Night Driving. Lori Wilde

no circumstances was he to fly, and he’d even discouraged long car trips as well. If Boone had to travel by car, he was supposed to stop frequently, get out and move around. But it wasn’t as if he could drive himself all the way to Key West. Hell, he couldn’t even drive himself to the grocery store. Pathetic.

      He whipped out his cell phone and did a Google search for the distance from Bozeman to Key West. Twenty-three hundred miles. Approximately a thirty-eight-hour drive, and that wasn’t factoring in any stops.

      Dammit. He shoved a hand through the hair that had grown shaggy since he’d left the military.

      How was he going to get to Key West? Call a car service? That would cost a frigging fortune. Yes, he had the nest egg his father had left him, but most of that was tied up in investments, and since he hadn’t grown up rich, he was still tight with a dollar.

       Which is more important? Money or keeping Jackie from ruining her life?

      Jackie. No doubt about it.

      He called the only car service in Bozeman and they flat-out told him they wouldn’t drive him to Key West. Now what? Hire someone to drive him? But who?

      Too bad he couldn’t find someone to carpool with who was already going to Key W. He could pay for their gas.

      Good idea. Great idea, in fact. But where could he find someone from his area headed in that direction ASAP?

      Back to the internet.

      He’d give it a shot. If he didn’t get a reply by tomorrow morning, he’d try to find someone who could drive him. Pushing himself up off the couch, he lumbered into the spare bedroom that he’d turned into an office. Angling his leg with care, he dropped stiffly into the chair and then booted up his computer.

      He placed the ad on a number of sites, figuring it was a long shot. He ate dinner, packed a bag and then spent the rest of the evening fretting about Jackie. He tried calling her numerous times only to discover she’d turned off her voice mail. She was really steamed.

      Bullhead. You got yourself into this, you better get yourself out.

      He checked for a response to his ads. Nothing. Finally, he went to bed.

      Boone woke up at his usual time. Five in the morning. He’d been out of the military for almost nine months, but he couldn’t seem to break the early-rising habit. Routine served him well today. He needed to get a move on if he was going to find a way to Key West by four o’clock on Saturday. Maybe this Scott Everly was the real deal, maybe he wasn’t, but Boone was determined to see for himself firsthand. He hadn’t been able to look after Jackie when they were kids, but he was definitely going to make up for it now.

      He had a breakfast of eggs and oatmeal, worked out his upper body with weights, took a shower and then went to the computer with little expectation of a reply. Already he was thumbing through a list of his acquaintances who might be in a position to drive him to Key West. The list was pitifully short.

      He opened his email and pop!

      There it was. A reply to his ad. Yes. Eagerly, Boone read the message.

      I am moving to Miami next week. I can take you that far if your trip can wait until Monday.

      Disappointment stiffened his spine. He posted back.

      That’s too late. Is there any way you can leave today instead of next week?

      He pushed back from the desk, not expecting a quick reply, but the person must have been at his or her computer, because he’d no more than gotten to his feet than his computer pinged, letting Boone know that he had a new message.

      Sorry, no, I still have to pack and load my things into a U-Haul. The soonest I could leave would be Thursday afternoon.

      Boone did the math. If they left on Thursday afternoon and drove straight through they could arrive in Key West early Saturday morning, but with his knee, there was no way he could ride in the car for thirty-eight hours nonstop. He would have to factor in at least another day. The latest he could leave was Wednesday afternoon. He sat back down and typed.

      What if I paid to have someone come pack your things and load the U-Haul today? Could you leave tonight?

      Feeling antsy, he hit Send and waited.

      Sounds like you have an emergency situation, but Mercury is in retrograde. I try not to travel when Mercury is in retrograde. It messes with travel plans.

      Seriously? Was this person for real?

      What if I threw in five hundred dollars on top of everything else? Will that overcome your fear of Mercury?

      It went against his sense of economy, but this might be the only opportunity he had.

      It took a few minutes, but then the reply came.

      All right. You have a deal.

      Relief had him splaying both palms across the top of his head. Whew.

      Done, he wrote. Where do you live?

      There was another pause, this time so long that he started worrying. Had he scared off the prospect? Maybe it was a woman leery of driving with a man she didn’t know. He couldn’t blame her. It was smart to be prudent. In this case, honesty was the best policy.

      I’m a war vet with a bum knee so I can’t drive myself. My sister is about to make a big mistake, marrying a guy she barely knows, and I need to get to Key West before the wedding to talk some sense into her.

      He held his breath. If honesty didn’t work, he was back to square one, and he was running out of time. He stroked a hand over his jaw, drummed his fingers on the desk.

      Come on, come on, just say yes.

      He thought of Shaina, of how young and dumb they’d been, blundering into marriage without any real knowledge of what it meant to commit to one person fully and completely. Then he thought of Jackie, knowing how easy it was to fool yourself into thinking you were in love when it was nothing more than lust. He could not let her make a mistake this big. He had to get to Key West no matter what he had to do.

      His computer pinged and he returned his attention to the screen.

      Boone?

      He blinked at his name. Who was this?

      Yes.

      Small world. It’s me. Tara.

       2

      Tuesday, June 30, 1:00 p.m.

      BOONE STOOD OFF to one side of Tara’s driveway clothed in an army-green T-shirt and camouflage cargo shorts, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, supervising the movers like a high school principal monitoring the hallways. His brow was knitted in a dark scowl, his right leg encased in a heavy metal brace.

      “Hey, Toliver. You oughta get a patent,” Tara teased as she breezed past him, her arms loaded with boxes.

      “Patent?” he growled. “For what?”

      “That broody frown. James Dean and Marlon Brando combined got nothing on you.”

      His glower deepened.

      “Yup, watch out, you’re heading for Darth Vadar territory.”

      “Darth Vadar wore a mask.”

      “Exactly.”

      His face relaxed. Just a bit. “Total mystery.”

      “What is?” Tara loaded the boxes into the back of the U-Haul, turned and wiped perspiration from her forehead with the back of a hand.

      “You.”

      She smiled big, pleased.

      Boone shook his shaggy head, two months past the point of needing a good haircut. But that was okay. Overgrown hair gave a stylist something to work with. She canted her head and imagined how he’d look in different