Tempting Jake
Autore
Molly Liholm
Letto da
15,3K
Capitoli
17
1
THE GETAWAY WAS OFF SCHEDULE.
Nora checked her watch again, pretending unconcern. The driver was definitely late. Damn. The plans didn’t allow for any delays.
Nora looked down the street, past the groups of milling tourists that seemed to populate every Washington, D.C. thoroughfare, willing the vehicle to turn the corner, to arrive. She double-checked her list. Yes, she was definitely at the west doors of the hotel. According to the schedule, the driver should have pulled up ten minutes ago. She pictured the frustrated driver trapped in one of the city’s unending traffic jams, trying to maneuver, cursing because he was now—Nora looked at her watch—eleven minutes late. If he didn’t get here soon, they’d be caught at the border.
If they got stopped—searched at the U.S.-Canada border—all of her well-thought-out and meticulously researched plans would be useless. That galled her. She hated to fall victim to the unpredictability of others.
To calm her harried nerves, Nora visualized the driver pulling out from behind the truck he’d been trapped behind; he would be just around the corner, now he’d be making the turn.... Damn, still nothing came into sight. She shifted her oversize purse onto her other shoulder and resisted the urge to tap her foot.
A round, normally cheerful-faced man disengaged himself from the small crowd of tourists and walked toward her. He frowned as he looked at his watch. “He’s late,” Zachary Buch echoed Nora’s concern.
Nora waved merrily at a woman with alarmingly red hair who looked questioningly over at Nora and Zachary, then pulled Zachary to the corner of the hotel entrance where they were slightly hidden from the curious tourists. She sighed. Nora hadn’t expected Zachary on today’s run. She’d planned and worked out the itinerary over many late nights—everything was timed to the last detail. Only now Zachary had turned up. Zachary always thought she needed help. Behind his rotund, positively jovial exterior, Zach was convinced he was hero material and spent much of his time waiting for a crisis to happen so that he could save the day. But the last thing she wanted was for Zach to save her. No, thanks to her, everything was in order...except the driver was late. Hurry, hurry! she commanded him mentally.
She smiled her best smile at Zachary, all too aware he wasn’t easy to fool. “He’ll be here,” she said confidently. Soon, she pleaded to herself.
Zachary pulled out a well-worn handkerchief and mopped his heated face. “Nora, I don’t need to remind you how crucial the timing is. I’ve calculated all the steps and the margin for error—”
“Still gives us a few minutes,” she reassured before Zachary could pull out his calculator and elaborate printouts. She was the one in charge—not him. “I’ve worked everything out, too. Didn’t you always say I was your best student?” she said teasingly but wondered how she had gotten herself involved in all of this.
“One of my best students,” Zachary corrected. “Jerry Harkness had a lot more promise than you, but he got married and went to work for IBM!”
As Zachary shivered over the horror of leading a conventional lifestyle, Nora dug into the cavernous depths of her bag and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. For Zachary, working as a peon in a huge corporation was beyond understanding—talk of Jerry Harkness always gave him a headache. Behind Zachary’s scholarly facade lurked the soul of an adventurer, one of the last great romantics. That’s what had drawn Nora to him and his scheme.
She’d met him through his popular university history course, Great Leaders of the Modern World. Students loved it because Professor Zachary Buch often came dressed as his lecture subjects. Nora knew that he dreamed of doing something great, like the people he lectured about had done. The day he’d worn a toga to class in minus-twenty-degree weather, he’d won Nora’s heart. His knees had been far too cute to resist.
He accepted the aspirin, but peered into Nora’s purse with hope. “You don’t, ahem, have anything stronger in there?”
Zachary’s love of overindulgence worried Nora, too. When he was tipsy he became even more loquacious than ordinarily. “You promised me you wouldn’t drink until this was over,” Nora said. She could see it now—her driver in the hospital after a twenty-car pileup, and Zachary in Betty Ford, regaling all with stories of the fortune he had almost made.
She wasn’t about to let that happen! She’d worked too hard and too long. But where was the driver?
Feeling the Washington heat even this early in the day, Nora fiddled with the bow tie at her neck, which was growing as tight as a hangman’s noose. With some luck, which was owed her, the weather up north would be cooler, less humid. The polyester of her uniform suffocated her on terribly hot July days. How did people ever get used to wearing these outfits? She never would, but soon she wouldn’t have to ever again. Soon her days of watching and saving every penny would be over. If her plan worked.
Why was there never a bus when you needed one?
* * *
“LOOK AT THAT!” Molly Terts poked her friend, then pointed down the street with her well-manicured though wrinkled hand.
Holly Wentworth turned her alarmingly red-haired head to where her longtime best friend was pointing. She kept one foot on her suitcase. It wasn’t safe to leave luggage unwatched. She examined the bright pink tube pulling curbside. Even with sunglasses protecting her eyes, the neon colors of the Merry Travelers sign glared mercilessly in the morning light. “I agree it looks rather like a giant tube of lipstick, but you’ve seen it before.”
“Not the bus,” hissed Molly. “Inside the bus.”
Once again Holly turned her attention to the vehicle pulling alongside the Washington Omni Hotel. Despite her sixty-odd years, her eyesight was as sharp as when she and Molly had met as schoolgirls. The sight of the too-pink Merry Travelers bus was a familiar if rather overwhelming one. She scanned the signs covering the bus, checked the tires, saw that all the windows were intact—one never knew in midtown Washington—nothing! The bus drawing to the curb was empty except for the driver— “Oh, my!” Her words were reverent.
Molly nodded. “They never mentioned that in the brochure.”
“How many bus trips have we taken?”
“At least a dozen,” Molly answered without hesitation. She’d spent many early mornings waiting to embark on another Merry Travelers adventure with her energetic friend—usually at Holly’s behest. Even during their various marriages—five at the last count, although, as Holly pointed out, there was always hope of upping the number—the best friends would often sneak away from their families. Bus tours were a recent addition. These organized expeditions were short and well-planned, a nice break. The tours were also rife with recent widowers. As a result, the twosome had covered much of the United States and Canada on these activity-filled vacations.
“Perhaps the driver is a new feature. Merry Travelers hasn’t put out a brochure in some time. He could be a new marketing angle,” Holly suggested wickedly.
“Merry Travelers can’t afford to print new brochures because of how much business they’ve lost lately,” money-conscious Molly asserted.
“But if they advertised Mr. Tall, Blond and Beautiful, they’d have buses full of lonely widows and disappointed wives.” Holly pulled out a small mirror to reapply her lipstick and check her masses of red curls.
“I’ve never been disappointed. But we’re both too old for him by at least—several—years.” Molly slanted her hat rakishly over her blond hair.
“He could be what Nora needs.”
“Nora!”
“Yes, Nora. She’s not getting any younger.” The two friends turned to consider their tour guide, who was watching the bus with a furious expression on her face. Nora had frequently been their guide over the past five years. “She’s a sweet, pretty girl, but have we ever heard her talk about a special man?”
Molly snorted. “She might be sweet to us, but have you seen the deep freeze she gives the Lotharios on the road?”
“My point exactly. Nora has taste. She’s not willing to settle for less than she deserves.”
“She deserves a bus driver?”
“Yes, maybe... Oh, I don’t know—” Holly floundered “—but she deserves to have some fun! And if that’s not a man who knows how to show a woman a good time, I’ll, I’ll...”
“Pay your son’s tuition for business school?”
“Never!” gasped Holly indignantly. “Imagine, I put him in the finest art school, and he wants to make money! I don’t know where I went wrong as a mother.”
“Perhaps it’s his father’s influence,” Molly suggested mildly.
Immediately Holly calmed down and a soft look came into her eyes. “Yes, poor William, he was an absolutely charming man. He got such a thrill out of playing the stock market.”
“And left you very well-off,” Molly added. “You can’t blame Nicholas or Nora if they’re interested in careers.”
“Careers!” Holly waved off financial stability with her hand. “It’s time Nora stopped working so hard and started playing! Look where that philosophy has gotten me!”
“Riding buses with the over-the-hill gang.”
“Living life to the fullest! Always set for a new challenge...or intrigue.” Holly grinned wickedly. “I predict this will be our best trip, yet. We have our...plans, and maybe we can help Nora.”
Molly nodded. “All right, Nora can have the bus driver—if he’s good enough. Young people today need to be pushed in the right direction.”
“Who’d have thought a bright and attractive girl like Nora would need any help? Why, in our day, you made it your top priority to land a good man and then worried about the rest. Like you and Daniel.”
“Or you and Stephan.” Holly waved at the man approaching them.
“Yes.” Molly sighed with pleasure.
The two friends watched the bubble-gum-pink bus come to a whooshing stop, its billboard claiming: Merry Travelers, We Make Getting There the Fun!
* * *
AN APOLOGETIC SACRIFICE—preferably the balding head of her tardy driver—would appease her, maybe, Nora decided. After five years of herding groups of travelers through tightly scheduled itineraries, she knew the importance of promptness. If she had a driver who wasn’t following the schedule she might as well give up and go home. They’d be lucky to reach the Canadian border before the cross-border shoppers swarmed over the bridge, holding up her bus in their wake. A first day filled with tired, grumbling passengers was not the best way to start their nine-day adventure together. She’d have to stress that together part to Bill Wilson, the driver. It was unlike him not to realize how important a good beginning was.
Just three more trips. She muttered her favorite rallying cry. Three more trips, and she could afford to quit. She would never have to follow stupid corporate rules again. And, she continued as she caught sight of her reflection in one of the oversize sight-seeing windows, when she turned in the Merry Travelers uniform, she would never, ever, wear pink again. She frowned at the pink, ruffled figure facing her and turned her head slightly to admire the pink suede bow holding back her dark hair. It was carrying the company look to a ridiculous extreme, and that was precisely why she had put it on this morning.
“Are you the escort?”
Mesmerized by her horrid reflection, Nora hadn’t heard the driver approach, until his words broke in. And shattered every illusion she had about bus drivers.
Where was her fifty-year-old man with the protruding belly, oily hair and ruddy complexion?
After more bus trips than she could count, from one coast to the other, from short three-day trips to month-long excursions, she had thought she’d met every kind of driver. The bus driver from hell, who, on an especially treacherous mountain road, had asked in a booming voice whether she smelled something burning and then exclaimed that the bus had lost its brakes. He’d then squealed an imitation of a bus barreling downhill, out of control. When they’d finally reached the ferry crossing she’d had to restrain her shaken passengers from throwing the buffoon overboard.
There were the drivers who forgot to plan the route and ended up in Iowa instead of Ohio while Nora tried to amuse passengers who, unlike the man behind the wheel, were able to read road signs.
And then there were the happy-to-be-away-from-the-wife Lotharios, the ones who truly believed that part of an escort’s job was to entertain the driver, day and night.
This one didn’t fall into any category. In front of her stood six feet two inches of raw male animal—there was just no other way to put it, Nora decided, and closed her gaping mouth. His broad chest and muscular arms strained against the confines of the driver’s uniform. His face was square and strong and lined. The wind ruffled his blond sun-streaked hair, as he rocked on the balls of his feet, surveying her from head to toe. Studying her polyester A-line, elasticized skirt, her frilly high-necked blouse with its neat bow that matched the offensive one in her hair, and her pink Reeboks! Mortified, Nora saw herself in his eyes—hidden by reflective aviator glasses, naturally—and knew she looked like a “before” picture in a makeover.
Gathering what little dignity she could, she said, “Be grateful they don’t make you wear pink,”
“You have a point there. Pink has never been one of my better colors.” She could hear the amusement in his voice, but saw no accompanying smile. When she continued to bemusedly stare at him, he asked, “You are the tour escort, Nora Stevens?”
“Tour coordinator,” Nora corrected automatically. Escort had too many connotations—although with him they might be worth exploring. His voice was low and raspy, the kind a woman dreamed of hearing from the pillow next to her. She was still stunned by him, so her mouth took over and expressed the thought that had been concerning her for the past fifteen minutes: “You’re late.”
“I’m the new driver, Jake Collins,” he answered smoothly. “There was an accident—”
“You need to plan for eventualities like that. Here—” Nora pulled a map book from her purse and opened it at one of the highlighted pages “—these are some excellent alternative routes when traffic is jammed. If you listen to the traffic reports on WBBK from five to six-thirty and then switch to WBBC when Jess Whitman begins his reports, you’ll have the Washington roads covered. This—” Nora had found the other item she wanted and thrust it into the driver’s hand “—is a list of the best radio traffic reports throughout the U.S.” Nora dug around some more in the cavernous depths of her bag. “Bruce must have kept my Canadian lists! He knew I wanted them back! Never mind, I’ll have him fax them to us at the hotel tonight.” Nora suddenly recalled the reason for the delay. “Was anyone hurt?”
Jake’s head was bent over the papers. He straightened slowly and was looking at her but she still couldn’t tell what he thought because of the annoying aviator glasses. “What? Oh, the accident. Only a fender bender, but it backed up traffic for blocks.”
Glad to hear there had been no injuries, Nora smiled at him, but mentally berated herself. Her need to organize, to ensure events ran efficiently had the consequence of occasionally irritating some people. At least that was how her mother would phrase it. Nora could admit, when she was being completely honest with herself, that she was just plain bossy.
With the experienced glance of a single woman, she checked the driver for a wedding ring. There wasn’t one. She did a quick mental scan of her suitcase, selecting her most attractive outfit for tomorrow. Luckily, just as all the pink signs covering the charter bus could be removed, tour escorts—tour coordinators—only had to wear the Nightmare in Pink on the first day of a trip. At least she had an easier time than the male escorts.
“It won’t happen again.” Jake’s voice was cool.
Nora couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed by her behavior or he considered her a minor nuisance. Irked that she should elicit no response from the man, she took a deep breath and brushed a nervous hand against the hairs tingling at the back of her neck. She’d worked too long and too hard to have her plans upset now. Three more trips, and she’d have the money she needed.
She couldn’t see past the reflection of the aviator glasses but knew Jake was studying her. “I’m looking forward to working closely with you,” he said, breaking the silence. “The other drivers said you were the...best.”
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Good heavens, she chided herself, that was what she got from giving her libido too little exercise. Or was it guilt, her conscience demanded, because Bruce Davis, the owner of Merry Travelers, suspected...? No, Bruce wasn’t a problem. Nora pushed aside her worries, reminding herself that her ability to remain calm in the face of disaster was legendary among the other tour coordinators. Why, she’d found the only one-hour photo-developing shop in the wilds of British Columbia when an entire busload of Japanese visitors had wanted to develop their film immediately because one of them believed he’d captured Bigfoot on film; she’d walked up the steps of the Empire State building with a group of fitness fanatics; she’d mediated when Molly and Holly had set their sights on the same man; and she’d thrown a block that would have made an NFL player proud when a Finnish couple had decided they needed to conceive their first child at the Statue of Liberty!
One...unusual bus driver was nothing she couldn’t handle. Her neck tingled in answer. She didn’t have time for a man now! Tomorrow, she’d wear a different hairstyle, one that didn’t expose her neck. “Are you a new driver?” she asked, to get her mind back on business.
“Replacement. The scheduled driver is sick, I was called last minute. Weren’t you notified?”
No smile softened his face. Nora wondered how he was going to enjoy living with rambunctious passengers for the next nine days. Then the meaning of his words sank in. “No. I...no.” The bus company always notified her about a change in drivers, no matter how last-minute. Nora quelled her rising unease, telling herself everything was in place. As long as the new driver knew how to drive, she could handle the rest. In fact, that was how she preferred it.
Nora swung her bag off her shoulder, and Jake jumped out of its way. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she rummaged through its contents. “Here—” she handed Jake a pile of papers “—I’ve outlined the best route and the cleanest washrooms for stops and the times in between. Although—” Nora consulted her watch “— we’re—”
“Late,” Jake supplied. “I won’t let it happen again, boss.” For a second, she thought he was going to salute. Instead, he looked at the documents Nora had given him. “I thought planning the route was my job.”
“Of course it is, Mr. Collins,” Nora explained patiently, used to this reaction. Drivers could be very territorial about their jobs, but once a driver began to use her system, he always agreed it worked the best. Sure, she’d had a few failures, a couple of drivers who requested not to work with her, but then, not everyone was as particular as she was. “But I’ve been over this route many times and am more experienced. I just want our passengers to have the best trip possible. If you follow my suggestions, I’m sure you’ll find everything clearly marked, and you won’t have any extra work to do.”
“Just follow your instructions?”
“Yes, that would be best for everyone,” Nora agreed.
What looked like a grimace passed over Jake Collins’s face, although it was gone so quickly, it was hard to be sure. Then he spoke in a conciliatory tone that made the hairs on Nora’s arms prickle. “Okay, boss. I’ll load the luggage, you handle the passengers.”
She nodded, giving him her best tour-guide smile, glad that she’d established the fact she’d be in charge, pulled the seat-assignment list out of her multicolored tote and began boarding the passengers. After moments of organized activity, Nora had her twelve passengers settled, their large quantities of hand luggage stored overhead, and Jake was steering the bus away from the hotel. Just three more trips, Nora repeated to herself as she picked up the microphone to begin her enthusiastic “you’re-going-to-have-a-wonderful-trip” speech.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a speeding car begin to move into their lane. She gasped as Jake slammed on the brakes, avoiding the vehicle. Nora tried to catch the pole in front of her too late and landed facedown in the bus aisle. She spat out a piece of dirt, pushed herself up and glared at Jake.
“Sorry about that...boss,” Jake said. Nora saw the twitch of a smile on his lips.
Rubbing dirt from her polyester A-line skirt, Nora looked up to see her twelve passengers struggling against their smiles and silently chanted Just three more—when the bus swerved again and Nora dived for the pole. This time she caught it, but she knew, just as the captain of the Titanic must have known, the last thing she’d be having was a wonderful trip.
