Lori Wilde - Stop The Wedding! - Night Driving / Smooth Sailing / Crash Landing

In the meantime, Boone had made it to his feet. He wore the same cargo shorts he’d had on the day before, and he had his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze grazed over her, moving from the top of her tousled hair, to the slope of her breasts (now safely harnessed), to the thighs of her snug-fitting jeans on down to her bare feet.

“Have you seen my flip-flops?” she asked, feeling flustered, her pulse pounding erratically.

He pulled them out from behind his back. “You’re a bit scattered. I found them in the field last night and thought about hiding them from you just to teach you to pay attention.”

“So, why did you take pity on me?”

“I realized it’s not my place to change you. And, you need them to flag down the tractor. You can get out there before I can.”

“It kills you, doesn’t it?” she asked, and from the glint in his eyes she knew it was true.

“I hate being helpless,” he said. “H-A-T-E , hate it.”

She leaned forward to put on her flip-flops, teetering on one foot and then the other. Boone put out a hand to steady her. An immediate heat flamed through Tara. His touch had always revved her up, but after last night, she seemed extra sensitive toward him.

“Are you okay?” he asked hoarsely.

“Sure, fine, terrific, great,” she chattered. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You’ve got goose bumps.” Gently, he moved his hands up and down her forearms as if to warm her.

It only made the goose bumps worse and kicked her heart rate into a gallop. For a long, agonizing second, she couldn’t speak. All she could do was absorb the warmth of his skin.

The sound of the tractor chugging into an idle snapped her from the spell Boone had woven over her. “Tractor’s here,” she said, yanking her hand away to wave at the green vehicle that had come to a stop behind the U-Haul.

Then, she turned and raced toward the farmer, feeling both unsettled and relieved.

THE FARMER’S NAME was Paul Brown and it was his field they’d spent the night in. Paul graciously volunteered to give them a ride to Fairville, the closest town. Paul went back to his house and returned with a pickup truck. Hopefully, they could find a place to shower and change their clothes in town. Boone took his knapsack from the Honda and Tara retrieved her overnight bag.

For the entire twenty-minute trip, Boone kept glancing at his watch. Tara knew he was nervous about making it to Key West, but they had plenty of time. It was only Thursday morning and his sister’s wedding wasn’t until late Saturday afternoon. Boone was a fretter. She could reassure him all day long and he would still worry, so she didn’t even bother.

She sat in the cab of the pickup, sandwiched between Paul and Boone. The truck smelled like hay, motor oil and Nebraska loam. Reaching over, she laid a hand on Boone’s good knee, just to let him know that she understood, but the second her fingers settled on his bare skin, she knew that touching him had been a mistake.

His muscles were so firm and masculine. With every pump of blood that pushed through her veins she was aware of everything about him—the sound of his breathing, the tension in his body, the smell of his scent, unique and utterly male. Her own body tightened and it felt as if—

Knock it off!

She slipped her hand off his knee, shifted her attention to Paul and started bombarding him with questions about farming, anything to get her mind off Boone.

Paul, she learned, had been born and raised in Fairville and he thought Nebraska was heaven on earth. His wife’s name was Peggy and they had three kids, all of whom were grown and living elsewhere. That saddened him quite a bit.

“Young people today.” Paul shook his head. “You’re always in such a blasted hurry. Always on your computers and whatever else is the new-fangled thing of the day. Do they ever pick up the phone and just make a call?”

“But you know,” Tara pointed out, “because of social media, people are actually more connected. My mom texts me every day.”

“It’s not the same as hearing their voices,” Paul complained. “Hell, for all I know someone stole their phones and is sending those text messages.”

“Paul’s got a point,” Boone pointed out. “A lot has been lost in our technological world.”

“And that cyber-bullying,” Paul put in. “It’s ten times worse than when I was kid. Back in those days, if you wanted to stand up to a bully, you took boxing lessons. Nowadays, those poor kids have no recourse. Some even end up taking their lives over it. Such a damn shame.”

“Look at all the advantages technology provides,” Tara said. “We can go online and pay our bills—”

“Leaving us wide open to identity theft.”

“We can send messages instantly. No need to wait for letters.”

“It’s killing the post office.” Paul readjusted his green John Deere cap on his head.

“But saving trees.”

Paul laughed and glanced over at Boone. “Your wife’s a feisty one. She could argue the hind leg off a donkey. I bet you never win a disagreement with her.”

“We’re not married,” Boone rushed to say.

Paul looked surprised. “Really? You two look so good together, I just assumed.”

“She’s just giving me a ride to Miami.”

Wow, Boone couldn’t wait to set Paul straight, as if being married to her was such a terrible notion. Tara felt as if she’d swallowed a walnut whole and it had gotten stuck in her throat.

Paul’s smile turned sly. “Well, you never know. Road trips have a way of breeding romance. That’s how I fell in love with Peggy. Senior class trip to Padre Island. Before that, we couldn’t stand each other. Her family had money and she was a cheerleader and I thought she was stuck-up. She thought I was a know-it-all, but by the time we got to the Gulf of Mexico we were madly in love. Been happily married thirty-seven years and countin’.”

“That’s such a sweet story,” Tara said.

“You never know when love is gonna sneak up on you,” Paul waxed philosophical. “Just remember, there’s a reason they say opposites attract. If you’re both the same, where’s the spark? Where’s the sizzle? Where’s the mystery?”

“But you have to have some common ground in order to stay married for so long. I bet you and Peggy have more in common than you think,” Tara argued.

“You’re right there. We both value family, tradition and the American farm.”

“See, there. Not so opposite after all.”

“You’re a pistol, Tara. Smart and pretty.” Paul leaned forward, to get a better look at Boone. “You’re dumber than you look, son, if you let this one get away. She’s a treasure.”

Tara’s cheeks heated and she cast a quick glance over at Boone to see how he was taking Paul’s advice. His face was impassive.

“She is special,” Boone said.

Hmm. Special. What did that mean? The word had so many connotations. Not all of them good.

Thursday, July 2, 8:02 a.m .

PAUL DROPPED THEM off at a local garage and they spoke to a mechanic, who agreed to go out to Paul’s farm and tow Tara’s Honda and the U-Haul trailer back to his shop to replace the tires.

“You folks might as well relax,” said the mechanic, who had the name Ross embroidered across the front pocket of his work shirt. He had a Tweety Bird tattoo on his left forearm, wore his hair slicked back in a greasy ducktail like a 1950s rebel and had a toothpick tucked into the corner of his mouth. “It’s gunna be a few hours. I’m here by myself until nine.”

Boone grunted, looked displeased.

Tara gave Ross a friendly smile. “Is there a place nearby where we might clean up? We spent the night in Paul Brown’s field and I really need a shower.”