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

not a party guy.”

      “How come you shut your curtains when you see me coming across the street to your house?”

      “I’m not good company.”

      “How come you won’t ask me to drive you to the doctor or the grocery store? And don’t say pride, because I know you’ve let some of the other neighbors help you.”

      “Because I have nothing to offer you,” he said so faintly she wasn’t sure she heard him.

      She moistened her lips. The tension in the car stretched tight. His breathing was rough. Her breathing was none too smooth either. “I didn’t want anything from you other than to be a good neighbor. It’s not like I wanted to jump your bones or anything.”

      “Yeah?” he said. “Well, maybe I wanted you to.”

      WHY THE HELL had he told Tara that?

      Her sharp inhalation filled the car. “You…you want to jump my bones?”

      “I wouldn’t put it so crudely, but yeah, I’ve had a fantasy or two about you.” Shut up! Just shut your damn mouth right now. Don’t say another freaking word.

      “Real-ly?” She sounded pleased. “I’ve had a fantasy or two about you, too.”

      Boone felt as uncomfortable as a woolly sheep in a Swedish sauna. His body tightened in all the wrong places. Or all the right places. Depending on how you looked at it.

      He moistened his lips. Traffic was slowing. Up ahead he could see a flashing roadside sign with an arrow indicating they should merge left.

      “What’s going on?” he asked.

      “Well,” Tara said breezily, “I think we’re admitting to a mutual attraction.”

      “Not that. The road.”

      “Oh.” She shifted her attention to the road and then glanced into the rearview mirror. She flicked on the turn signal and started edging over to the far lane. “Looks like we’ve run into some roadwork.”

      “Dammit,” Boone swore under his breath, secretly grateful to have an excuse to get out of their conversation.

      Traffic slowed to a crawl and then stopped altogether.

      Boone shifted in his seat. His knee was achy—when wasn’t it?—and every muscle in his body was wound tense. He’d known that the drive to Florida with Tara would be a challenge. What he hadn’t expected was to turn into a damn chatterbox, confessing stuff he had no business confessing to her. His plan had been to keep his trap shut and simply endure. He’d shot that all to hell.

      Tara hummed tunelessly, drumming her fingers on the dashboard. Long, slender fingers with nails painted the color of Pacific salmon. Bright and eye-catching, just like the woman wearing it.

      Boone slid a melted-butter gaze over her, slippery and hot. He couldn’t believe how much she rattled him with that beguiling smile of hers and that chirpy go-getter attitude. She had the body of a professional dancer and she smelled like a strawberry patch—all ripe and juicy. Why did she have to be so damn appealing?

      Stop thinking about her. It’s not like you can act on the attraction. No bedroom activities for you. Not with that bum leg. While you’re at it, stop staring at her.

      He shifted his gaze out the side window, saw rows and rows of cornfields. Nothing in the scenery to distract him.

      Think about Jackie. She’s the reason you’re here. You’ve got to make it to Key West before she marries that coastie.

      It had been a while since he’d tried to call his little sister. Maybe she’d relented and turned on her voice mail. Maybe she’d come to her senses and realized getting married to someone she barely knew was a huge mistake. Resolutely ignoring Tara, who was stretching the kinks from her neck muscles, Boone took his cell phone from his front pocket and punched in Jackie’s number.

      It rang and rang and rang. No voice mail picked up. Finally, after the twentieth ring, he hung up. His sister must still be royally ticked off at him. With a growl, he switched off the phone and stuck it back into his pocket.

      They hadn’t moved an inch in the traffic jam. They were behind a white Chevy pickup truck loaded down with a small cement mixer. Tara had her left elbow propped on the door frame, the left side of her head resting in the open palm of her hand. She was still humming.

      “Snow on a shingle,” Boone grumbled. “This is ridiculous. How long have we been sitting here?”

      “Chill, dude. It’s only been five minutes.”

      “Of not moving one inch. What are they doing up there? Rebuilding the entire freeway?”

      “There’s nothing we can do about it. Might as well make the most of a bad situation. Wanna play a game? I spy with my little eye—”

      “No, I don’t want to play a game. I want to drive. I want to get the hell to Key West. I want to sit down with my sister, face-to-face, and convince her to call off this crazy wedding.”

      “Something red.”

      “Marriage isn’t something to take lightly. It’s not a lark. It’s a commitment. You shouldn’t go into it thinking it’s going to be all pancakes and morning sex, because it’s not.”

      “I spy something red and very close.”

      “Divorce is painful and costly.”

      “I spy—”

      “I’m not playing the dumb game! It’s for children,” Boone roared, louder and more harshly than he’d intended. He wasn’t mad at Tara. He wasn’t even mad at Jackie. He was mad at himself. For not being there for his sister. For getting injured. For not taking care of himself properly and having to have more surgeries. For losing control. That’s what angered him most. How he’d lost control over his own life.

      “Why not?” she asked calmly. “You’re acting like a big baby. You don’t get your way and you pitch a fit. I told you it’s not a good idea to travel when Mercury is in retrograde.”

      “And you’re acting like a total fruitcake.” Boone snorted. “Mercury in retrograde. What a load of horse manure.”

      “Horse manure, huh? What about the bread truck accident we narrowly missed? And now a big construction holdup. Mercury. Retrograde. It’s a thing. Look it up.”

      “It’s coincidence. It’s got nothing to do with planetary misalignment. That’s nonsensical thinking.”

      “And you’re the last word on what’s nonsense?”

      “In this case, yes.”

      “You’re getting yourself worked up over nothing.”

      “It’s not nothing. Each detour is taking me farther away from my sister.”

      “I don’t think distance is the only obstacle between you and your sister.”

      “No?”

      “The crux of the problem could be your sanctimonious attitude. Believe it or not, Boone, you don’t have all the answers.”

      “Yeah? Well, you ignore the damn questions. You stick your head in the sand, pretending the world is a good place.”

      “The world is a good place.”

      “Wearing rose-colored glasses doesn’t change reality.”

      “What would you have me do?” she exclaimed. “Sit on my porch and glare at everyone for the mess the world is in? Dwelling on problems and difficulties doesn’t make the world a better place. Bitching and griping doesn’t improve things. My positive outlook might not feed a starving child in the Congo, but it damn well makes my world a better place to live in. I light up people’s lives, that’s more