Authors: Catherine Anderson
“Nope. We’re going to take a day trip when you’re done that afternoon to take in some sights. The Columbia Gorge, for starters, and if we’ve got time, maybe Mount St. Helen’s.”
“We can’t afford to—”
“Don’t argue with your husband. When we get back to Portland that evening, we’ll do the town—go out to eat at a five-star restaurant, stay in a fancy hotel. I’ll order you a whole mixing bowl of dandelions.” He winked at her. “You can have that strawberry shit on top that folks with sophisticated palates love.”
“Strawberry vinaigrette?”
“There you go. And all day Tuesday, we’re going to play.”
“That isn’t necessary. Fancy dinners and hotels cost a lot, especially when we’ll need two rooms.”
The lady was always thinking. Hank bit back a grin. “Let me worry about the finances. All right? I want to take you to the Portland Zoo on Tuesday, and I don’t want to be in a hurry when we go.”
Her eyes widened. “The
zoo
?”
Hank chuckled and pushed to his feet. “Now I’m talking your language. Camels, zebras, giraffes, elephants, maybe even a tiger. I haven’t been there in years. I’m not sure what all they have.”
A delighted smile spread slowly over her face. “The
zoo
?” He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d started jumping up and down, she looked so excited. Instead she raced across the room to clutch his shirtsleeves, her eyes fairly dancing. “Oh, Hank, that’ll be so much
fun
! A zebra? I’ll get to see a real, live
zebra
.”
“Maybe a zebra.” God, how he wished she’d followed through on the urge and thrown her arms around his neck. He had to settle for knowing that she’d come very close. “They may not have one.”
As if she hadn’t heard, she said, “And a camel!”
She twirled away from him, flinging her arms wide and laughing. Her balance wasn’t the best, and Hank tucked his thumbs over his belt to keep from grabbing for her.
“The
zoo
. What a fabulous idea. I can barely
wait
.”
When Hank left a few minutes later, she was still naming off all the critters she might see. Given his profession, the last way Hank wanted to spend a day was with a bunch of mangy animals, but he was grinning like a fool as he stepped from the porch. He stopped to gaze back at the house. Give the girl diamonds, and he got a hesitant smile and polite thank you. Offer her camels and zebras, and she almost launched herself into his arms.
Damn. Maybe he’d been baiting his hook with all the wrong lures.
Late that same afternoon, Carly was working on her letters again when she heard a vehicle pull up out front. She closed her book, wondering who was there. Hank’s Ford diesel made a sound like rocks rattling in a bucket.
She stepped to the front window and peered out. An old gray pickup was parked near the porch. Carly couldn’t make out the driver until he threw open the door and swung out. It was Hank, after all.
He cleared the steps with one long-legged leap, waved at her through the glass, and threw open the front door to poke his head inside. “You busy, angel face?”
“I, um—no, not really.”
He flashed a broad grin. “Good. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“For a ride.” He narrowed an eye at her. “Come on. Don’t look so suspicious. This barroom lothario has seen the error of his ways.”
Carly pushed at her hair. “Will anyone see me? I’m a mess.”
“Only me, and I think you look great.”
Bewildered, Carly followed him to the truck. Her confusion increased when he circled around to climb in on the passenger side. She stepped closer to the vehicle and peered in the open driver’s window. “Why are you over there?”
He plucked a beer bottle from a six-pack on the seat beside him. “ ’Cause you’re gonna drive. Climb in.”
Carly’s heart skittered. “
What?”
He winked, twisted off the bottle cap, and gave it a flip out the other window. “Driving lessons. Remember? One of the things you’d love to do while you can still see. Stop gaping at me and get in.”
“I can’t drive! My long distance vision is terrible.”
“Trust me, darlin’.” He took a long pull from the bottle and whistled as he came up for breath. “Let’s go.”
Carly had trusted him once when he was drinking, and just look where that had gotten her. “You’re drinking.”
“I worked in the hot sun all day. I’m wetting my whistle, not drinking.”
“There’s a difference?”
“There is. Trust me to know. Would you get in?”
“I can’t
drive
. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Where’s the fearless daredevil who skateboarded blind and jumped out of airplanes?”
“She developed common sense.”
He gave her a twinkling look. “You chicken?” He tucked his free hand in his armpit and flapped his elbow like a wing. “
Bruck-bruck-bruck-br-rr-uck!”
Carly had never been called a chicken in her life. She opened the driver’s door, stepped up, and slid under the steering wheel. “If I kill us both, it’ll be on your head.”
“Won’t happen.” He motioned with the beer bottle. “Dirt roads, wide open fields. Not much out here to hit. It’ll be fun. I learned to drive in this same old rattletrap when I was ten. Dad handed me the keys and turned me loose. I was so short, I could barely see over the wheel.”
Carly dragged in a calming breath and stared at the dusty dash. It was nothing like the one in his Ford—hardly any gadgets or knobs. “What’ll I do?”
He told her to depress the clutch, then spent a moment showing her how to operate the floor shift. “You’ll probably never get out of second on this rough terrain, but once you get the hang of the first two gears, you’ll have them all licked. Now, keep the clutch pressed down to the floor and start her up.”
“How do you know this truck isn’t a he?” she asked, stalling for time.
His mouth twitched. “Because it’s high maintenance and totally unpredictable.”
“That isn’t nice.”
He grinned. “Actually, I kept it polite and left out the satisfying ride. You gonna go, or are we going to sit here, talking it to death all night?”
Carly did as he said and bleated in terror when the engine roared to life. “Oh,
God!”
“Just relax. As long as you hold the clutch in, you’re in complete control. There’s a girl. Now tromp the gas to get the feel of acceleration.”
Moments later when Hank deemed her ready, Carly let out on the clutch. The truck lurched violently forward, then the engine coughed and died.
“What’d I do wrong?” Carly was so nervous she could barely breathe. Her legs started to jerk each time she pressed on the pedals. “This isn’t a good idea. I appreciate the thought, Hank. Really I do, but—”
“Would you stop? You’re doing great. Everyone kills the engine at first. You have to synchronize the pedals, letting off the clutch as you press on the gas. It takes a little practice.”
A little?
Carly started the truck again. On her second try, the vehicle lurched forward, but the engine didn’t die. She clamped her hands over the steering wheel. “We’re moving!” she cried in a voice gone thin with panic. “Now what? Tell me what to do!” She saw a tree up ahead. “Oh,
God!
A
tree
, Hank! What’ll I do?”
“Steer.” He grabbed the wheel, helped her veer around the tree, and then patted her arm. “There, you see? Easy as pie.” He pointed to a rutted road off to their right. “Go that way. It circles around to an upper pasture and a nice, wide turnaround.”
Carly turned too sharply and then overcorrected, but she finally got the truck on the road. The old pickup bumped over the ruts at a slow crawl, allowing her plenty of reaction time while she got the hang of steering. After a few minutes, she began to relax.
“I’m driving,” she said. “I’m actually
driving.
”
Hank grinned and settled back to drink his beer. “You sure are, and doing a damned fine job of it. How’s it feel?”
“Like I own the whole world.” Carly laid on the horn. “It’s even better than skydiving! Thank you, Hank. I can’t believe you trusted me with your truck.”
“Sweetheart, this old bucket is indestructible. Vintage Ford, 1949, and made for punishment. It’s our ranch truck. We use it for all the heavy work. Been butted by bulls, kicked by horses, and battered at both ends by more trees and boulders than I can count. If you add a new dent, no harm done.”
Minutes later, they reached the turnaround. Hank inclined his head at the windshield. “Watch out for the fence.”
Sunlight slanted across the dusty windshield just then. Carly squinted, trying to see. “What fence?”
Hank sat straighter on the seat. “
That
fence. Stop. Hit the brake.”
Carly slammed down her foot. Only somehow, she hit the gas pedal. At the sudden acceleration, the truck engine roared, the vehicle surged forward, and she finally saw the fence—just as she crashed through it.
“Holy
shit
!” Hank shouted. “Watch out for the cows!”
“Cows?”
Before Carly could see them, let alone avoid them, the pickup hit a mound of earth at the edge of an irrigation ditch and went airborne. An instant later, they landed smack-dab in the middle of the pasture, cows fleeing in all directions with loud and raucous bawls of complaint.
After the bovines escaped, a sudden silence descended. The truck engine had died. Carly sat frozen, her hands locked over the steering wheel. Hank still held his beer bottle, the contents of which now decorated the front of his shirt.
“Christ on crutches,” he whispered. “I should’ve said, ‘exciting ride.” ’
Carly couldn’t breathe and she wanted to cry.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. Then, after struggling to find her voice, she managed to say, “Oh, Hank, I’m sorry. Sunlight hit the windshield, and I couldn’t see. Are the cows all right, do you think?”
“You curdled their milk, that’s for sure.” There was an odd, tight sound in his voice. “Did you see the looks on their faces?”
“No. All I saw was their butts.”
He snorted. Then he burst out laughing—not just chuckles, but great, huge, body-shaking guffaws. He laughed until the empty bottle slipped from his hand and dropped to the floorboard. He laughed until he was holding his sides. He laughed until tears streamed from his eyes.
When he finally fell quiet, Carly said, “I fail to see the humor.”
For reasons beyond her, that only made him start laughing again.
“You’re out of your mind. This isn’t funny. I destroyed your fence, I scratched your truck, and I almost
killed
your cows!”
His mirth finally abating, he said, “I can fix the fence, the truck doesn’t matter, and the cows are just a little shaken up. They haven’t seen a woman driver since Bethany.” He sighed and rubbed his belly. “Oh, man, I haven’t laughed so hard in a coon’s age.” He gave her a weak grin. “I take it back. You can go fast enough to have a wreck out here. It just takes rare talent.”
He straightened, drew in a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. “Well,” he said, inclining his head at the ignition, “see if this baby will start.”
“Oh no. I’m not driving back.”
“Sure you are. You got us here in one piece, didn’t you?”
He plucked another longneck from the pack. The instant he twisted off the cap, beer spewed from the mouth of the bottle, hitting him directly in the face. Foam dripped from his dark eyebrows. Rivulets ran down his cheeks.
“Well, hell.”
Carly snickered. “I guess it wasn’t only cows I shook up.”
He shot her a burning look. “I fail to see the humor.”
She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. This time, it was Carly who laughed until she was weak.
After dinner that night, Hank got out the checkers game that he’d sneaked into the house when he came in from evening chores.
“You ever played?” he asked Carly.
She approached the table, staring curiously at the box. “Played what?”
Hank hadn’t stopped to think that she’d never seen a checkerboard. “It’s checkers—a board game.”
“Checkers?”
She jerked out a chair to sit down, planted her pointy elbows on the table, and watched in fascination as he opened the board and began setting out the chips. “Bess and Cricket used to play. All I could do was listen.”
“Well, tonight, darlin’, you get to play.”
“Is it complicated?”
It was so easy it bored Hank to tears, but he didn’t tell her that. “Not too complicated.” He held up two chips. “What color do you want, red or black?”
“Red.” She wiggled on the chair and sat straighter. “What are the rules?”
Hank explained the game. Minutes later, Carly was playing in earnest, growing so excited at times that she’d come clear off her chair. “I nailed you that time!” she’d cry. “I’m good at this, aren’t I?”
As skilled as she became at the game over the course of the evening, she frequently got her colors confused and jumped Hank with his own pieces. The first time it happened, he was about to call her on it when he looked up and saw the proud smile on her face. Damned if he could bring himself to say a single word.
All his life, Hank had played everything to win. He’d been told, more than once by family members, that he was far too competitive. Winning wasn’t everything, they said. What truly counted was how well you played the game. He’d never understood that philosophy. Why bother to play if you weren’t out to win?
That was a question no one had ever answered to his satisfaction. Now Carly had without even trying. Watching her, hearing her laughter, he understood that winning really wasn’t the important thing. Sometimes, it was far more rewarding to get trounced and be warmed by the victor’s radiant smile.
At evening’s end, Hank waited to grab a shower and brush his teeth until he heard Carly emerge from the shower. Then, wearing only his jeans, he padded barefoot through the house. Just as he reached the bathroom, the door flew wide open and Carly, wrapped in only a towel, came barreling out.
“Oh!” she squeaked, colliding with his chest.