by Meg Benjamin
A car passed them on the next curve, the driver flipping up his middle finger as he did.
“Well, that was rude,” Ronnie said.
“Just part of the drive.” Monica wiped her hands on her thighs again.
Paul’s foot was going numb from pressing an imaginary accelerator. Even allowing for the fact that Monica had never driven in the mountains before, this was getting ridiculous. Each time the SUV managed to pick up some speed she’d hit the brakes again. At this rate, they’d probably burn out the brake shoes by the time they hit Dillon.
He leaned back in his seat, trying to relax. A rental truck pulled by them—he happened to know those suckers had a governor that kept the speed below sixty. Which meant Monica was creeping along at around fifty on the most heavily traveled stretch of I-70 heading for the Eisenhower Tunnel. They’d already gone through two smaller tunnels on the road to Idaho Springs. Ronnie had wailed in anguish. Apparently tunnels weren’t common in her part of Florida; also apparently they had some mysterious negative effect on her carsickness.
Paul closed his eyes, flexing his stiff fingers. Surely Ronnie wouldn’t freak out in the Eisenhower. If nothing else, it had lights all the way through. Hell, it even had tile all the way through. It looked like the world’s longest bathroom.
Monica managed to goose their speed up marginally as they approached the tunnel entrance. “Oh God,” Ronnie moaned. “Not another one.”
“It’s okay,” Monica said firmly, “this is the fastest way across the Continental Divide. It’ll just take us a few minutes to get through it, and then we’ll be on the down side.”
Two more semis passed them as they entered the tunnel. Monica had pushed up the speed some, but they still weren’t going as fast as they should have been. The tunnel walls sped past, the tiles yellow in the artificial light. The faint scent of exhaust wafted through the SUV’s ventilation system.
“Oh God.” Ronnie moaned again. “It’s so dark. And that smell! I think I’m gonna be sick!”
“No you’re not.” Monica sounded like she was speaking through gritted teeth. “We’re almost on the other side. Just hold on.” She stomped on the accelerator, speeding up to something that might actually have been close to sixty.
The yellow tiles flew by at a faster rate. Soon Paul could see the next range of mountains appear through the circular tunnel exit ahead of them. Up front Ronnie whimpered.
“It’s okay, Ronnie,” Brendan called. “You’ll be fine. Just look at the mountains up there.”
“You can see the exit now,” Monica said desperately. “We’re almost there. I’ll stop at the first town we come to. I promise, Ronnie. Just, you know, don’t!”
Ronnie whimpered again, but then they were out into the light and speeding down the other side of the mountain. “See?” Monica chorused. “All done. Everything’s okay.”
“Stop,” Ronnie croaked. “Just stop.”
Monica managed to pull into a scenic overlook around the next curve. Ronnie was opening the door almost before she came to a full stop. She rushed to the edge of the parking space with its spectacular view of the peaks and bent over, retching into the trees down below.
Brendan pushed open one of the back doors and trotted in her direction, a bottle of water dangling from his fingers.
The cameraman, Faisal, hoisted his video camera on his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at Monica. “Candids?”
She blew out a breath. “Not even Glenn wants something that candid. Let her upchuck in peace.”
Faisal sighed. “Might as well get some scenery shots. Maybe we can use them for transitions.” He headed for the other side of the overlook.
Monica stepped slowly from the driver’s seat, leaning on the car. She rested her forehead against the door. Paul thought her eyes were closed. He had a feeling she was one step away from beating her head against the roof.
He opened the back door and stepped up beside her, rubbing his hands across her shoulders. “How are you holding up? Having fun yet?”
She shook her head, then sighed. “Why the hell hasn’t anyone gotten that teleportation device going yet? After a trip like this, he could make a mint. I’d pay a fortune to have Ronnie teleported right now.”
Paul gave her a dry smile, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers. “Wouldn’t work. She’d probably have teleportation sickness.”
She grinned at him, delving a small dimple in her right cheek he hadn’t noticed before. Her back arched slightly as his fingers slid down her spine. “God, that feels good,” she moaned, flexing her shoulders. The faint gold flecks in her whiskey-colored eyes seemed to burn. He found himself leaning forward, focusing on those pink, chewable lips. Just another couple of inches…
She caught her breath, suddenly drawing upright, away from his fingers.
Oops. Things had gotten close to out of hand. With Monica McKellar, girl producer. Why did he suddenly feel like that would be a good thing?
She licked her lips, her gaze holding his for a moment, then turned away. “Okay, everybody,” she called, “let’s get this show on the road again.”
The drive down from the tunnel was another nerve-wracking descent. Monica tried to keep from hitting the brakes every two minutes, but she couldn’t seem to stop doing it—every time the SUV picked up speed, she slowed it down. Other cars flashed by, heading for the towns at the bottom. At least this time nobody gave her the finger, but of course this time the other drivers had two lanes to get around her.
She pulled off at a shopping center in Dillon, managing to unclench her hands from the steering wheel once they’d rolled to a stop. “Anybody want anything to eat?”
Beside her, Ronnie moaned faintly.
Monica managed not to snarl. “Okay, how about something to drink. Ronnie?”
Ronnie held up the bottle of water Brendan had given her at the overlook. “I already have something.”
“How about a Coke? It might help to settle your stomach.”
“Nothing’s going to settle my stomach except getting out of this car.” Ronnie subsided into suffering silence.
“I could use a pit stop,” Billy Joe said flatly. As far as Monica could remember, it was the first thing he’d said since Denver.
“Okay,” she said. “Fifteen minute rest stop. Everybody check your watches or your phones.”
Brendan looked dutifully at his wrist. Billy Joe was already opening the door.
“Fifteen minutes,” Monica called after him as he headed toward the shops. She figured they’d be lucky to see him again in under thirty. Brendan helped the still shaky Ronnie out of her seat. Together they headed toward a Stop and Go, with Ronnie leaning heavily on his arm.
Faisal stretched out his legs, resting his head on the back of the seat.
“I’m not stopping again,” Monica warned him. “If you need anything, you’d better go now.”
“You won’t need to stop for me,” he muttered. “Believe me, I want to get there as bad as you do.”
Paul pushed his door open, stretching his legs, then walked around to her side. “Come on,” he said, opening her door. “Walk.” He extended a hand to her, pulling her out of her seat.
Monica started to follow him, then found herself stumbling. Just stiffness. It has nothing whatsoever to do with his hand on your back.
His arm snaked around her shoulders, holding her steady. “You’re through the worst of it now, believe me. There’s one more pass close to Salt Box, but it’s not bad. Plus now we can get off I-70 onto roads with a lot less traffic. You’re doing fine.”
“You’re lying,” she muttered, letting herself lean against his arm. “I suck at this.”
He tucked her more securely against him, resting his hand on her arm. Now she told herself the slight acceleration of her heart beat had nothing to do with the warm wall of muscle behind her back.
“What’s Salt Box?” she murmured.
He shrugged, moving her forward slightly. “The town below Elkhorn Run.
Elkhorn’s the ski resort. Salt Box is the town with stuff like insurance agencies and furniture stores. Normal, in other words.”
She blew out a breath. “I could do with normal right now. Believe me, I’m usually a better driver than this.”
“I do believe you. This is sort of a trial by fire, Ms. McKellar, with extra added distractions from Ronnie. Trust me, you’re doing fine. And there’s some gorgeous scenery coming up. Just relax.”
She blew out another quick breath. The arm around her waist seemed to have tightened. She wondered how weird it would be if she wrapped her arm around him too, maybe run her fingertips over that ridge of muscle just at the top of his low-slung jeans. Just a touch. For now. “Easy for you to say.”
He chuckled again, the sound vibrating through her shoulder. “Actually it isn’t. I want to drive so badly, it’s killing me. I’ve had my foot on an imaginary accelerator ever since we left Denver.” He turned to grin at her, his face only inches away. “You sure you don’t want to pretend that car rental contract has my name on it?”
She shook her head slowly, trying to catch her breath. Her chest felt tight; her breasts were beginning to tingle. “I wish I could. Believe me, I really wish I could. But if anything happened, we’d all be in big trouble. And I don’t think we could trust Billy Joe to keep his mouth shut about who was behind the wheel when we got to Elkhorn Run.”
Paul sighed, turning her back toward the SUV. “Not without a large payment up front, I’d guess. Here they come.”
Ronnie and Brendan tottered back across the parking lot, Ronnie still leaning heavily upon his arm. She didn’t seem to be handling her platform sandals any better today than she had yesterday, plus this time she had the added nausea factor. Brendan carried two soft drinks in one hand, his other bracing Ronnie.
Billy Joe sauntered behind them, a six-pack tucked under his arm.
“Terrific,” Monica grumbled. “Now he’ll either get tipsy or he’ll need to stop and pee again.”
Paul pushed her gently toward the car, one large hand warm against the middle of her back. “One beer isn’t likely to do much either way, unless his capacity is as low as his IQ.”
She snorted a laugh, then slapped her hand across her mouth. “Well, crap. If I had any cool quotient left, that took care of it.”
He grinned again, easily, those melted chocolate eyes suddenly hot. “Come on, Miss Uncool, let’s see if we can get to Elkhorn before sunset.”
Monica did better when the road wasn’t climbing or descending, Paul had to admit. She even made it up to a respectable speed so that they were no longer being passed by fully-loaded cattle trucks. He halfway relaxed, leaning back against his seat to watch the small mountain towns zip by.
Back on the Coast they probably wouldn’t even call them towns. Just a few vacation homes and permanent cabins, maybe a couple of stores, sometimes a fire station.
When he was a kid his family had camped up in this area, but he couldn’t exactly remember where. The mountains were full of Forest Service campgrounds and they’d moved from one to another, looking for the perfect site. The streams were ice-cold and clear, the pines reached up in a shady canopy and dropped needles that became a natural carpet underfoot. His dad had taught him to fish, although he hadn’t had a pole in his hands in at least five years. He flexed his palms, remembering the feel of the rod, the tug of the line when a trout struck.
He felt a quick pang somewhere around his heart that surprised him. Not homesickness. No. He wasn’t really homesick for Colorado, was he? Colorado was the past. A really pleasant past.
Ronnie had apparently recovered. She sat up straight in her seat, chattering on about the towns, the forests and the peaks in the distance. Clearly it took more than a little car-induced nausea to keep her quiet.
Behind him, Billy Joe was already snoring softly, either from Ronnie’s voice or from the beers he’d bought back in Dillon. Even Brendan’s eyelids seemed to be drooping. Faisal leaned against the window, his eyes closed. Paul slid down in his seat again, letting his own eyelids drift down. The steady hum of Ronnie’s voice was like a white noise machine. He felt himself drifting, letting go, getting closer and closer to sleep…
“Oh my God,” Ronnie shrieked. “It’s Bambi!”
The next few moments seemed to take place in slow motion, at least in Paul’s memory.
Monica’s hands jerked the wheel convulsively to the side as she shot upright. “What?” she cried. “Where? What are you talking about?”
The car’s back wheels began to slide across the road as she tried to straighten out, achingly slow and yet almost too fast to counteract the skid. Monica jerked the steering wheel in the opposite direction, and the front wheels slid further.
They were going sideways now, the nose of the SUV headed back toward where they’d come. Ronnie was shrieking in earnest. Beside him, Brendan jerked awake, fumbling for something to hold onto. “Huh? What’s happening?”
And still the car skidded toward the side of the road. Monica jerked frantically on the steering wheel, although Paul could have told her it wouldn’t work since she was steering in the wrong direction. “Left,” he shouted. “Turn it left.”
“I am,” Monica cried.
“Your other left,” he yelled. “The other way.”
She spun the wheel as a culvert beside the road opened in front of them. The SUV’s right front wheel bounced into the ditch and suddenly they were leaning sideways. The rear of the car continued its long slide, the wheels bumping across the shoulder and finally into the culvert too.
For a moment the car seemed to balance on its side and Paul was suddenly sure they were going to flip over, but just as that final disaster seemed inevitable, the driver’s side landed on the shoulder with a solid thump.
They all sat very still, listening to the patter of gravel coming to rest around them like rain. Paul glanced at his watch. Incredibly, the whole accident had only taken a minute or so.
“Is everybody okay?” Monica asked, her voice trembling. “Damn it, I can’t move.” She shoved a little desperately at the airbag that had her pinned against her seat.
A groan sounded from the back seat. Paul turned to see Billy Joe pushing himself upright, rubbing his head. “What the hell happened?” he asked in a drowsy voice. “Can’t a guy grab some shuteye around here? Where are we anyway?”
“We had an accident,” Paul said. “You okay?”
Billy Joe rubbed a hand across his forehead, then shrugged. “Guess so. If I’m not, the studio pays, right?”
Paul sighed. “Probably.” He turned back to Monica. “I believe we’re all okay back here.”
“What do we do now?” Ronnie wailed. “Oh God, we’re out here in the middle of nowhere with the bears and snakes. How are we going to get help?”
“I have my cell phone,” Monica said between her teeth. “I’ll call the car club emergency number and the rental car agency, assuming I can get out of this damn SUV to do it.” She struggled against the airbag again.
“It’s deflating,” Paul said. “Just give it a minute.” He unfastened his own seatbelt and pushed against the door. Unfortunately he was on the downward sloping side of the SUV, and the door was jammed. “Hang on. I’ll get your door open from the outside.”
Brendan reached across to help push, and the door opened with a creak, thumping into the muddy opposite bank of the culvert. A small stream flowed across the bottom. Paul gritted his teeth and stepped into the water.
Ice cold. Just like the good old days. Now he definitely wasn’t homesick. On the other hand, he was pretty sick of being there. He started to work his way around the SUV toward the driver’s side. He could see at least two flat tires, and the right front fender didn’t look too great either. If the axle was damaged, they’d need a new car.
Or a helicopter. All of this was going to add a few thousand to the budget for Finding Mr. Right. Maybe Fairstein would decide to just leave them on their own. On the other hand, Ronnie was her
e and the show wasn’t going anywhere without her.
He took hold of the door handle on the driver’s side and tugged. Nothing happened. “Is it unlocked?”
Monica nodded, moving out from under the slowly deflating airbag. “I think so. It looks like it’s jammed. I’ll push, you pull.” She propped her shoulder against her side of the door.
Paul gave another jerk, bracing his foot against the front wheel. The door groaned and then popped open, sending him backward onto his ass in a clump of wild strawberries.
Monica climbed from her seat, sighing. “Sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Not your fault.” He stood up again, brushing crushed strawberries off the seat of his jeans.
The other doors began to open slowly, all except Ronnie’s, which was jammed against the side of the culvert. Billy Joe leaned through the driver’s side door, extending his hand. “Come on, princess. Climb on out of there.”
Ronnie gave him a tentative smile, then took his hand and let him pull her across the seat while Brendan looked as if he’d like to eviscerate him. Faisal held up his video camera, shaking his head dolefully.
Monica sighed again, punching a number into her cell.
“Look,” Ronnie cried, pointing toward the far side of the meadow.
Brendan hurried forward. “What? Where? Is something wrong?”
“No, there. Look there!”
A large mule deer ambled across the open meadow, flicking its ears in their direction. It seemed remarkably unimpressed by the bedraggled bunch of humans invading its territory.
Brendan shook his head. “What about it?”
Ronnie stared up at him, her great brown eyes suddenly wide. “Bambi,” she said. “It’s Bambi—the deer I saw just before Monica wrecked the car. He’s still here.”
For one of the few times in his recent life, Paul wished he had a twelve-gauge available. Just as well he didn’t have one since he might have used it on Ronnie rather than Bambi.