A Great Kisser (4 page)

“Why don’t we get on the road, so you can tackle what comes next?”

“Yes,” she murmured, falling into step beside him, feeling, suddenly, like she might have to scramble to catch up, in more ways than one. “Why don’t we.”

S
he was nothing like he’d expected.

Not that he’d had any expectations, or given it any thought, really. But he must have formed some opinion, because he’d been surprised when she’d stepped out of the commuter and run across the tarmac.

Given Ruby Jean’s description of the workaholic, no-nonsense, no-life, thirty-something, he guessed he’d pictured someone tall, thin, tight-faced, and humorless.

Lauren Matthews wasn’t close to matching any of those descriptions. She was short, curvy in all the right places, and her self-deprecating humor had been a welcome surprise. Caught in a downpour, she’d more or less just shrugged it off and dealt with the less-than-flattering consequences. It was probably the freckles that had done him the rest of the way in. The rain had streaked off whatever makeup she’d had on, revealing a surprising scatter of them across her nose and cheeks. Sun kisses, Ruby Jean had called them when she was little. It had been a long time since he’d thought of that. It had made him smile then, and made him want to smile now.

They’d been on the road for a little over an hour now, but the combination of the noise the rain was making, pounding on the roof of Teddy’s truck, the repetitive squeak of the windshield wipers, and the loud rumble of the engine had kept conversation to a minimum. He should have been relieved. Ruby Jean was the chatty sibling. He enjoyed his solitude and the peace and quiet that allowed him to do, think, or just be, without distraction. It’s why he loved to fly.

But he found himself more curious about his passenger than he’d expected to be. The few times he’d stolen a glance in her direction, or commented on this mountain name or that mountain pass, she’d smiled and nodded, but otherwise she seemed mostly lost in her own thoughts. He remembered what Ruby Jean had said, about the estrangement between mother and daughter. Lauren had been a little prickly when he’d mentioned her mom by name. He imagined her comments about this trip not being a necessarily fun one for her were probably tied to that. He’d also meant what he said about not getting involved, but with nothing better to do than think at the moment, he found himself spending most of the drive thus far thinking about her.

RJ had said their problems started when Charlene had eloped with Arlen. His guess was the daughter didn’t approve. Either of the elopement, or of Arlen, he wasn’t sure. Jake didn’t have an opinion on whirlwind romances, except to know he didn’t have them, and therefore really didn’t understand why any two people would be in such a rush to get to the altar. If it was right, waiting a few months, or years, certainly wasn’t going to change that. And the more a person knew, the better prepared they’d be to make such a monumental decision. At least that’s what made sense to him. But he didn’t begrudge anyone else rushing. As long as they weren’t rushing him.

However, if her problem was with Arlen personally, well…Jake couldn’t fault her on that. Not that she’d asked, or that he’d offer up the opinion. He’d keep his word to Ruby Jean. Besides, he wanted no part of whatever drama was playing out with Cedar Springs’ First Couple. Just because Arlen Thompson had always struck him as the kind of man who held only his own interests as sacred, and would sell his grandmother’s pearls if he thought it would help him advance his cause—and anyone was a fool if they thought his cause had anything to do with putting others’ needs before his own—didn’t mean he couldn’t be a good partner or spouse. Jake had a really hard time imagining it, that’s all. Not that he cared enough to share that opinion with anyone. He just steered clear and went about taking care of his own business. In fact, Cedar Springs would probably be a lot better off if more folks did the same.

Jake found his gaze sliding over to Lauren. Again. She was staring out the side window, thoughts far away from her immediate company if her pensive expression was anything to judge by. He wondered what she was thinking about, what, specifically, she was worried about, but caught himself before he actually gave in to the urge to ask if there was anything he could do. He had a laundry list of things to think about and worry over. Lauren Matthews was not on that list, nor would she be.

He thought about Ruby Jean’s idea that what Lauren needed was a little loosening up. And that she’d thought her older brother would be the perfect guy to do the loosening. If he hadn’t been enduring his sister’s attempts to match him up with any woman who dared linger long enough for Ruby Jean to discover she was single, he might have been offended by the implication. But Ruby Jean didn’t have a mean-spirited bone in her body. In fact, all she’d ever wanted, since the age of thirteen when she’d been very abruptly left with only a big brother to take care of her, was for everyone in her immediate orbit to be content and happy.

And, from the moment he’d hit thirty without a “prospect on the horizon” she’d begun searching in earnest, despite the fact that he’d done everything to assure her that he was perfectly content and happy to remain just as he was.

But, of course, RJ was having none of that. And now she was hell-bent on fixing her boss’s marital problems. Jake figured he should be thankful for the distraction, as it meant he’d be spared for the time being. Except now she was dragging him into it, likely hoping to kill two birds with one matrimonial stone.

“I’m really sorry.”

“What?” Jake looked over at her. She hadn’t spoken in so long, the sudden sound of her voice had caught him off guard. “Why?”

“Oh…no, you just—you sighed. And I was apologizing for being the reason you were dragged away from whatever it was you were doing to come and pick me up.”

“It wasn’t that. My thoughts were…elsewhere.”
As yours seem to be
, he wanted to say but didn’t. “It was probably just as well I stepped out when I did. Another ten minutes and I might have done more harm than good trying to fix that damn manifold regulator.”

She smiled. “What’s a damn manifold regulator?”

His lips curved, naturally, easily. It felt good. Shouldn’t have been so surprising. He’d always thought he was a pretty upbeat person, but just in the short time he’d been around her, he was realizing the smiles must have been a bit fewer and farther between of late than he’d realized. Ruby Jean had complained that he’d been too stressed out lately, but with everything currently on his plate, stress was unavoidable. Still, he hadn’t thought it had been getting to him as much as it apparently had. “It’s one of many engine parts that keeps my P-51 Mustang in the air.”

“Well, then it’s probably just as well you did step out. What kind of plane is a P-51? Crop duster or something?”

His smile turned wry. “Or something. They were flown in World War II. I race one.”

She turned to face him more fully. “Really. I didn’t know people raced airplanes.”

A quick glance over at her showed the color was coming back into her cheeks, making her freckles less stark. Her hair had started to dry, and he noticed she had a lot more of it than he’d realized. It hung to her shoulders, almost poker straight, but in a kind of thick, shiny, brown waterfall. He wondered if it felt as silky as it looked.

Flexing his grip on the steering wheel, he looked back to the road. Which was where his mind should be. And not on any part of Ms. Lauren Matthews. Even if he were to entertain any ideas about her, in any way, two things would stop him. One, his baby sister did not need even the slightest bit of encouragement. And, two, Lauren was Arlen’s stepdaughter. “Some folks do,” he said at length, realizing she was waiting for him to respond.

“Just antique planes, or others?”

“All kinds. Sort of like car racing, there are different types, different sports. It varies country to country. I only race the Mustang. It was a renowned fighter plane. In fact, the car was named after the plane.”

“I didn’t know that, either. Wow, that’s so wild. About the racing, I mean. So it’s an international thing?”

He nodded. “The first organized races started back in the twenties in Europe, different form, different planes, of course. Some races were ‘get from Point A to Point B the fastest’ kind of races and others were through a marked course.”

“Is that what you do? The course?” When he nodded, she added, “What kind of course? I mean, obviously it’s in the air; how is it marked?”

For someone who had spent the entire time lost in her own thoughts, her sudden interest and chattiness were surprising, but seemingly quite sincere. Perhaps they both could use a detour from their personal musings. And he never minded talking on this particular subject to anyone who was interested. Which wasn’t often, unless they were a fellow racer. Or one of his students. Most women of his acquaintance thought it was an interesting hobby, but glazed over if he actually started to get into specifics. He wondered how long it would take before Lauren did the same. “There are what amount to huge pylons that form gates that you actually fly between.”

“So, rather low to the ground, then?”

The curve of his smile deepened. “Low and fast.”

“Sounds pretty intense.”

“It is that. The division I fly in is called the unlimited class.”

“Which means?”

Now he grinned as he looked at her. “That we go really fast.”

Her gaze caught his and hung there, as if he’d snagged it. But her smile was bright enough to light up her eyes. “A need-for-speed guy.”

“Fair description.”

“Adrenaline junkie?”

“Plane junkie. Flying junkie. The adrenaline comes free of charge.”

She laughed. “How long have you been doing it? How did you get started?”

“My grandfather got me into it when I was little.”

Her eyes widened. “How little is little?”

“He raced and I watched. But I knew from very early on that I was going to get up in one myself.”

“Do you both race then? That’s pretty cool, actually.”

“We did. And it was. The best, actually. He died a little over twelve years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I am, too. We all were. Heart attack. He was healthy like an ox, so no one saw it coming. He ran a flight school—we ran it together at that point—and along with that, I inherited the Mustang. It took a long while before I could get her back up in the sky, but for the past five years, we’ve raced every September. So, I race her for us both. I think he’d be pretty happy with that.”

Which was another reason Jake was stressed. He’d finally gotten
Betty Sue
to be a contender, which would have made Patrick McKenna fiercely proud and more than a little smug, as he’d been handed defeat after defeat with a plane he knew could be a champion but simply couldn’t afford to fix it up the way he needed to.

But his grandchildren had come first in those days, about whom he was also fiercely proud. He’d taken good care of the two of them, all things considered, which was a lot, given his own wife had passed on only five years before his only son and daughter-in-law—Jake and Ruby Jean’s parent’s—were taken in a car accident on a snowy mountain pileup. He hadn’t the first clue what to do with a heartbroken seven-year-old girl and an angry fifteen-year-old boy. But, in the end, he’d done right by both of them. And it was because of him that, six years later, they’d known how to handle life when he was taken from them, too.

So, Jake would be damned if he lost out now because he couldn’t convince his sponsors that
Betty Sue
could be ready come race time. This was his year. Their year. He was going to bring the title home.

“I’m sure he’d be very proud. I think it’s great that you’re carrying on the tradition. And sorry I’ve kept you from working on it. I can imagine it takes a lot of your free time. Or is that how you earn a living now?” She held up a quick hand. “Sorry, that’s none of my business. I just didn’t want to assume you couldn’t. Do that. Race planes, I mean. For a living. I know nothing about racing, so for all I know you’re the rock star of the circuit, living the high life. I just—I didn’t mean to insult you, is all I’m saying.” She laughed and he glanced over to see her looking down, shaking her head with a rueful smile on her face. “And to think I’m the one the senator relies on to put words in his mouth when I can’t even string mine together for two seconds without sounding like a total flake.”

“You write speeches?”

“Sometimes. I write a lot of media statements. I also get coffee, keep track of every Senate and House vote, pick up the dry cleaning, book travel and events, and figure things out like where is the best place to have your Gordon setter personally trained.” She grinned. “Toby MacLeroy. In Arlington. In case you ever needed to know.”

His lips quirked again. “I’ll make a note of it.”

“It’s a glamorous life. Somehow I managed.”

He looked back at the road in time to see the sign for tight curves ahead. And wondered why people didn’t come with such easy to interpret warnings. Lauren was throwing curves at him right and left. Seemingly without even trying.

“You were right,” she said, after the silence had extended a bit longer. “About the rain.” She turned back to the window on her side of the truck. “And the mountains. They are awe inspiring. I’ve traveled, but never in anything like this. And to think they’re right here, in our own country.” She laughed. “That sounded kind of idiotic, but—”

“I know what you mean.”

“Have you traveled? Do you race in other parts of the country? Or the world?”

“I just do the one race in Reno every fall. With running the school, it takes pretty much the full year to get ready for that.”

“Do you have help?”

“A little. Mostly old friends of my grandfather’s who come and help out. When the race gets closer, I have friends who come in to help with the final round of prep, testing, that sort of thing, and crew for me during race week.”

“It’s a lot of work for one race.”

“It’s a series of races over the course of a week, but yes, just the one event.”

“Would you enter more of them if you could?”

He shook his head. “This is pretty much the only one of its kind. It’s enough for me. My grandfather also used to do all kinds of exhibitions, county fairs, air shows, that sort of thing, when he could get away. It’s a popular sideline for pilots and owners and not a bad way to earn some extra income.”