Buch lesen: «The Trouble with Josh»

Hell, Josh thought, it was wrong to feel—he didn’t even know what—about Candace.

Unsettled was as good a word as any, he decided as he sat in his truck, engine idling, pondering which way to turn.

He wasn’t used to a beautiful woman being off-limits for any reason other than marriage. And Candace Thompson was definitely beautiful. If not for her history with his family, he would already have done things with her that would make a grown man blush.

Instead, he wasn’t supposed to see her, talk to her…even think about wanting her.

He damn sure wasn’t supposed to help her change a flat tire, then go home with her, bandage her scrapes and touch her in a way that brought those soft, erotic whimpers from her, as he had tonight.

Clutching the steering wheel tightly, he turned away from Candace, toward Tulsa. A night on the town, too much to drink—and, if he did it right, come tomorrow morning, he wouldn’t remember a damn thing about tonight.

Right?

The Trouble with Josh
Marilyn Pappano

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARILYN PAPPANO

brings impeccable credentials to her career—a lifelong habit of gazing out windows, not paying attention in class, daydreaming and spinning tales for her own entertainment. The sale of her first book brought great relief to her family, proving that she wasn’t crazy but was, instead, creative. Since then she’s sold more than forty books to various publishers and even a film production company.

She writes in an office nestled among the oaks that surround her country home. In winter she stays inside with her husband and their four dogs, and in summer she spends her free time mowing the yard that never stops growing and daydreams about grass that never gets taller than two inches. You can write to her at P.O. Box 643, Sapulpa, OK, 74067-0643.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter One

Visit all fifty states:

  Mississippi

  Arkansas

  Oklahoma

In the months since she’d almost died, Candace Thompson had made a list of all the things she wanted to do while she still had a chance. It filled six pages on a dog-eared legal pad and wasn’t in any particular order, except in her mind. She had crossed off plenty of them—things like Spend a week on the beach and Apologize to Craig, whom she’d dumped her senior year in high school, for the manner in which she’d done it.

There were still plenty to be crossed off—another thirty or forty years’ worth, by her reckoning—but the time had come to take care of the number-one priority on the list: Make amends with Natalie.

Nothing like setting her goals too high. It would be easier, she suspected, to sprout wings and fly to the moon, but she had to try. She’d made promises—to God, to the doctors, to herself. She had to do her best to keep them.

It had taken some effort, but she’d finally located her former best friend, living on a ranch outside Hickory Bluff, Oklahoma. She’d had the address and phone number for five months now and had done nothing with them. Forgiveness of this magnitude wasn’t something that could be asked for over the phone, and doing it by mail struck her as cowardly—too easy, too impersonal.

Hey, no one had said all the things on the list would be pleasant or fun. Some were supposed to hurt, to require guts and courage and looking people in the eye.

This was definitely one of those.

She’d arrived in Hickory Bluff nearly twenty-four hours earlier, after taking the scenic route from Atlanta, and had spent the time getting settled. In planning the trip, she’d discovered there wasn’t a motel in town, but there was an RV park at a lake two miles north. Since she’d recently come into possession of a fairly comfortable motor home, she’d reserved a space, much to the amusement of the campground owner—obviously October wasn’t a busy period for them. Once she’d settled in at the park, she sweet-talked a friendly guy named Rick at the nearest car rental agency into delivering a car to her.

And she’d found out exactly where this ranch of Natalie’s was. She was all set.

Except that she’d been sitting at this intersection of two dirt roads for more than ten minutes and couldn’t bring herself to go on.

Natalie wasn’t going to be happy to see her, and Candace couldn’t blame her. If the situation were reversed, she would wish Natalie off the face of the earth. It would be a cold day in hell before she would give even scant consideration to forgiving her. Since Natalie was sure to feel the same way, and Candace had come all the way here, maybe she could give herself credit for trying, scratch it off her list and go on to the next goal.

But that would be cheating. No surprise there. She’d been a cheat and a user and a manipulator all her life. No one who truly knew her expected honesty from her.

It was a pathetic excuse for a human being who couldn’t be honest with herself.

Drawing a deep breath, she checked the crossroad in both directions, even though not one car had passed in the minutes she’d been sitting there. It took a major effort to press the accelerator down, another major effort to not turn right or left to avoid the destination straight ahead.

She kept her speed down—because she didn’t want gravel flying up to damage the rental car, and because Rick the friendly rental agent had gone to some trouble to get her a convertible and she didn’t want to show up at Natalie’s all dusty. Not because she was trying to delay her arrival at the ranch.

The road ran straight and true with little to see on either side—open grassland and woods, an occasional cluster of buildings. She couldn’t imagine Natalie voluntarily settling down someplace like this…but a lot of her choices had been taken away from her. Her career, her reputation, her relationship with her father—none of it had survived Candace.

Up ahead something appeared in the road. She squinted behind her sunglasses to bring it into focus. Large, shaggy, brown and white—cows. A whole herd of them. Just sort of milling around on the road.

She slowed to a snail’s pace, then stopped about ten feet from the nearest bovine. Most of them appeared taller than her low-slung little sports car, and they seemed to have zero interest in her. The ones that were munching grass at the sides of the road continued to munch, and the ones that were just standing around blocking her way continued to stand and block.

She was reaching to tap the horn when a voice from someplace much too close behind her said, “I wouldn’t advise honking the horn. They tend to associate that with feed and come running.”

As she twisted in the seat to see who’d spoken, a cowboy reined in his very large horse next to the driver’s door. He wore jeans, a T-shirt and scruffy boots, along with a cowboy hat that shaded his face. He was dusty and sweaty…and cute. Very definitely cute. His hair was brown, his eyes the same color and crinkled at the corners. His smile was crooked and so was his nose, and the hands that held the reins were big and powerful.

She had a thing about hands…and power.

“Sorry about the delay,” he went on. “Neighbor’s buffalo took down a section of fence, and the dumb animals decided they’d rather eat the grass over here.”

She managed what she hoped was a friendly smile. “Well, you know what they say. The grass is always greener on the other side.”

“Not that it matters much to the cows.” He shifted in the saddle with a creak of leather. “You’re not from around here.”

“Aw, what gave me away?” The fact that she was lacking that luscious, slow-lazy-day accent of his? Or maybe that she was wearing sandals instead of Justins, a ball cap instead of a Stetson, and linen pants instead of Wranglers?

“Let’s start with the fact that I’ve lived my entire life here and never run into you,” he said with a grin. “You wander off the highway and get lost?”

“No. I’m just taking a drive.” No doubt, knowing everybody’s business was the small-town, country-folk way, but she kept hers to herself. She looked at the cows. “Do you leave them here until they’ve eaten their fill and wander back to the right side of the fence?”

“No,” he drawled, then lifted one hand in a gesture too lazy to be considered a wave.

She turned just as another very cute cowboy on another great big horse came through the trees. He tipped his head in greeting, then began herding the cows over the downed wire and into the pasture, with the help of one of the biggest dogs she’d ever seen. Damn, all the creatures around here were big enough to intimidate her—especially the men.

Understandable, since she hadn’t gotten close to one who wasn’t wearing a stethoscope around his neck in…oh, eleven months.

“Don’t you need to help?” she asked.

“Nah. The dog does most of the work.”

It looked to her as if the cowboy and the dog were sharing the job equally, but she wasn’t going to argue. “I guess a dog provides cheap labor on a ranch. He can’t ask for a raise, doesn’t get drunk and fail to show up for work, can’t talk back….”

“Give ’im a little chow, and he’s happy,” he said with a grin. “Ol’ Red there is extra cheap—he belongs to our neighbor, so we don’t even have to feed him. He just likes working cattle.”

“Red?” she echoed. “He’s black as night.”

“You noticed.” He didn’t offer an explanation as the last couple of cows crossed the road. “Well, I guess you can go on your way now.”

She glanced ahead and smiled weakly. “I guess I can.”

“Enjoy your drive.”

“I will.” She pulled forward a few feet, then stopped. “Would you happen to know if there’s anyplace around here where I could get a cold beer and a greasy burger for supper tonight?”

“You can have one or the other, but not at the same time. For a greasy burger, try the Dairy Delight in town. For a cold beer…” He removed his hat with one hand, shoved the other through his hair, then reseated the hat. Damned cute, indeed. “I tend to do my drinking at Frenchy’s. It’s about a mile north of town. You can’t miss it.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue, and the horse started around the car and toward the broken fence. About halfway there, he looked back at her with a grin and a wink. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Maybe you will.” Candace was smiling as she drove away. A handsome cowboy who was either single or didn’t care that he wasn’t…what more could a woman on a quest ask for?

But her smile faded. Although there actually was a mention of a cowboy on her list—Pick up a handsome cowboy/soldier/cop/jock—that wasn’t her priority right now.

Natalie was.

According to her calculations, the ranch should be just a short distance ahead…and sure enough, long before she was ready to reach it, there it was—a large house, a barn and some other stuff out back, Natalie’s classic old Mustang parked in the drive.

Candace stopped at the end of the driveway and tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t. Her chest hurt. Her stomach hurt. Even her fingers hurt from clenching the steering wheel so tightly.

She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t. She didn’t care if she’d driven all this way, didn’t care if she was letting herself down. The only thing that mattered was that she could not face Natalie. Not now.

Maybe not ever.

“Have you ever met a pretty woman you didn’t flirt with?”

Josh Rawlins glanced up as his half brother, Tate, swung to the ground beside him. They would do a temporary fix on the fence for now, then come back out later to do it right. He would rather do damn near anything than fix barbed wire. It was his least favorite job on the ranch.

No, that wasn’t quite true. The job he hated most was digging post holes for barbed-wire fences. It was a general rule in Oklahoma that wherever you dug, you were bound to hit rock. Sometimes it seemed as if the entire ranch was nothing but a foot of dirt on top of one huge slab of sandstone.

“I didn’t flirt with your wife,” he pointed out at last, then grinned. “I like women, and they like me.”

“She didn’t look like your type.”

Josh scoffed. Pretty, blond, blue eyes and a nice body. What could possibly be not his type? “All women are my type, Pop.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“J.T. does.”

“He calls me Papa, and he’s allowed. You’re not.”

As they got to work, Josh laughed at the scowl accompanying the last words. “What’re you going to do? Give me a whippin’?”

“I’ve done it before. I’ve also saved you from more than a few of them. Don’t antagonize me or I won’t do it again.”

“Well, hell, big brother, you haven’t been to a bar with me since you got married. If somebody decides to kick my ass, you’re not gonna be there to stop ’em anyway.”

Tate shook his head. “You know, Mom and I keep hoping that at some point, you’ll outgrow this habit of fighting in bars and getting thrown in jail.”

“Hey, I haven’t been arrested in a year, and that last time wasn’t my fault. She told me she didn’t want to leave with that guy.”

Tate gave him a dry look as he spliced two strands of wire together. “She was underage, and that ‘guy’ was her father. You’re lucky all they did was lock you up until you were sober.”

“She looked a lot older. Even the sheriff thought so.” Josh faked a sorrowful look. “It’s a sad day when a man has to ask a woman in a bar for ID to find out how old she is.”

“Then again, a man could try meeting a woman someplace other than a bar.”

Josh cheerfully shook his head. “Sorry, but we’re fresh out of pesky reporters wanting to write about the old man.” That was how Tate had met his wife. Retired senator Boyd Chaney had hired Natalie to write his biography, and had required that she gain the cooperation of his six ex-wives and nine children, including the illegitimate son he’d never recognized—Josh himself. There had been a little passing around of identities, a quick trip out of town for Josh and his mother, plenty of lies and deception and, ultimately, a happy ending. Tate and Natalie had been married four years now and had a little boy, J.T.

But how many times was something like that likely to happen? Maybe once in a blue moon? Which meant Josh was out of luck. He had to settle for meeting women the old-fashioned way…not that he was looking to settle down just yet. He figured one of these days the carousing would stop being fun, and then he would know it was time to give it up. To pick one woman, get married and start acting respectable, like Tate.

Of course, Tate had been acting respectable ever since he was eighteen, when his girlfriend had handed their newborn son, Jordan, to him, then walked out of their lives.

And Josh hadn’t behaved respectably in…well, ever. He liked being the disreputable Rawlins, the one with plenty of wild oats to sow, the impulsive one, the fun one. He wasn’t in any rush to give that up.

“You have any plans for this evening?” Tate asked.

Other than dates when he was seeing someone in particular, Josh had a tendency to not make plans. He was single, his own boss—at least, when Tate wasn’t giving him orders—and he had no responsibilities outside his family. He was free to go where he wanted when he wanted. Why mess it up with plans?

But when he opened his mouth to say no as he snugged the last broken strands together to splice, the wrong words came out. “I thought I might drop by Frenchy’s—have a beer and play a game or two of pool.”

“Gee, what made me think that’s where you’d be?” Tate teased. “Must have been you telling the pretty woman it was a good place for a cold beer. Maybe a good place to have a dance or two, pick up someone like…hmm, maybe her. At least this one’s definitely past the age of consent.”

Josh scowled at him as he swung into the saddle. It would serve Tate right if Josh proved him wrong and showed up for supper tonight just like he did most other nights, then went home—alone. Though he wasn’t quite sure how his sleeping alone tonight while Tate snuggled up with his wife would prove anything.

“Why don’t you go on and start checking the fence?” Tate suggested. “I’ll take care of this, then meet you back at the house for lunch.”

Josh didn’t argue. He just nodded in agreement, then turned his gelding north. He’d lived all but the first few years of his life on this ranch, and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. It hadn’t been an easy life to start. Lucinda had had her hands full trying to run the ranch and raise two boys without much help from their fathers. By the time Tate had turned fifteen, he’d put in a full day at school, plus another on the ranch, and he’d still managed to find time to play football and baseball and get his girlfriend pregnant.

Josh had skipped the sports, other than a little rodeoing, and the pregnant girlfriend, thank God, but other than that, his life had been pretty much the same. It wasn’t so bad now. The days were still long, the work still hard, but their mom helped out, and when Tate’s son, Jordan, came home from college on weekends, he did more than his share. Even Natalie—the best example of a city girl Josh had ever known—was more than willing to saddle up or mend a fence when necessary.

They didn’t have the biggest spread around, but it was about as big as they could handle, and big enough to provide them with a comfortable living. They would never get rich, but, hell, that had never been a priority in their lives. Tate had wanted to be a good father to Jordan, hang on to the land, stay close to his mother and brother, and someday expand his own family, and he’d done that. Josh just wanted to maintain the status quo—live on and work the ranch, see his family every day and have a good time. He’d enjoyed the first thirty-three years of his life, and he intended to enjoy the rest of it just as much.

Though the sun was shining brightly overhead, occasionally there was a chill in the breeze as it shifted directions. October in Oklahoma couldn’t be beat anytime, anywhere, in his opinion. The hundred-degree-plus temperatures of August and often September were gone, the leaves were turning red and gold, and even the air smelled sweeter. The sky was a clear blue this morning, with only a few thin clouds that one good wind would blow into nothing but fluff, and the fragrant scent of wood smoke from the north indicated that their neighbors were burning the timber they’d bulldozed last spring.

That was a job he had to do soon—after putting it off for eight years, he’d finally cleared out some trees around his house—but he was waiting for the nights to get colder. He planned to pick some weekend when Jordan and Michaela Scott, his nephew’s best friend and their neighbor, were home from college, and the two families could get together for a wiener roast. There wasn’t much better than a cold night, a blazing fire, hot dogs, roasted marshmallows and a pretty woman.

The horse maneuvered through timber and over sandstone without much guidance from Josh, who checked the five strands of barbed wire that ran from post to post. This was a mindless job—one that he liked, of course. He was good at mindless tasks because his thoughts certainly liked to wander. For a moment he let them wander to the stranger.

Where was she from? What had brought her here? And why had she chosen their little dirt road for a drive? He was pretty sure she wasn’t visiting anyone locally—in a town like Hickory Bluff, news like that got around—and that meant she wasn’t staying locally since the nearest motel was twenty miles away in Dixon. Well, there was that old campground up at the lake—though not much of a campground and not much of a lake. Besides, she sure didn’t look the camping type. Or the small-town type. Definitely not the country type.

That left the here-for-a-day-or-two-then-gone type. Most definitely his type.

The sun was straight up in the sky when he got back to the barn. Natalie was standing at the corral fence, her arm around J.T.’s middle as he balanced on the top rail. She looked over her shoulder and smiled in greeting. Long-legged, red-haired and blue-eyed, she was exactly the sort of woman Tate had always been a sucker for. Looks aside, she was also sweet, generous, kind, and loved Jordan as if he were her own. If Josh knew his brother, he’d started falling in love with her the moment they’d met—and hell, if Tate hadn’t, maybe Josh would have.

“Hey, Uncle Josh!” With Natalie’s help, J.T. scrambled to the ground, then ran over, arms extended. Josh swung him onto his hip. “Look at me! I’m a nastronaut!”

“That’s pretty cool, J.T. Are you going off in a spaceship?”

The boy bobbed his head as he said, “Nooo, silly. This is for ’alloween. I’m jus’ pretendin’.”

“Well, good, because I’d miss you if you went off into space.”

J.T. wriggled out of his plastic spaceman’s helmet, leaving his hair standing on end. Except for the reddish tint to his hair, courtesy of his mother, he looked remarkably like Jordan had at his age—who, according to the family album, had looked remarkably like Tate. Occasionally Josh wondered if he would see the same resemblance in his kids someday…but only occasionally. Once every few years.

“What’re you gonna be for ’alloween?” J.T. asked.

Josh pretended to think about it as he walked over to the fence where Tate had joined Natalie. “How about if I go as a cowboy?”

“Uncle Josh, you are a cowboy. You gotta go as somethin’ you ain’t.”

“There’s a whole world of possibilities,” Josh murmured as J.T. made a leap into his father’s arms. “Hey, Natalie, Tate.”

“Hey, Josh,” his sister-in-law replied. “We were wondering if you’d be joining us for lunch. It’d be a shame if you missed it, considering I’ve fixed ribs, baked beans and the last of the Silver Queen corn from your mom’s freezer, along with a chocolate cake for dessert.”

As they started toward the house, J.T. hitching a ride on Tate’s shoulders, Josh slid his arm around Natalie. “You know I love your ribs—and the rest of you ain’t too bad,” he teased. “There’s not much that could drag me away from my favorite food fixed by my favorite sister-in-law.”

“How about a pretty blonde in a silver convertible?”

Josh gave both her and Tate a pitying look. “Your lives must be disgustingly boring if you find my being sociable with a stranger passing through worthy of discussion. Yes, she was blond, she was pretty, and she was driving a convertible. And she has about as much significance in my day as that hawk flying up there.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Poor old married folk.”

Natalie elbowed him for that last remark. “One of these days, Josh, you’re going to fall in love and get married, and then you’ll see what you’ve been missing.”

“Maybe…when I’ve done all there is to do, seen all there is to see, and life no longer has meaning.” Opening the screen door, he held it for them while they went inside, then followed them into a kitchen filled with incredible aromas. His mother was a decent cook, though she didn’t really like the fuss, and Jordan excelled at breakfasts and desserts, but Natalie’s every effort was outstanding, and she enjoyed it, too. The Rawlins family had never eaten so well until she came into their lives.

He washed up in the laundry room sink while Tate took J.T. to the bathroom to clean up and change out of his astronaut costume. Just as Josh reached for a towel, the doorbell rang, followed by Natalie’s call. “Can you get that, Josh?”

Cutting through the dining room, he dried his hands, then tossed the towel over one shoulder as he reached the door. The bell rang again an instant before he pulled it open. “Well, well.”

Standing there was the pretty blonde, looking uneasy and edgy. Out of the car, he could see that she was a half foot shorter than him, slender, with hints of curves in the right places. The ball cap was gone, revealing her very short hair, shorter even than his own. She wore linen trousers that were pressed and creased, a long-sleeved white shirt, open at the neck and sleeves rolled halfway to her elbows, and shoes that gave her a few inches of extra height—probably a casual look where she came from, but not in Hickory Bluff.

When she didn’t speak but continued to give him a look that was at the same time blank and startled, he leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. “Let me guess. You were so dazzled by my charm and boyish good looks that you came back for more.”

“I…I— You—” She drew a deep breath. “I’m looking for Natalie Rawlins. Is she here?”

“Yes, she is, but trust me, darlin’, I’m more your type.” With a grin, he leaned back and called over his shoulder, “Yo, Nat, it’s for you.”

“Who is it?” Natalie called back, and he looked questioningly at the blonde.

Her mouth worked a time or two without producing a sound, then she took another of those deep breaths. “Tell her….” Pitching her voice loud enough to carry, she said, “It’s me, Natalie…Candace.”

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the house, making Candace flinch inside and out. That was not a good sign. In fact, that was a get-in-the-car-and-get-the-hell-out-of-town sign, or the next breakable might be aimed at her. She wanted nothing more than to run away, wanted it with an intensity that surprised her, but her feet wouldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything but stand there and indulge in a mild panic.

Was the flirtatious cowboy the Rawlins from whom Natalie had gotten her new name? Had Candace been thinking mildly lustful thoughts about her former friend’s husband, for heaven’s sake? And what kind of idiot was she, to think that Natalie might ever offer the remotest hint of forgiveness?

The cowboy was looking from her to the back of the house, and the grin was gone. No doubt she’d heard her last friendly word from him. Once he realized who she was, she’d be lucky if he didn’t run her out of town on a rail, or tar and feather her, or whatever they did to unwelcome varmints in these parts.

As footsteps slowly approached the door, she caught her breath. This was it. The moment she’d been anticipating, dreading, visualizing. She’d imagined it a thousand times, with every outcome possible. Nine hundred ninety-nine of them had ended badly.

Finally her feet obeyed, took a step away from the door and toward the driveway, but it was too late. The woman she’d adored, loved, envied, idolized and destroyed appeared in the doorway next to the cowboy, and she was looking at Candace with quiet loathing.

She hadn’t changed much in the five-plus years since Candace had last seen her. Her hair was still long, curling wildly, still the color of new copper, and her skin was still pale and creamy smooth. The clothes were different—faded jeans, scuffed cowboy boots, a chambray shirt—but she was still elegant. Still beautiful. And she still hated Candace.

“What do you want?”

Candace had imagined the question a hundred times and formulated as many answers. She’d been ready. But the instant Natalie had spoken, all the eloquent answers flew right out of Candace’s head. All she could do was stammer and sputter. “I…I want— I’d like—” She breathed, then exhaled the words in a rush. “Can we talk?”

“No.” Reaching past the cowboy, Natalie gripped the door and started to swing it shut.

“Please, Natalie—”

“You couldn’t possibly say anything that would interest me. Get the hell off our property and don’t—”

“Mama said a bad word!”

Candace’s gaze slid past Natalie. The other cowboy, the one who’d worked alongside the dog while the flirt flirted, came to join them, carrying a small child. Though the boy’s hair was auburn, there was no denying the resemblance between him and the man, which suggested he was Natalie’s cowboy, which meant the other wasn’t. It was a selfish thing to consider at the moment, but Candace couldn’t help it. She was relieved.

The second man slid his free arm around Natalie’s waist and hugged her close. “What’s going on, babe?”

Pale and steely-eyed, Natalie replied, “Nothing. She was just leaving.”

Candace cleared her throat. “Natalie, please… I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me, but please, just listen to what I came to say.”

“Listen to you lie, twist the facts and manipulate the details? I don’t think so.”

She started to close the door again, and Candace blurted out, “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am—”

The door closed with a quiet click.

Candace stood there a long time, staring at the door. She wanted to ring the bell again and apologize for disturbing them. She wanted to climb in her car and drive as far away and as fast as she could. She wanted to beg for just a moment of Natalie’s time.

When her lungs began to burn, she finally remembered to breathe, a quick soft gasp that sounded unnervingly close to a sob. Of course it wasn’t. Candace Thompson was tough, ambitious, self-centered. She didn’t cry. She made other people do it. She had cried only twice that she could recall in the past thirty years, the first when she’d thought she was going to die the way she’d lived—alone and unloved—the second, soon after. She hadn’t been able to name a single soul who would mourn her passing, and that had sent her into mourning.

Once she forced her feet to move, she hurried down the steps, then covered the ground to the car in a dozen long strides. She didn’t glance at the house as she backed around an ancient oak, then headed down the driveway. She didn’t wonder if they watched through the blinds with relief that she was leaving.

By the time she’d reached the intersection with the first paved highway, her breathing was relatively normal. She forced her jaw to relax, then eased her two-fisted grip on the steering wheel. She’d tried and failed. End of story, right? So she could mark that goal off her list and go on to the dozens of goals that remained. Right?