My Lucky Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “There are some things I miss—the mountains, for instance. About the tallest thing you get in Ohio is a hill, but it is green and beautiful there. I’ve got a great piece of property.”

  “It’s amazing what people will do for property,” Tara said. “I sell real estate, and I’ve seen the need to own land do some pretty strange things to people.”

  “That’s not why I moved,” Ben said. “If I’d just wanted land, I could have stayed in Richfield and taken over my parents’ place.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Tara asked. “Not enough room for pigs?”

  “Not enough room for me,” Ben said then instantly looked as if he wished he could take that statement back.

  Ahh. Now we’re getting somewhere. “You and who else?” Tara asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” Ben reached for the key and turned the truck on again.

  Kudos to you for not lying and saying, “No one else.”

  “Dallin,” she guessed.

  “Give the whole Dallin thing a rest, okay?”

  “Sorry,” she muttered then turned and looked out her window, feeling a little of the apology she’d just given. It had been kind of fun talking with Ben.

  Wish I hadn’t ruined it.

  * * *

  “Tara.” Ben gently shook her shoulder.

  She rubbed her eyes and sat up, coming out of a surprising dream where she and Ben weren’t fighting but were—

  She glanced at his hand on her shoulder. “I fell asleep again? Where are we?”

  “Same spot we were twenty-five minutes ago.” He pulled his hand away. “I’m going to take Sam up to his mom and walk a little farther to see what I can find out.”

  “Okay.” If you see anyone with a motor home . . . she almost added. Wasn’t that what people always did in the movies when they needed a bathroom?

  Ben bundled Sam up and left the truck. “Lock the doors behind me, okay?”

  She nodded, touched that he thought enough of her to give her safety advice. He probably would have told anyone the same thing. She needed to let go of the dream she’d been having. But he didn’t tell anyone, he told me. And it was nice.

  Her fingers rested on her shoulder where his hand had been. Don’t go there, she warned herself, but found it impossible not to—for a minute or two, anyway. Out here in the snow-covered Rocky Mountains, a guy in a plaid flannel shirt seemed just about perfect. It had been a nice dream.

  When Ben disappeared from view, Tara did what she’d wanted to all morning, since his confession about having Sinatra on his iPod. She was dying to know what else he listened to and took the opportunity to find out, reaching for the iPod on the dashboard. She began scanning through songs, many of which she’d never heard before. A lot of Ben’s music seemed to be from another era, and while it wasn’t unpleasant, it also wasn’t what she’d imagine a man in his thirties would listen to. After about fifteen minutes and twice that many songs, she turned it off and went back to worrying about finding a bathroom.

  Though it was only about twelve thirty, the sky was beginning to darken. They were in a pass, with steep mountains rising up around them, blocking much of the sunlight that was probably out there. The feeling of darkness coming on only intensified her need for a bathroom.

  “This is ridiculous,” she told herself. “You’re thirty-four years old. You can hold it.”

  Her little pep talk did absolutely no good. Tara slunk down in her seat, true misery starting to sink in as quickly as the windows were fogging up. She rubbed the one closest to her with the sleeve of her sweater, knowing now was not a good time for her claustrophobia to kick in.

  Still Ben didn’t return. The truck was getting cold now, so she reached over and turned the key, bringing the engine to life. She rubbed her hands briskly in front of the heater vents, willing the air to get hot, hoping that once she was warm again, her need for a bathroom would subside a bit.

  The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. At last, when she thought she might die of boredom or a full bladder, Ben came into view. He had something in his arms, and he was stopping at each car, handing whatever it was to the drivers. When he neared the truck, she leaned over in his seat, unlocking the door. He pulled it open and climbed inside.

  “No kids?” Tara asked, feeling grateful she didn’t have to deal with whining or crying right now.

  “They’re watching a DVD in Ellen’s van.” Ben held out his hands. “But I brought ice cream. The good stuff—Ben & Jerry’s.”

  “Ice cream? Is that what you were handing out to everyone?”

  “Yep. This is what caused the delay. About a quarter mile ahead of us a semi slid on some ice and jackknifed. The trailer tipped over, and there’s ice cream all over the road. The driver’s telling people to take as much as they want. It won’t be saleable now.” He lifted the pint containers, staring at the labels. “Chunky Monkey or Cherry Garcia?”

  “It’s, what, ten degrees outside, and you’re offering me ice cream?”

  “I am. And where’s the gratitude?” Ben pouted. “I had to hike down an embankment for these.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tara said. “Thank you for hiking down an embankment for me.”

  “Oh, I didn’t do it for you.” The pout was gone. “I love ice cream. You’re just lucky I’m in a sharing mood.” He popped the lid off one of the pints.

  “How were you planning to eat that?” Tara asked. “My fingers are already chilled, and I don’t think I’m up for completely freezing them.”

  “You can’t eat ice cream with your fingers.” Ben rolled his eyes at her then continued with a hillbilly accent. “Not even us farmers are that backward.” He handed the ice cream to Tara then reached in his pocket, pulling out what looked like an over-accessorized pocket knife. From this he produced a fold-out metal spoon.

  “Basic tool of any Boy Scout—and farmer,” he said.

  “You were a Boy Scout, too?”

  “Oh yeah. Half the time my parents had us recite the Scout Oath with our prayers. They lived and breathed it.” He took the open carton from Tara and dug in with the spoon. She expected him to take the first bite, but he held it out to her instead. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she leaned forward, allowing him to put the bite in her mouth.

  “Mmm. Thank you.”

  Ben took the next bite for himself then offered her another.

  She shook her head. “I actually need something else first—before I can fully enjoy the ice cream.”

  “You want a sandwich? Ellen packed some this morning. Do you want me to go get one from her?”

  “No.” Tara shook her head then looked away. She felt her face starting to go red and tried to remember the last time she’d felt embarrassed like this. “I need a bathroom,” she finally admitted. “Is there a rest area nearby I could walk to? Or someone with a motor home, maybe?”

  “Oh, boy.” Ben leaned back in his seat, staring out at the cars and road ahead of them. “I didn’t see anything up ahead, and we haven’t passed any rest areas in a while. I guess I could walk back and look for someone with an RV, but generally you don’t see a lot of those on the road this time of year—especially on a highway with a ten-thousand-foot summit and lots of snow.”

  “I didn’t think about that.” Because about the only thing I can think about right now is my bladder that’s about to burst.

  “You could use an empty water bottle,” Ben suggested.

  She felt her face go redder. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a guy. It’s a little more complicated for me.”

  Ben laughed.

  She didn’t see what was so funny.

  “Fair enough. I guess the only other thing to do is to go outside.”

  “Outside?” she asked, certain her face was a mask of horror. “I’d have to—”

  “Squat?” Ben suggested.

  She looked away, too embarrassed and appalled to continue the conversation.

  “It can be done, you know. When we went ca
mping, my mom and sisters—”

  “I’m not your mom and sisters,” she snapped, angry now.

  He shrugged. “Then hold it. I was just telling you your choices.”

  Tara folded her arms and kept her gaze straight ahead. Some choice. I haven’t had a decent choice since I stepped on that plane three days ago.

  Ben continued to eat his ice cream, whistling between bites. When he’d had enough, he put the lid on the carton and put both cartons outside on the hood of the truck. His whistling resumed once he was back in his seat.

  “What are you so happy about?” Tara asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ben said. “It’s Christmas Eve, I’m here in a beautiful canyon with a pretty woman sitting next to me, and I just had some awesome ice cream. Things could be worse.”

  She ignored his compliment. “You’re happy about the delay, aren’t you?” she accused. “This means more time before you have to see Dallin—and probably less time with him.”

  The whistling stopped. Ben turned to her, fixing his eyes on hers. “What is it with you? Why do you feel the need to pry into my personal life?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, feeling somewhat bad that she’d brought it up again. What is with me? she wondered. “Maybe it’s because you seem so good, so perfect in every other way, that I want to know about this one thing in your life that isn’t right. There are a whole lot of things in my life that aren’t right, and being around you—Mr. Happy, Helpful Farmer—is kind of depressing. But if you give me some dirt, I might feel better.”

  Ben shook his head. “I’ll never get females.”

  “Get as in understand, or get as in get?” Tara asked.

  “Both.” His serious tone told her he wasn’t about to elaborate.

  After a minute, Tara spoke again. “I think you could—the latter get, I mean. You’re not bad looking, and if you lost the overalls . . .”

  He turned to her. “I’m not wearing overalls today.”

  “I know. You look good in cords.” There. She’d said it. She admitted to checking him out. She’d played another one of her cards, when he’d played none of his.

  Their eyes met again, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This was getting good—it was getting like her dream. Except that in her dream she hadn’t cared about finding a bathroom more than anything else in the world.

  Ben must have realized she was becoming seriously miserable.

  “I’ll help you find a place where no one will see you,” he offered.

  Mortified was not usually a word in her self-describing vocabulary, but it pretty much summed up her existence in that moment. She was going to have to take him up on that offer. She was going to have to climb out of this somewhat warm truck and go out in the freezing cold. She’d have to walk down the road, out onto the embankment. And the people in the cars would know exactly what was up. She squeezed her eyes shut. I can’t do it.

  “You take care of your . . . problem, and I’ll tell you about Dallin.”

  Tara’s eyes popped open. “Are you serious?”

  He nodded. “Serious and stupid, probably.”

  “No.” She gave him a smile of gratitude. “It’s like I said a minute ago. You’re just good. Too good to be true.”

  Thirteen

  Ben came around and opened Tara’s side of the truck. He held his hand out to her and helped her get down.

  “Are you going to be able to walk for a bit? You didn’t wait too long, did you?”

  “No. I’m not three. And I can walk.” She glared at him.

  He tried hard not to smile, not to be amused at her latest predicament. If she’d only used the bathroom earlier, but no—she’d been too uppity for such a humble facility. Well, she was going to have to pay for that now—with frostbite on her backside if she wasn’t careful. Ben wondered how many times a similar scenario—Tara thinking herself above something and then ending up with humbling circumstances later—had been repeated in her life. Obviously not enough, or else she was a slow learner. But his sister was right about one thing. Tara didn’t seem to know any better. And after learning that she had a mother who saw Tara as an inconvenience, he felt a little more empathy.

  Ben shut the door behind her and pulled a fleece hat from his pocket. He’d seen it when they were in line at Deseret Industries last night and had thrown it in the cart on a whim, thinking maybe Cadie would want it. But it had been too big for her. It would probably fit Tara fine. Big head that she has. He stepped in front of her and grabbed her shoulders, stopping her for a second.

  “Wear this. It will help you stay warm.” He jammed the pink and purple Minnie Mouse hat over her head. Flower petals poking out at ridiculous angles sprang every which way, and the embroidered Minnie rested just above her eyebrows.

  Tara looked up, trying to see the hat. “It’s not my head I’m worried about.”

  Ben chuckled. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Come on.” He took her hand so she wouldn’t slip in her tennis shoes.

  They walked along the road for a couple hundred yards until they came to a spot where the bank steepened and sloped off into a ditch of sorts. He led Tara down the slope to a lone juniper.

  “This is it.”

  She looked at the tree with such despair that Ben almost felt sorry for her.

  “Take it or leave it,” he said.

  She sighed. “Get going, then.” She tugged her hand from his and started to walk behind the tree.

  “I’ll just wait up here,” Ben called. He climbed back up to the road and stood waiting, wondering if he ought to go get some more ice cream since they’d come this far.

  Two minutes passed. Then three. Then five. She really was going to get frostbite if she didn’t hurry.

  “Ben,” a forlorn voice finally called.

  He turned around. “Yeah? Want some help climbing up?”

  She shook her head but beckoned to him.

  Probably wants me to fetch her some Charmin or something. He trudged down the bank again, stopping a few feet away from her. Her teeth were chattering, and her nose was excessively red—from more than the cold, it seemed. Unshed tears hovered, just waiting to spill from those big, beautiful eyes.

  What now? “What’s wrong?”

  “My zipper’s stuck. I tried and tried to unzip it, but my fingers are frozen, and I can’t get it to move.” She shivered then pulled her legs close, doing a little hop up and down. “This is all your fault,” she wailed, striking out at him suddenly, pushing against his chest. “Because you wouldn’t buy me n-n-ew jeans.” Tears started to trickle down both sides of her face.

  “You’re serious?” He still suspected she could turn on her faucet whenever she wanted.

  “Yes, I’m serious!” she screamed. “I’m freezing to death and in pain and my stupid zipper is stuck.”

  “All right, all right.” He held his hands up. “You, uh, want me to try it?”

  She nodded and wiped her cheek with one hand. Still shaking, she leaned forward, arms folded across her middle. “Please hurry.”

  It was the first time he’d heard her say please, so he knew she must be desperate. Feeling awkward and embarrassed and just plain bad about the situation, Ben gripped the top of her jeans with one hand, pulling them as far away from her body as possible. With his other hand he worked at the zipper, tugging as hard as he could, twisting it every which way, trying to get it to move. After a couple of minutes, he realized it wasn’t going to happen.

  “Great,” Tara muttered. “Just great.”

  “I don’t suppose they’ll slide down over your hips?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “If you’d gotten a size larger they would have, but these are good and tight.”

  Ben felt an inkling of guilt. He’d picked those jeans thinking about how her curves would look in them. And she thinks I’m “good.” He reached into his pocket and took out his knife again. “The only thing I can think of is to cut them. Just slice right alongside
the zipper.”

  “Fine. Give that to me.” Her tears were gone, and she was snappy again. Ben continued to be amazed at how fast her moods changed. He was starting to wonder if she had multiple personality disorder or something.

  Unfolding the scissors, he held the knife out to her.

  Tara grabbed it from him and ran behind the juniper. He hurried back up the embankment and had barely reached the top when he heard a repeat of yesterday’s colorful language.

  This time he laughed.

  His laughter was cut short by Tara’s bloodcurdling scream.

  Fourteen

  Ben whipped around, staring as Tara ran out from behind the tree, screaming. One hand held her pants up, the other flailed in the air. He took a step toward her then slid halfway down the embankment.

  “It’s alive!” She ran straight into his chest, nearly knocking him over just as he’d caught his balance.

  “What’s wrong?” He put his arms around her, trying to steady them both.

  “There’s something alive back there. A wolf maybe. It tried to take a bite out of me.” She pushed past him and tried to climb toward the road.

  Ben doubted a wolf would venture so close to the highway, especially with this much activity up there right now. His curiosity got the better of him, and he started toward the juniper only to see a white jackrabbit hop out from behind the tree.

  Ben chuckled. “Some wolf.” He turned to Tara. “It’s a bunny.”

  Tara watched, disbelieving, as it hopped away. “Told you there was something alive,” she huffed, walking along with a strange gait, one hand swinging wildly, the other clutching the front of her jeans.

  “Lots of things are alive out here,” Ben said. “And most of them won’t hurt you. In fact, they’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

  “Want to bet?” She glared at him for a second before continuing her march.

  “So did you, uh, take care of your problem?” he dared ask.

  “One of them,” she retorted. “The other is walking right beside me.”