My Favorite Mistake (16 page)

“I can do it,” I said, remembering the ful -body slide the last time he’d “helped” me. I grabbed a hand strap and after a couple of bounces, vaulted myself into the seat, landing with less than gymnastic precision. I closed the door with a solid bang, then fastened my seat belt and exhaled, exhausted.

Redford climbed inside, grinning, and put his hat on the seat between us. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

The words were on the tip of my tongue to point out that sling-shotting myself into a gargantuan truck was not likely to be a skil that I would use again, but I realized he was only making conversation. I was being too sensitive…too vulnerable. And the day had just begun.

He started the engine and maneuvered the vehicle out of its spot and down the narrow side street, watching both mirrors to make sure he didn’t clip something or somebody.

“Do you real y need this big of a truck?” I asked.

“Yeah, to pul horse trailers. The double cab is a luxury, though. It’s nice to have room for extra supplies or extra people.”

I laughed. “I can’t believe how much it cost.”

“Jim gave me a great deal—we worked it out over the phone.”

So he hadn’t paid ful sticker price. “Oh. Good.”

“It’s nice to have a comfortable vehicle for a long trip.”

“It’s comfortable,” I agreed, feeling cradled in the leather seat. “Wil you be on the road a lot?”

“Quite a bit during the sales season, twice a year.”

I smiled. “You’d think you’d have a cel phone.”

He pursed his mouth. “No. Don’t see much need for one. Have you had breakfast?”

I shook my head. “I’m not hungry, but coffee sounds good.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

He pul ed up to a drive-through and got two steaming cups to go. Before pul ing back out on the street, he reached under the seat and withdrew an atlas. “Do you want to

navigate?”

I sipped from my cup and murmured with pleasure as the warm liquid slid down my throat. “Sure.”

“Care if I turn on some music?”

“No. That would be nice.”

He found a country music station—which I didn’t even know existed within the vicinity of the city—and turned it to a pleasing volume. Soon we were on our way to the interstate and I looked around, suddenly struck by the surreal scene: I was in a truck with my ex on a horse-buying road trip, listening to country music. He sat behind the wheel, completely at ease.

And why not? This was his life. And this would have been my life if I’d stayed married to Redford.

“You okay?” he asked, shifting in his seat. The muscles in his legs rippled beneath the fabric of his jeans, diverting my attention…and my concentration. “Are you warm enough?”

Was I ever. I nodded, then looked out the window, taking in the passing landscape. I’d never been north of the city, so al the road signs and landmarks were alien to me. I

smiled, thinking about Kenzie making this fateful trip to see Sam Long under the guise of doing an article on the smal -town hero. Kenzie was even more of a city girl than I was, and had been hoodwinked into taking her boss’s dog with her. But the trip had changed the trajectory of her life.

I glanced at Redford under my lashes and thought about how my life had changed when I’d met him. Within a few hours, my entire persona had seemed to change—I had turned

into a lust-crazed creature with no regard for the ramifications of my actions.

Good God. In hindsight, I had morphed into a man.

I turned my attention back to the scenery racing by, and Redford seemed content to do the same. On the one hand, I was glad not to talk, but on the other, I was disturbed,

frankly, over how comfortable we were not talking.

I was a mess.

Fairly quickly, Manhattan fel away behind us and the traffic thinned. An hour into the projected four-hour drive, we were traveling on a two-lane road lined with frost-encrusted trees and sudden smal towns. Redford occasional y leaned forward to glance at the sky, his brow furrowed.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“It’s clouding up,” he said. “The forecast said snow tomorrow, so let’s hope it holds off.”

“Right,” I said with a little laugh. “I would hate to get snowed in.”

“I could think of worse things,” he said, slanting a smile in my direction.

My breasts tingled. “Redford,” I chided.

“I just meant we’d have a good excuse to miss the IRS audit,” he said, trying to sound indignant. “What did you think I meant?”

I gave him a stern frown. “Never mind. But that reminds me—” I turned around to lift the lid from the box containing our tax papers. “I had a chance to go over the forms, and

there are a few things we should talk about before the interview.”

He sipped from his coffee cup, then winced. “Do we have to?”

“Yes.”

His mouth tightened. “Okay, but I should warn you that my expertise is in logistics, not numbers.” Then he grinned. “Luckily, you’re great with numbers. I’m not worried. We’l

probably walk out of there with a refund.”

I squirmed. “I suspect they’l ask a lot of questions about the deductions I took on my home-office expenses.”

He shrugged. “So, you’l just explain, that’s al .”

I swal owed hard. His confidence in me made me feel even worse. “Stil , I’d like to go over everything so we go in looking united.”

“You mean like a team?”

“Sort of.” I rummaged around in the box and removed the form, which was several pages thick.

“That’s our form?” he asked. “I don’t remember it being that thick.”

“You didn’t read it before you signed it?”

“No…I trusted you.”

Which certainly didn’t make me feel better, considering we’d been flagged for an audit. “Okay, let’s start with the numbers and how I came up with them.” I switched to professional mode, launching into a discussion of the form, attached schedules, and supporting documents—which, between his complicated pay schedule and overseas status, were

considerable. To his credit, his eyes didn’t glaze over. But halfway through the file, and an hour later, he broke in with a little laugh.

“Gee, Denise, no wonder you wanted out of the marriage. You probably couldn’t face dealing with the tax forms every year.”

I couldn’t think of an answer, so I didn’t give him one. And just like that, I felt the mood in the cab of the truck change.

“I’m so sorry, Denise.”

I turned to look at him. “For what?”

His expression was pained. “For…proposing. You barely knew me. I was on my way back to the Gulf, not sure when I’d return. It was crazy. To be honest, I was relieved when I

got those annulment papers.”

I had assumed as much, but hearing it was like a kick in the stomach. “There’s no need to apologize, Redford. It takes two people to make that kind of mistake.”

“Yeah, but you were the one smart enough to try to remedy the situation. Thanks to you, we were both able to resume our lives without any fal out. I’m grateful, Denise.”

My throat constricted suddenly…and I wasn’t sure why. It was exactly what I’d been hoping Redford would say someday: that he hadn’t felt abandoned or angry when I’d filed for

an annulment; that it was the right thing to do under the circumstances. I should have felt relieved…so why didn’t I?

“There’s a convenience store up ahead,” he said. “By my estimation, we’re halfway there. Want to stretch our legs?”

I nodded, grateful for a break. From both the confines of the truck, and our discussion.

Redford pul ed up next to the gas pump—I couldn’t imagine how much gasoline it took to keep the monster truck running. When I alighted, I noticed the sky was indeed growing

cloudy and gray, which wasn’t uncommon for February, but unsettling none theless. I glanced at my watch and decided to wait until we were closer to cal Kenzie, especial y since I couldn’t get a signal on my phone here.

After I exited the ladies’ room, I pul ed a bottle of water from a wal cooler and walked up to the counter where Redford had engaged the rotund clerk in a conversation about—

as near as I could tel —fishing lures. The man could befriend anyone.

“I’l get that,” Redford said, taking my water. I acquiesced, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to argue, then walked outside to get as much fresh air as possible before we set off again.

I dragged the cool air into my lungs slowly, mul ing over Redford’s “gratitude” to me for having our marriage annul ed. His admission, coupled with the knowledge that he had

lived so close to me after he returned to the States, was—I had to concede—bruising my ego.

My chest ached with unexpected grief, and tears gathered on my lashes. (I never cried…
ever.
) My ego was more than bruised. To be honest, I was crushed. Which was incredibly foolish and selfish of me, considering I was the one who had ended the marriage, and I was the one who was engaged to marry again.

“Ready to hit the road?” Redford cal ed behind me.

I blinked like mad to dissipate the tears—thankful that I could blame runny eyes and a red nose on the weather, if necessary. But when I turned, the sight of Redford standing

there looking so impossibly masculine in his jeans and boots and black hat was sobering enough to evaporate any tears—along with al the moisture in my mouth. Defeated, I headed back to the truck and hurdled into my seat.

“You okay?” Redford asked when he fastened his seat belt.

“I wish you would stop asking me that,” I snapped.

He blinked, then a little smile came over his face. “I know what you want.”

I closed my eyes, at my wits’ end with his innuendos and worse, with my Pavlovian responses. “Redford—” I stopped when I opened my eyes and saw what he had in his hand.

A bag of peanut M&M’s.

“These used to be your favorite.”

I sighed. “They stil are.”

“Good.” He handed me the candy, then pul ed two bottles of water from the smal plastic bag.

“You didn’t want a snack?” I asked, tearing open the candy.

“I was hoping you’d share.”

“No way,” I said, laughing.

“Take them al ,” he said as he started the engine. “The more you have in your mouth, the less you can talk about taxes.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed as he pul ed the truck back onto the road. Despite his teasing, he ate a few pieces of the candy, and I was struck again by the

alternate ease and discomfort I felt when I was with Redford. It was like being on a rol er coaster…in the first car with nothing to hold on to…except Redford himself.

“Back to the taxes,” I said when the last piece had been washed down.

“Please, no,” he begged. “Tel me about your friends, Kenzie and Sam.”

A legitimate question…and an interesting story. “Kenzie works for
Personality
magazine. Sam was on the cover one month for the ‘smal -town hero’ issue. He’s a veterinarian, and a part-time fireman in Jar Hol ow, and he saved a lot of people in a nursing-home fire.”

He pursed his mouth, nodding.

“Anyway, they met when he went to the city to have his photo taken. Then she went to his place to do a fol ow-up article…and then there was the cover curse.”

“Cover curse?”

“It’s a long story, but basical y Kenzie went to stay on his farm for a while and got into al kinds of predicaments, including almost burning down his clinic.”

“Yikes.”

“But Sam fel in love with her anyway.”

“That’s a hel uva guy.”

“So, long story short, Sam teaches in the city a few days a week, and she works from their home up here a few days a week, so they’re together as much as possible.” I

smirked. “I have to warn you, though—Sam and Kenzie are shmoops.”

“Is that some kind of northern religion?”

I laughed. “No. I mean, they smooch and look at each other like teenagers. And Kenzie talks about how much they—” I stopped and cleared my throat as Redford fought a

smile. “Anyway, the girls and I cal them shmoops.”

“Okay, wel I’l try not to notice if their clothes start flying off.”

“Now, back to the taxes…”

He groaned. “Why don’t we save that for the drive home this evening?”

“I won’t be able to read in the dark!”

His white teeth flashed in a wide grin. “I know.”

I sighed. “Okay, there isn’t much left anyway. For the most part, I…I just need to make sure that Tuesday morning we go in there—”

“United,” he finished. “Got it. They wil see one united couple, by gol y. We’l be so united, they’l think we’re stil married.”

“Wel ,” I murmured, settling back in my seat, “we don’t have to take it that far.”

I tried to cal Kenzie several times on my cel phone, but couldn’t get a signal, and then when I did, my battery was dead. But Sam’s directions were good and, after passing

through the adorably quaint town of Jar Hol ow, (I saw some of the businesses that Kenzie had mentioned to me—the Cut and Curl, Jamison Hardware Store), and driving up a steep hil , we pul ed into a clearing that gave way to a plateau with a picturesque view that would be stunning in the spring. I could see why Kenzie would have been enchanted.

From her description, I recognized a smal er log building, which would be the clinic, to the right of where we sat; and the larger building, the log home that Sam had built himself, to the left. It was spectacular.

“Nice,” Redford murmured. He nodded toward the two vehicles—Sam’s truck and Kenzie’s car. “Looks like they’re home.”

I opened the door and climbed down. “They probably heard us pul up.”

Redford put on his hat and together we walked to the front of the cabin. The picture-perfect landscaping was undoubtedly Kenzie’s handiwork. I rang the doorbel and from

inside, a horrific noise erupted—like a dog pound on the night of a ful moon.

“That would be their pets,” I explained.

“Good watchdogs,” Redford said.

When a few seconds passed and no one came to the door, I said, “Maybe they’re at the clinic.”

“Or maybe they’re…you know.” Redford’s eyebrows wagged suggestively.