Driving Chloe Wild: A Smoke Jumper Short Story (2 page)

“Medieval.”
But also strangely like-worthy.

“How old
are you?” He looked suspicious.

“Twenty,”
she informed him cheerfully. “Old enough. I’m Chloe Rey.”

She stuck
out a hand and he was too polite not to take it.

He sighed
and they were close enough that she could feel his breath gust her skin.
“Adrian Henry.”

“Well,
Adrian, where are we headed?”

He made a
noise that sounded suspiciously like a groan, but he put the truck into drive and
signaled to turn onto the highway. Lordy, but he liked playing by the rules.

“
I’m
goin’ to Strong, California,” he told her, checking his blind spot as he pulled
out onto the road.
Finally
. She could have told him that almost no one
came out this way. She’d been standing there for an hour. The only reason she
hadn’t started walking was because it was ten miles to town and she knew her
daddy would be waking up from his drunk soon. She didn’t see any point in
borrowing that kind of trouble and pairing it with heat stroke.

“Sounds
good to me,” she said, because any place was better than here. Her dress popped
back up and she made a frustrated sound. “Do you have a knife?”

“It
occurs to me,” he drawled, all male confidence, “that maybe you shouldn’t be
worryin’ that I’m an ax murderer. Maybe I should be the one doin’ the
worryin’.”

She
shrugged. The AC in his truck was a blessing after standing out there in the
heat. “I’m trouble, but not that kind.”

“Check
the utility pocket,” was all he said.

She
rummaged in the passenger side door pocket. He had himself a set of maps, a box
of granola bars, and one of those silver space age blankets people claimed
could keep you warm in the middle of a blizzard. The desert flashing by outside
the window was about as far from freezing as she could imagine. She found the
knife and got busy hacking at her skirts. He didn’t say anything, although he
kept sliding her sidelong looks. He probably thought a crazy woman had hopped
into his truck. It took nine miles, but then she had herself a mini-dress. When
she’d finally reduced the dress to mid-thigh-length, she rolled down the window
and tossed the scraps of tulle outside.

“They
ticket for litterin’,” he said mildly.

Spotlight
flashed up in front of them, all ten buildings of it.
Keep driving. Don’t
slow down.

He slowed
down.
Shoot.

“I’m
bettin’ there’s somewhere here where you belong.”

“Nope,”
she said. “And that’s the truth. You can stop and ask any one of them. They’ll
all tell you I’m bad news and better off gone. Getting married would have
gotten me out of their hair, but…”

“Your
beau
didn’t show.”

“Mmm-hmmm,
but fate sent me you.”

He eased
his foot off the pedal, the truck slowing.

“I wish
you wouldn’t do that.” There wasn’t much to Spotlight. Wherever this Strong
place was, there had to be more to it. Spotlight had both a gas station and a
convenience store. It also had a couple of battered buildings including a
diner, a feed store, and a storefront church that 112 of town’s 347—346
she reminded herself—residents belonged to. The rest of them were
sinners.

Naturally,
Adrian stopped at the gas station. If he wanted her out of his truck, he was
going to have to drag her out. She checked the clock on the dashboard. Her
daddy would be awake now, and looking for her. That wouldn’t end well for her.

 “You’re
a firefighter?” She poked him in the chest.

“
Oui
.”
He turned to look at her. He had hazel eyes, gorgeous gold-brown eyes with
flecks of green. Her hormones had always appreciated a good-looking man and he
was finer than fine. It wasn’t hard to imagine waking up next to him in the
morning.

Even if
he hadn’t asked.

“Then
rescuing me is in your description.”

“I don’
see any fire.”

***

“That
could be arranged,” his companion said darkly. Great. He was traveling with an
arsonist-in-training. He didn’t need any more shit in his life. She crossed her
arms over her chest (which he wasn’t looking at—he really, really
wasn’t). The move exposed five purple smudge on tender skin beneath the crease of
her arm. Finger-sized bruises. Hell. Maybe she had more than one reason for
putting Spotlight behind her. He also couldn’t kick her out of his truck until
he knew how she’d gotten injured

“You wan’
to tell me how this happened?” He gently brushed her forearm. Her skin felt
silky smooth and she smelled like flowers.

She
shrugged. “Not particularly. I was more interested in moving on.”

He
understood that, too. He opened his mouth to say something—although he
had no idea what—but a lean, stringy man strolled out of the trailer
behind the gas station. The guy’s blue coveralls looked like they’d last seen
the inside of a washing machine months ago. There was also a familiar hitch in
the guy’s walk like his head was splitting and the ground was doing the heaves.
His bloodshot eyes narrowed when he spotted Chloe sitting in the front of the
truck. Of course, it was hard to miss her, given the dress. She did stick out
some.

There was
also no blocking out the barrage of curses and directions aimed at the truck,
the gist of which was that Chloe was to get her ass out of the cab and into the
trailer. Whatever relationship these two had, it wasn’t a
good
one.
Adrian hadn’t let himself feel much of anything since that last fire call gone
bad, but there was no holding back the anger burning through him now. When the
man leaned in Adrian’s half-open window, the blast of Jack Daniels explained
the stagger.

Thank God
he hadn’t killed the motor. “You know him?”  He asked Chloe. He didn’t
care if the guy knew her.

She
shrugged. The guy explained.

“I’m her
father.”

Right.
Her reasons for getting the hell out of Spotlight became clearer and clearer,
although he still didn’t quite see where the wedding dress fit it.

“Unfortunately.
I’d
really
appreciate it if you could drive on now.” She curled up
against his arm. He wasn’t sure if she wanted to hold onto him or if she was
just trying to make it that much harder to pry her out of his truck. Chloe was
stubborn.

And stuck
to his side like grit.

Agreeing
would be crazy.

“Okay.
You can ride until I make a stop for dinner. That sound like a plan to you?”

“Good
enough for me.” Ignoring the protests of Chloe’s daddy dearest, he nudged his
sunglasses back into place and headed for the highway. She let go and sat up.

“You don’
care where we’re headin’?”

She
shrugged again, prying hairpins out of her up-do. “Not much. Anywhere that’s
not
here
works for me.”

***

It was a nine-hour drive
from Vegas to Strong. Six hours into the drive, Adrian’s stomach announced it
was time to stop and eat.  Chloe’s stomach let out an answering growl. He
was amazed he could hear it. She’d spent the last two hundred miles belting out
country tunes at the top of her lungs. A smile tugged at his mouth. She could
actually sing, which was more than he could say for himself. Listening to her
hadn’t been a hardship.

“Hungry?”

“I could
eat,” she allowed. He couldn’t tell if she was being polite or if she was
remembering their agreement. After they ate, he got back in his truck and
headed out to Strong. She stayed here. Wherever
here
was.

He
spotted a restaurant up ahead and decided fate had weighed in. Someone had
perched an enormous windmill on top of the restaurant, because clearly a
billboard was insufficient advertising. The place also sported enough neon that
even Vegas wouldn’t have been ashamed. Ten-foot letters announced that the
house specialty was pea soup. Hopefully, there was something else on the menu.
Steak. A hamburger. Any red meat would do. Since the place also had an attached
hotel, he could make sure Chloe had a place to spend the night.

It was
perfect.

“Maybe
they have steak.” He guided the truck into parking spot close to the door where
he could keep an eye on their things while they ate.

“Pancakes,”
Chloe said decisively. “With extra butter and syrup.”

“Whatever
you want,” he said. She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret.

“I need
to change,” she announced and he had to agree. If they went inside with her
looking like that, they’d be fielding stares. Plus, they’d probably have to get
an extra seat for the dress.

She
grabbed a handful of clothes from her suitcase and then crawled into his
backseat to change with a strict admonishment for him to
not peek.
Hell,
if she’d had second thoughts about his not being a gentleman, she needed to
find herself another ride. While she stripped down and re-dressed, he tucked an
explosion of clothes back into her suitcase. Maybe she’d sat on the damned
thing to get it to close, because he had no idea how she’d gotten so much stuff
into the suitcase in the first place. She had the softest, silkiest things, all
tangled up with lace-covered bits and pieces. Things to get a man to thinking,
although he had a sinking sensation that she could be sporting a flour sack and
he’d still be
thinking
. She got under his skin.

When she
finally emerged, hair standing on end, she wore a pair of cut-off shorts and an
old
I love Vegas
T-shirt. She also sported a pair of pretty kick-ass
boots herself. He didn’t look at her long, bare legs for more than a minute. Or
three. He had his limits.

Instead
of staring more, he set Momma Cat up with Purina, checked the water, and turned
to Chloe.

“Let’s
eat,” he said gruffly. “My treat.”

And then,
when she gave him a suspicious look, he added, “
Jesus.
No strings,
Chloe. I’ve never traded pancakes for sex and I’m not startin’ tonight.”

“Okay.”
She nodded and patted her back pocket. Her very tight,
clinging-to-her-fantastic ass pocket. “But I’ve got pepper spray here if you
change your mind.”

He rolled
his eye and urged her toward the restaurant. “The time to mention the pepper
spray was when you got into my truck.”

“Duly
noted,” she said, but she didn’t sound too concerned.

He got
her into a booth and passed her a menu from the stack at the end of the table.
He told himself it was because he didn’t know when she’d eaten last.

“A place
like this, all these truckers? We’re goin’ to have a good dinner.”

She made
a face. “I waitressed in Spotlight. I’m a diner expert. I can tell you what
every guy in here is like by looking at the plate in front of him.”

“Is that
so?”

“You
bet.” Her eyes twinkled, warning him she was about to try and put one over him.
Strangely, he didn’t mind at all. Nope. He liked the way she looked at him too
much. “In fact, why don’t we bet on it? If I win, you buy dinner.”

“And if
you lose?”

“I
won’t.” She flashed him a grin. “But I’ve got enough money to treat you to cup
of coffee and a brownie.”

“Deal.”
He stretched his legs out underneath the table, his foot brushing hers.

“Okay.
But you should think about taking notes or something.”

“Why?” He
couldn’t stop himself from smiling. There was something about Chloe.

“Because,”
she said all charming seriousness, “this kind of information is gold on a first
date. If you want to make a good impression on your gal, you need to order the
right stuff.”

“Hit me.”
He leaned back in the booth.

”Okay.”
She looked around the room. “The guy with the plaid flannel lives at home and
hasn’t quite broken free of his mama. He’s having milk with his cake. Don’t
order milk. Red T-shirt guy is cheap. He’s going to order off the kid’s menu.
The Oxford shirt has nasty habits—not only does he have corn stuck his
teeth, but he’s probably the kind of guy who skips the sink on his way out of
the restroom. And, over there in the corner, the guy in athletic pants and a
sweatshirt? He’s both a health freak and a control freak. He’s got his salad
deconstructed and all the good parts on the side. No croutons for him and he
brought his own protein shake. He’ll look good when he’s sixty, but he’ll never
admit that chocolate is a key food group.”

“You
realize there’s no way to prove you’re right.”

“Uh-huh.
Are you reneging on our bet?” She grinned at him.

“Hell,
no. Now I’m just scared to order,
boo
.”

She
relieved him of his menu as the waitress came up to him. “I’ve got you covered.
No worries.”

Warmth
snuck Plus him. He liked her even better when she ordered pancakes with bacon.
And a side of steak. And potatoes, fried tomatoes and a piece of pie. Times
two. He told the waitress to bring it all at once.

“Do I
look like a lumberjack? Or like I’m starvin’?”

She
looked him over, a slow, hot
feminine
examination that had parts of him
sitting up and taking notice. Maybe she was sticking with him for more than a
ride and a meal. A man could hope.

“A good
meal never hurt anyone.”

When the
food came, he started with the pie.  “You never know when the call’s
comin’ in. I’m startin’ with the good stuff,” he said when she looked at him
questioningly.

“Good
plan,” she agreed, her lips curving in a smile. “I like your style,
firefighter.”

When the
food came, they ate for a while before she broke the silence with a “Tell me
about Strong?”

He stole
a bite of bacon from her plate, deftly avoiding her fork. He’d learned a few
things in the firehouse.

“It’s a
small town in Northern California. Pretty, according to my cousin’s girlfriend,
but not too big. I think you could count the streets on two hands. Maybe one.”
He hadn’t asked too many questions.