hundred gallon diesel fuel tank?” “$300.00 a week plus expenses, Mrs. Palmer, as long as I can bring my dog.”

  What happened to Dee? “You have a dog?”

  He smiled wide. Damn. How could she not trust a man with a dog?

  “Your rules didn’t say ‘no pets.’ ”

  “Is he clean and small?”

  “He’s older, a mongrel, not too big. Real sweet.” Tyler stared at her for a few seconds. “I cain’t leave Dexter behind, Dee.”

  “So, if I let you have a dog, you’ll hire me?”

  “Yes, I believe I will.”

  She hoped she didn’t sound too desperate, and concentrated on sending him assertive vibes. He smiled at her again, fine teeth lined a curtain of mustache, and it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Feeling several years younger, D’Anne smiled back. Her grin seemed to stretch too wide. She’d seen plenty of pictures of herself doing the very same thing. The expression always seemed forced and accentuated her crow’s feet. Crow’s feet, ha! More like eagle talons. She immediately stopped the nervous beam and, feeling self-conscious, caught herself before her hand reached her cheek to smooth out the lines.

  “Do I need to sign something?”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip and made a snap decision. “A handshake’s good enough.”

  Tyler withdrew his hand from his back pocket and reached for the shake. His huge palm covered hers, and she felt petite for the first time in eons. Warm, rough and consuming, the shake disturbed her, and she withdrew quickly. He noticed, too—she could tell by the “aw shucks” uncomfortable look on his face.

  “Well, that’s that, then,” he said.

  His deep, yet soft-spoken voice made her think he was probably a good singer.

  “I guess so.”

  Chapter Two

  “Shee-it.” Tyler scrubbed his face with his hands. “Dexter, that lady needs lookin’ after.” He hated women like that. Nervous, prissy and controlling. He knew the type. Hell, he’d married someone just like her…twice.

  Tyler bent down to pat Dexter, the one living thing he could count on. He gazed into Dexter’s mongrel eyes for affirmation.

  “I know I should’ve paid her m
ore, but I’m getting her where she needs to go, ain’t I?” Could he tolerate four weeks with the likes of D’Anne Palmer? Did he have a choice?

  The moderate-sized dog of indeterminate ancestry squirmed and whined. Tyler walked across creaking wood and let him out the back door. “She’s too green to know when she’s gettin’ took.”

  He shook his head and imagined her face. Those green eyes spelled trouble.

  “But for an older gal, her curves are holding up real good.” Which was all well and good, but for the fact he wasn’t about to get sidetracked by another female. Not now.

  Tyler leaned against the doorframe and watched Dexter circle the yard for just the right spot.

  “I should’ve sold the Eldorado.”

  ****

  “I feel so guilty,” D’Anne paced the length of her RV. “I actually checked out the man’s buns. Reese has only been dead less than two months and…”

  “Oh, get off your high horse.” Theresa emoted in her one-of-a-kind way. “You and I both know you lost interest years ago.”

  D’Anne flashed back on the man she first came to love at the ripe old age of nineteen. The hip Econ 101 professor cool enough to wear faded, tight jeans with running shoes and a sports coat for class. Reese, the sophisticated, older man with long hair and wire frame glasses. But the guy she once adored and worshipped had been missing in action, both emotionally and physically, for years. When had their passion shifted into nothing more than amicable companionship? She couldn’t pinpoint when, just knew it had.

  Things had started looking up on the “Mend it, Don’t End it” road trip…with the help of Viagra.

  “Did you find the note yet?” Theresa asked.

  “There is no note,” D’Anne snapped and took a seat in the plush cockpit seat. She scanned the camper cabin for a hint, just in case. “I told you, he didn’t commit suicide.” Her eyes came to rest on the thick porcelain jar that held his ashes. “Can a person die from poor judgment?”

  “This is where the true friend throws water in your face, or slaps you, to get your attention. Hello! He was a bright man, D’Anne. Only a fool would mix chest pain medicine with Viagra. Keep looking for a note.”

  Reese did know the warning. It said so right on the prescription label. So why did he do such a stupid thing? She forced from her mind the horrible vision of her husband collapsed on top of her.

  “Honestly Theresa, you’re a pain in the ass.”

  “Moi?”

  “You’re supposed to be supporting me in my time of need.”

  “I do support you,” Theresa said.

  “Well, thanks for the love fest, but I’ve got roommates to prepare for.” She glanced at the small Indian School magnetic calendar stuck on the fridge.

  An X marked next week’s departure date with the four musicians.

  “Lucky you, sweet pea. Let me know as soon as you see one of them big ole country boys nekked, ya hear?”

  “Don’t be crude, Theresa.”

  D’Anne hung up and an odd sense of excitement flitted in her tummy. Tyler promised to bring the rest of the band by later for a tour. This was either the smartest idea she’d ever hatched or the dumbest thing she’d ever done. She checked her watch. The jury was still out.

  ****

  D’Anne’s stomach dove to her toes when two hours later she saw four men approach the campsite. One was as broad as he was tall with a long strawberry-blond ponytail. Another looked like an Arapaho warrior with thick black shoulder length hair and dangerously dark, deep-set eyes. He wore a tee shirt and jeans and was quite possibly any young woman’s dream and nightmare all rolled into one tight package. A third man seemed like a regular guy hidden behind his sunglasses, until you noticed his tall, brown hair combed into a leftover look from the fifties.

  And then there was Tyler at the front, leading the way and looking serious as all hell. He stood a head taller than the others, two heads if she counted the hat.

  Her roommates? The verdict was in. She’d stepped over the line from Nashville to nuts-ville, just like her son had warned.

  She caught her breath and forced back the mounting hysteria. I can do this.

  “Hey, Dee.” Tyler offered a sorry attempt at a smile. It made him look mildly nauseated. “I brought the band by, like I said I would.”

  “Dang,” the heavy one exclaimed. Eyeing the motor home, he looked like a kid at the entrance to the Ferris wheel.

  “Nice wheels,” the sexy, black-haired youngster said after whistling through his teeth.

  The retro guy nodded his approval. He didn’t utter a peep, just gave a wayward smile. She tried not to stare at his pompadour.

  “I told you it was first rate.” Tyler’s eyes rested on D’Anne when he spoke.

  “Welcome.” She shot up from the bench and pretended to be at ease.

  “Dee, this is Cle…” The pony tailed guy shot Tyler a glare. “We call him Bear.”

  For obvious reasons, D’Anne thought as she smiled. Bear had cute dimples and a nice smile, even though a couple of teeth were missing.

  Tyler pointed out the dark one. “This is James Taylor Lightfoot.” The guy had charisma and could probably put the fear of Diablo in a woman’s heart. D’Anne was thankful for being way over the hill. “We just call him J.T.”

  His intense black eyes assessed her from head to foot. “Howdy.”

  She shook his hand and tried not to react to the heat radiating from his body.

  “And this here’s Ricky-Bob Barton.”

  “Ma’am,” Ricky-Bob said in a raspy voice.

  “Please, just call me D’Anne.” She swept her hand to the picnic table. “Would anyone care for some homemade lemonade?”

  The band mumbled their thanks as they fanned out to examine the coach.

  Tyler joined D’Anne at the table under the canopy. “I’ll have some, thanks.”

  “Where’re we storin’ the instruments?” J.T. asked from near the rear of the rig.

  “Good question.” Tyler looked at D’Anne as he took a sip and puckered his lips. “I suppose we could put the drums in the car, pack the amps on the roof, keep our axes in the RV. That okay with you Dee?”

  “Sure.” Axes? “I’ve got lots of storage space along the sides and back of the RV, too.”

  A snicker drew her attention to the subcompact car and J.T. “Great plates. Whoever thought that one up?”

  D’Anne felt her checks burn with discomfort. She refilled her lemonade glass, took a sip and topped Tyler’s off.

  “My boys came up with it as a Mother’s Day gift when they were around eight and ten years old.” She looked at Tyler to explain in a soft voice. “I didn’t have the heart to make them change it.”

  Tyler nodded in understanding, looking earnest and respectful.

  “Of course, my husband thought the whole thing was funny as hell.” She rested her chin on her knuckles. “I just figured the world was divided into two camps, like the glass half full or empty bit. There are those who see a lucky mom and those who see alky mom and immediately think I’m drunk and damn proud of it.”

  Tyler looked a bit sheepish as he took a big swallow of his lemonade and made a face as though he’d just had a hit of whisky.

  “I belong to the lucky mom camp. How about you?”

  “Cain’t say I’d ever thought about it,” Tyler said, pushing his glass away and standing. “J.T. you might want to bring a sleeping bag and tent along.”

  “Makin’ the Indian sleep outside, huh?” Bear chuckled, arms crossed and resting on his ample belly.

  “That’s Native American, dickhead. One-half pure Cherokee,” J.T. said to D’Anne. “I say we take turns sleeping outside.”

  “Why should we have to sleep outside?” Ricky-Bob asked. “This thing is huge.”

  Clueless as to why anyone would have to sleep outside, D’Anne said, “Shall we take a tour?”

  And for the second time in as many days, she opened her home to strangers.

  **** />
  “Would you look at this?” Bear said. “Fancier than the Opryland Hotel.” He turned the gold-plated bathroom sink fixtures on and off three times, reached inside the door and flushed the toilet for good measure.

  Tyler tossed her a sympathetic glance.

  Bear moved deeper into the bathroom. “Wa’ho’oh. I can almost turn around in this here shower stall.”

  Ricky-Bob spoke up from way back. “This bed’s bigger than my first apartment.”

  J.T. made a running jump and lunged onto the bed. “I get dibs on this. Any game station hook-ups?”

  “Dee will be keeping the bedroom for herself,” Tyler said. “Bear, quit flushing the toilet.”

  She thought about correcting him on her name, but instead felt thankful he’d stuck up for her. Maybe she was crazy for letting musicians take over her journey home, but at least it wouldn’t be as dull as the trip out.

  Ricky-Bob nestled back on the couch, arms stretched wide, with a big smile across his face. “Yeah, I vote for this. How’s your cookin’ Dee?”

  “California cuisine, all the way.” She tried to sound light and playful, but came off a tad shrill to her own ears.

  “Whatever that means,” J.T. mumbled.

  “As long as it includes gravy and there’s plenty of it,” Bear added, his voice echoing from the shower stall.

  “Now, y’all remember Dee’s rules,” Tyler said. “I expect you to keep ’em.”

  “Fine with me,” Ricky-Bob said.

  “I’m in,” J.T. called out from the bedroom. “Oh, now I get why you wanted me to bring the tent. Rule number four, no sex in the RV.” He rolled off the bed, smoothed out his jeans and flashed D’Anne a mischievous grin.

  “We may all want to bring a sleeping bag,” Tyler pinned each one of them with a long solid glare.

  Hit with sudden fear that they may all be wild sex fiends, D’Anne gulped.

  “Rule Number three.” Tyler ran his hand through his thick hair and sheepishly glanced at D’Anne. “No drunks allowed inside.”

  Adrenaline struck like lightning in her chest, and she thought about backing out.

  Bear turned the bathroom faucet on and off once more. “Nothin’ wrong with bivouacking every now and again.”