Before she could decide what it would take to do so, however, Zach surprised her by saying, “What about you? Are your parents still around?”
“Oh, yeah.” She laughed. “Very much so.” For a second she considered not saying anything else to see if he was interested enough to ask for details, but decided against it. If he hadn’t said a word for almost two hundred miles, what were the chances of him suddenly demanding all the details of her life? Clearly he’d be perfectly happy to travel in silence for the rest of the day.
She couldn’t claim the same; the last couple of hours had nearly driven her up the wall. “My folks sound the polar opposite of yours, at least as far as education goes. They had to get married when they were both seventeen, so they barely made it through high school.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Was that because of you?” he asked, “or do you have an older sibling somewhere who forced that marriage?”
“No, that would be me. Conceived, I’ve been told, in the backseat of a ’62 Buick at the Sunset Drive-In Theater in a little one-horse town in Idaho I’m sure you’ve never heard of.”
“So which parent did you end up with?” He deigned to take his eyes off the road long enough to slide a fast glance over her. “I’m guessing your mother.”
She looked at him in surprise. “I lived with both of them.”
“They’re still married? Isn’t that against every statistic for couples that wed so young?”
“Yeah, well, the statisticians never met my folks. Until I took over their finances, they might not have had two nickels to rub together, but one thing they always have had is true love.” She caught Zach’s eye roll. “I’m not saying they didn’t occasionally indulge in a scream-the-house-down fight. But there was never any doubt that their marriage was solid.”
This time when he took his eyes off the road, it was to give her a look she couldn’t even begin to decipher. “So you had yourself a white-picket-fence upbringing?”
Lily couldn’t help it—she threw back her head and laughed herself silly. “I’m sorry,” she said in the face of his irritation once she’d collected herself. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just—a white-picket-fence upbringing is about the farthest thing from the truth. My folks led a restless lifestyle. We moved a lot. Usually once, often twice, and sometimes even three times a year. I dreamed of a house with a white picket fence.” She made a wry face. “I never actually got to live in one.”
“Huh.” He fell silent, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he swung around a semi. More and more traffic began to clog the interstate the closer they got to Salem, and Zach seemed focused not only on getting through it, but making good time as well.
Lily found herself shooting him frequent glances, wondering what he was thinking beyond the fact that Oregon’s fifty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit clearly didn’t sit well with him. They stopped occasionally for her to use the restroom, or to grab something to eat, but Zach’s growing impatience was all but palpable. Surprisingly, rather than annoying her, his restlessness made Lily long to reach across the console and give him a little there-there pat on the knee. She managed to engage him in a couple more brief exchanges, but it was like trying to detangle hair from a fine chain necklace at the back of one’s neck, difficult and painstaking.
He pulled into the first gas station he saw after they’d crossed the Oregon border into Washington later in the day. “Here.” He shoved a handful of bills into Lily’s hand. “Go get us something to eat. I’m gonna fill up the tank now that we’re finally in a state where you can pump your own.”
She felt a smile crook her lips as she went into the minimart. Zach had taken Oregon’s law that prohibited the pumping of one’s own gas as a personal affront. No doubt the service station attendants weren’t fast enough to suit his exacting standards.
Picking over the store’s selection for something that wasn’t loaded with preservatives, she experienced a sudden surge of homesickness for a real kitchen. She was tired of fast food and minimart fare. She’d give a bundle to be able to whip up something with ingredients she knew to be fresh. A pragmatic woman at heart, though, she did the best she could with the limited resources at hand.
She was headed back to the car with a small bag of provisions when a dark-haired young man suddenly materialized at her side.
“Mees?” He was handsome and well built…and perhaps just the tiniest bit too aware of both facts. But the smile he gave her was polite and endearingly hesitant. “H’excuse me; I’m sorry for bothering you. But I wonder if I might trouble you for some help.”
“Sure. What can I do for you?”
“My H’english is not so good—”
“On the contrary, your English is quite excellent.”
“Gracias, but I cannot seem to make myself h’understood to—” He gave a vague wave in the direction of the minimart, or perhaps to the pumps on the far side of it—“and I wondered if you might trouble yourself to assist me?”
“I’d be happy to do what I can. What exactly seems to be the misunder—”
“Lily! Get your butt over here now, or I’m leaving without you!”
The sheer impatience of Zach’s roar had her shifting the bag and shrugging at the young man. “I’m sorry, those dulcet tones belong to my ride, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you after all. But truly,” she assured him as she headed for the Jeep, “your English is much better than you seem to believe. Just speak slowly to whomever you’re having the problem with and I’m sure everything will work out just fine.
“Threats, Zach?” she asked a moment later as she climbed into the car. “That’s hardly what I call being civil.”
“Hey, I’ve been gracious as an old lady at a frigging tea party the whole damn day,” he growled as she buckled her seatbelt. “But I’m not waiting around while you flirt with the local boys. Do that on your own time. I’ve got a schedule to keep.” And punching the accelerator, he sent them roaring out of the station.
7
ZACH’S SCHEDULE SMACKED UP AGAINST THE WASHINGTON state ferry system in Anacortes several hours later and promptly came out the loser. He stared at the ticket seller incredulously. “A three-hour wait?”
“Yes, sir. Three hours and thirty-five minutes, to be precise.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No.” The man in the booth gave him a slight smile. “You’re not from around here, I’m guessing.”
“No.”
“Well, sir, we’re still operating on the non–peak season schedule, so this isn’t unusual. You just missed a boat to Orcas Island, and the next one to stop there is the Illahee, so I’m afraid you won’t make that either, because it only has a seventy-five car capacity and there are more than that already ahead of you.”
“Those cars can’t all be going to Orcas.”
“No, sir. Many of them are going to Lopez and Shaw. Orcas is the third stop on the San Juan route, although not every boat stops at each island.” The man shrugged. “In any case, the next superclass boat will be here in three hours and”—he consulted the clock over his head—“thirty-four—nope, make that thirty-three—minutes.” He passed the ticket out the window along with a schedule. “You’ll want lane five.”
Zach had to swallow the urge to curse a blue streak. But the man clearly wasn’t high on the chain of command, and Zach’s eighteen years in the service had taught him not to take out his frustrations on someone who has no control over the circumstances. Thanking the man for his time, he accepted the ferry ticket and pulled away from the booth.
He knew better than to take the delay personally anyway, but it had been a long, tense trip, and it was aggravating to be stopped when he was finally so close to his objective. “An island,” he groused as he pulled up behind the last car in line and killed the engine. Clipping the ticket on the visor, he checked out all the other lanes, most of which were full of cars. “Glynnis had to pick a guy who lives on a frigging island?”
Lily looked up from the fingernail she was filing. “You’re such a cheery guy.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “I suppose now probably wouldn’t be a good time to point out we would’ve had plenty of time after all to stop at that Liz Claiborne outlet we passed.”
He turned his head slowly and gave her his deadliest master sergeant stare, the one that made raw recruits tremble in their boots.
It had about as much effect on Lily as every other attempt he’d made to put her in her place. “Guess not,” she said cheerfully, and dropped the file into her purse before opening the passenger door. “Well, look on the bright side. At least we can stretch our legs. I don’t know about you, but my tush passed numb and headed straight for rigor mortis about fifty miles back.”
He couldn’t help it; he smiled ruefully. Then he, too, climbed out and did what she suggested. He took the opportunity to stretch his legs.
Miguel pulled into lane five three cars behind the Jeep and slouched down in his seat when he saw Taylor and his woman headed his way. This was getting complicated. Who would have thought, when he’d followed the master sergeant from the Marine base yesterday, that this evening would find him more than a thousand miles away, in line for a vessel going only Dios knew where?
Reading a board outside the booth a few moments ago while awaiting his turn to buy a ticket, he’d seen that in addition to four island destinations, there were two boats a day that went to Canada. For an instant, he had frozen, wondering which destination he was supposed to buy a ticket for, and realizing that if it was Canada he was in trouble. Then his natural confidence had returned. The Canadian boats appeared to leave early in the day, so this was not likely to be a problem, and to—how did the saying go?—borrow trouble was unacceptable.
When his turn came at the booth, he’d considered simply pointing out Taylor’s Jeep and telling the ticket seller he was part of the master sergeant’s party and wanted to go where the other man was going. But what if the seller didn’t remember where that was? There were several cars between Miguel’s and Taylor’s, and the last thing he needed was to be brought to the commander’s attention. In the end, he had simply bought a ticket for the last island in the chain.
So here he sat, hemmed in on all sides by other cars. It was pointless to grab the woman at this juncture, since it was impossible to get off the dock even if he could separate her from the marine. Hence, his current slouch—he had no intention of relinquishing the element of surprise by allowing himself to be spotted.
But it didn’t please him. Miguel Escavez did not slide down in seats to avoid confrontations; he met them head on! He didn’t appreciate feeling out of his element, but this quite frankly was far beyond what he had anticipated when he’d set out on his mission. If he had had just one more minute at that petrol station this afternoon, the woman would be in his possession now, and this furtiveness would be unnecessary. He had been so close…until the commander barked out an order and the gringa had jumped to do his bidding.
Miguel had half expected the marine to get out of his vehicle and confront him then and there. But Taylor had driven off the minute the blonde woman had climbed into the Jeep, so clearly he hadn’t bothered to note who she was talking to.
Proving my superiority over the U.S. Marines once again, he thought smugly. He would have noted who talked to his woman. But that led to thoughts of Emilita in another man’s arms, which led to the injustice of his treatment by Taylor, and before he knew it, he was grinding his teeth in fury. Determinedly, he shook it off, taking several deep, calming breaths. He needed to concentrate his energy on the positive.
After all, he was about to accomplish his objective; he could feel it in his bones. It would be beneficial to know where they were headed, but surely an island destination meant this endless road trip was about to reach its culmination. And not a moment too soon, if you asked him.
He didn’t like driving these American highways. Gringo drivers were too quick with the rude gestures whenever he made a mistake. He spit on them—they made mistakes all the time, so he ought to be allowed a minor one or two. At least he had the excuse of unfamiliar thoroughfares that were much busier, if a lot smoother, than those to which he was accustomed. What excuse had they?
Finding himself once again growing tense, he drew yet another deep breath and forced himself to relax. He need only practice patience for a short while longer. For, soon, the opportunity would present itself to him.
Then the master sergeant would see how it felt to lose his woman.
Lily’s forehead furrowed as she glanced over at Zach. Had his shoulders grown wider since the last time she’d looked? She could swear that the longer they were confined in the car, the more space he took up.
Watching his hands as they tapped a restless rhythm against the steering wheel made her strangely itchy. They were tanned, tough-skinned, and sort of beat-up-looking, marred by nicks and calluses. His nails were clean and clipped, but his left thumb sported a nail that was ripped below the quick on one side.
She looked down at her own hands with a rueful smile. They weren’t exactly smooth as silk themselves. But she was a chef, so cuts and burns were a hazard of the job. Besides, compared to Zach’s, hers could have belonged to some pampered magnolia blossom on one of those old-time southern plantations. With his wide palms and large-knuckled fingers, Zach’s hands were just so indisputably male.
A moment later she snuck a peek at his mouth, and found her gaze lingering on the thin, pale scar that bisected his upper lip. Her nipples tightened to attention, and the spot deep between her thighs went all tight and achy, and she jerked her gaze away. Oh, man. This was not good. This was not good at all.
She was suddenly hornier than a convict out on parole, and where the heck had that come from? She’d never tried to deny Zach’s hunk appeal, but she had sort of blithely assumed his insulting attitude toward her would act like a vaccine against it. Surely regular booster shots of his lousy personality would render her permanently immune.
But he’d played nice today. Well, nicer, anyway, but when one was used to dealing with Baboo the Barbarian, almost human behavior made an amazing difference, and she’d found her opinion of him softening considerably. The deciding factor, of course, had been that hint of vulnerability he’d displayed this morning talking about his parents. It had tugged at every sensibility she possessed, worming its way more deeply into one of her soft spots every time her thoughts drifted back to it.
And wasn’t that just too pathetic for words? Good grief, women had been falling for that tough-guy-disguising-the-hurt-inner-boy ploy for centuries. She shifted in her seat, straightening her spine defensively. Well, if she couldn’t be smarter than that, she’d simply have to be vigilant. Because no way on earth did she plan to fall victim to that sorry cliché.
Still, sneaking looks at his mouth, she couldn’t help but speculate. Zach was well traveled and came from a monied background that usually landed its brethren deep in the Old School Tie network. So how in heaven’s name had he gotten from there to the macho Marine thing he had going? And why did the conviction keep sliding into her mind that far from preppie polite, he’d kiss like a guy from the wrong side of the tracks?
She pressed her spine hard into her seat back. Good glory, Lily, are you out of your cotton-picking mind? The man thinks you’re a money-grubbing slut, and you’re wondering how he kisses? Why not just bash your head against the nearest concrete surface while you’re at it? It would involve about the same level of intelligence.
Swiveling to glare at Zach as if he’d been the one to suggest she rate his sex appeal, she snapped, “If you’re so darned concerned about your sister being taken to the cleaners by every Tom, Dick, and Harry she encounters, why the heck didn’t you ever bother to teach her some basic money management skills?”
Zach’s hands, which he had consciously been keeping occupied to prevent himself doing something real stupid with them, froze on the steering wheel midtap. Then he turned to stare at Lily.
Where the hell had that come from? Was this the same woman who’d been so relentlessly, annoyingly cheerful all day? It didn’t take Sigmund Freud to know what his problem was, but what had gotten her panties in a twist all of a sudden?
When it came right down to it, however, he really didn’t give a good goddamn what her reasons were. All he knew was that he was ripe for a fight…and she’d just obligingly hand-delivered one right to his door.
Turning, he braced his arm along the back of the seat and gave her a slow, insolent appraisal. Not until hot color flooded the surface of her skin did he drawl, “And you consider this to be your business why, sweetheart?”
“I consider it to be my business, bud, because Glynnis is only a few days shy of her twenty-fifth birthday, and she didn’t even know the bare bones of handling her finances until I started giving her some pointers a couple of months ago.”
“Oh, yeah, I can just imagine how that worked. It takes a real humanitarian to point her money into your bank account.”
“What money? Have you ever paid the slightest attention to your sister’s struggle to make ends meet? Yes, she lives in that lovely beach house, and her allowance is generous for a young woman her age. But it must be obvious even to you that she barely has a rudimentary grasp of economics. She was sent to European finishing schools and raised to expect the very best. No one ever bothered to tell her the reasons she couldn’t keep spending in the manner to which she was accustomed before I sat down with her and explained why it was no longer viable. For heaven’s sake, Zach, where her contemporaries are shopping Nordstrom Rack if they’re lucky, she’s still buying couture. She didn’t even know how to balance her darn checkbook until I taught her!”
He stared at her. There was a ring of truth in her voice that he didn’t want to hear, so he shoved it away with a flatly stated, “Bullshit.” But agitation, born from an old familiar guilt, began to churn in his gut.
Getting Lucky Page 8