Beautiful Distraction (3 page)

“No signal,” I say needlessly and drop my cell phone back
into my handbag, which I then toss it onto the back seat amid Mandy’s toiletry
case, several shoeboxes, and countless fashion magazines, all of which she
picked up during our petrol station stopover. For the money, she could have
bought at least two roadmaps. The thought manages to make me even crankier.

We remain silent for a long time. At some point, I consider
asking her to drive back to the gas station, but then decide against it. For
one, she’s taken so many turns that I doubt she’d find her way back before the
rain begins cascading down on us. And second, the gas station is at least a
two-hour drive away. If the weather’s playing along, we have three or four
hours to find a motel before dusk falls.

“I could turn around,” Mandy suggests, jolting me out of my
thoughts.

“No. Just keep going. The road’s bound to take us
somewhere
.” I open my eyes and scan the
sky, worried. The gathering clouds dim the light, bathing the deserted road in
semi-darkness. It’s only four p.m., but it feels as though nighttime is about
to fall. As the car rolls on, the first drops of rain begin to splatter against
the windshield.

Within minutes, the drizzle turns into a raging downpour and
the road begins to resemble a huge puddle of water. The engine is roaring and
the tires keep slipping on the muddy ground. The visibility’s so bad Mandy
slows down the car and leans forward in her seat, fighting to see through the
foggy glass.

“Should we stop and wait this one out?” Mandy asks.

“No. Don’t stop,” I yell to make myself audible through the
noise of the splattering rain. “I fear if we stop, the tires will get stuck in
the mud and no one will ever find us out here. No one can possibly survive on
Twinkies and soda forever.”

“You’re right.” Mandy hits the accelerator, and the engine
thunders in protest. “We’re almost there,” she says for the umpteenth time,
casting another nervous glance at me.

I squint my eyes to make out the road, but it’s too late to
make out the dark silhouette to our right.

“Tree!” I shout.

Instead of swinging left, to the other site of the road,
Mandy turns the wheel sharply to the right, the unexpected impact of hitting
unpaved, muddy earth pushing me against my seatbelt as we barely escape a
collision with a tree.

Thunder echoes in the distance, once, twice, when I realize
it’s not thunder but the spluttering sound of a dying engine.

The car cogs several times…and then stops abruptly.

“That was close.” Mandy leans over the steering wheel,
panting.

“Yeah. You could say that.”

She turns the key in the ignition, but nothing happens. She
tries again. Still nothing.

Double shit.

This isn’t good at all.

“Ava?” The panic in her voice is palpable.

“We’ll be fine,” I lie, even though I know better than to
make false promises. More than likely, we’ll have to spend the night in the
car, huddled together for warmth in the hope that the rain will stop at some
point.

I make a mental note to be mad at her for the rest of our
lives.

I peer out the passenger window into the dark. The sky has
turned black, and the torrential rain makes it impossible to see more than a
few feet ahead.

Except for a road sign consisting of a wood panel that
appears to have cattle carved on it, I have no idea where we are.

“Great. Just great,” I whisper.

We’ll freeze to death.

The thought is so scary I shiver against the coarse fabric
of my jacket and barely dare to look out the window into the pitch black.

Mandy shoots me another nervous look and tries to start the
engine a few more times, without any success.

This is it.

Now we’re really stuck.

“It was worth a shot,” Mandy says, raising her chin
defiantly.

I stare at her in disbelief. “Who the fuck tries to turn
around on an unpaved road with apocalyptic rain pounding on us?”

“At least I’m not sitting on my ass doing nothing.”

Mandy can never shut up. If we continue like this, we’ll be
at it all day and night. Someone has to take the high road—and as usual,
that someone is me.

I bite my lip hard to keep back a snarky remark and decide
to change the subject.

“Did you pack an umbrella?” I ask.

“Yes.” Mandy peers at me warily as she draws out the word.
“Why?”

“There’s no point in us both sitting around and waiting for
a car to drive past because that might never happen, so I’m going to find
someone who can help us.” I draw a sharp breath and exhale it slowly as I
ponder over my decision. It’s a risky one, but what other choice do we have? “I’ll
go back to the road and take the first shift waiting. Let’s hope someone else
decides to ‘take a shortcut.’” I don’t mean to infuse a hint of bitchiness in
my voice, but I can’t help it. “We’re in deep shit. The sooner you realize
this, the greater our chance to make it out before we freeze to death or a
hurricane hits us.”

“Are you crazy?” Mandy asks. “You’ll get lost out there.
We’ll wait out the storm.”

I raise my hand to stop her protest. “Where’s the umbrella?”

For a few seconds, she just stares at me in a silent battle
of the wills. When her shoulders slump slightly and she looks away, I know I’ve
won. She squeezes between the seats and rummages through the stuff scattered
haphazardly on the back seat, then hands me a tiny umbrella—the kind that
you usually carry around in your oversized handbag; the kind that couldn’t keep
you dry from a drizzle, let alone the downpour outside. But the end is pointed
and sharp. It’ll definitely do.

“You can’t use that thing out there,” she says. “The wind’s
too strong.”

“I know. I’m taking it with me in case a wild animal attacks
me and I need protection.”

“A wild animal in Montana? What are you scared of? A cow?”
Mandy lets out a snort. I give her an evil glance that’s supposed to shut her
up—but doesn’t. “Yeah, you’ll poke it to death with that thing.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Now she’s silent.

A flashlight would be extremely helpful, but that’s
something Mandy would never think of packing, so I’ll have to make do without
one of those.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Wish me luck that I find someone,”
I say and jump out of the car before she can protest.

“Be careful!” Mandy shouts after me.

I nod my head, even though she probably can’t see it, and
wrap my jacket tighter around me.

The rain soaks my clothes almost instantly, and a cold
sensation creeps up on me before I’ve even taken a few steps. I suppress the
urge to open the umbrella, knowing it wouldn’t help much against the freezing
wind that makes walking difficult.

Big drops of water are cascading down my face and into my
eyes. I blink against what seems like a bottomless well pouring down on me and
spin in a slow circle as I try to regain any sense of orientation. The road is
barely wider than a path, with what looks like fields to either side, but
that’s about all I can see. The headlights are illuminating the ditch we hit,
but did we spin to the left or to the right? I can’t remember, and any tire
tracks have already been washed away by the water. Basically, I have no idea
which direction we came from, and the pitch black isn’t helping. The main road
could be anywhere.

Dammit.

Suddenly, my emergency plan doesn’t seem so appealing after
all.

We can’t be too far from the main road, so I decide to make
it a brisk ten-minute walk and then turn around and head the other way.

“I can do this,” I mutter to myself in a weak attempt at a
pep talk and start walking down the path. After only a few paces, I realize the
ground conditions make it harder than I anticipated. The slippery mud around my
shoes and jeans weighs me down, and my pulse begins to race from the effort of
lifting my knees up high. It seems as though I’ve walked for miles, which can’t
be because I still see the headlights of our car shining in the distance.

My groan is swallowed by the relentless rain.

That’s when I see the light in the distance. It looks like
the beam of a flashlight. I should be getting back to Mandy to tell her about
it, but I fear if I return to the car, whoever’s holding it might disappear and
I’ll never find out whether rescue awaits us at the other end of it.

“Help,” I scream, but the light ahead doesn’t shift.

As I head closer, I realize it’s not a flashlight but a bulb
hanging from a string, which stirs in the wind, and there’s a whole house
behind it. The pain from plodding around in knee-deep mud forgotten, I quicken
my pace and reach the porch in a heartbeat, then slam my palms against the doorframe
so hard the sound could wake the dead.

Thump.

My fist hammers harder against the wood.

“Hey! We’re stuck out here and need help,” I yell, just in
case my thudding is mistaken for an oncoming hurricane.

The few seconds that pass seem like an eternity. Eventually,
a bolt slides. The door is pried open, and I find myself staring at the
six-foot-two figure of a guy.

My jaw drops open.

He seems oddly familiar.

His hair’s dark and curled at the tips; his strong jaw is
shadowed, as though he forgot to shave this morning, the dark stubble
accentuating his full lips. He’s wearing nothing but tight jeans with the upper
button undone, but that’s not what makes it impossible to pry my eyes off of
his half-clad body to meet his questioning gaze. It’s his familiar face, the
green eyes that are now narrowed in surprise.

“You!” he states. His voice, deep and sexy, sends a shudder
down my spine. Something about his tone rings a bell. Where do I know that
accent from?

It takes me a few seconds before the penny drops.

My heart skids to a halt as I swear all heat is draining
from my body.

Holy. Pearls.

It can’t be. And yet, I know it’s
him
. Or someone who looks just like him: the rich guy with the
expensive car who offered me a handout in exchange for some implied fun between
the sheets. The one I brushed off.

What are the odds?

Even though he’s dressed more casually and his hair is a bit
longer—past the need for a cut, and styled in a casual mess that demands
you run your fingers through it—I see the resemblance straight away. My
gaze brushes over his chest.

The same muscular build.

The same features and hard body, all shrouded in a layer of
mystery, that have been haunting my dreams ever since he bumped his Lamborghini
into my Ford and then offered me a shitload of money because he felt sorry for
me.

Club 69.

That’s where we met three months ago.

And that certainly explains his palpable disdain for me.

He can’t take
rejection.

For the first two weeks, I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
I even started skipping through the gossip pages of various magazines in case
he might be someone rich and famous.

Needless to say, I didn’t find his picture, so I forced
myself to push him out of my system—Mandy made that part almost
impossible.

Of all the places in the world, I had to meet him
here—in the middle of nowhere, with no escape route.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I stare at him, my body frozen in shock. I’m so stunned, for
a moment I’m rendered speechless as we continue to eye each other.

Meeting him here, in the middle of nowhere, feels surreal.

His chest—all hard muscles—is clearly defined
and emphasized by the light bulb dangling over my head. A black snake tattoo
adorns his left arm, which is stretched against the doorframe, as though to
block my way, while the other is clutching at the door, as though ready to slam
it in my face. I look up into eyes the color of storms and realize that’s
exactly what he’s considering doing.

“This is private property. You’re trespassing.” His voice is
raw and gritty, with a strong accent. No ‘How can I help you?’; no ‘Please come
in.’; not even ‘Hi, how are you? Hey, I remember you. You look great, by the
way.’

I stare at him, dumbfounded, until I remember that Mr.
Expensive Shirt has no manners.

He demonstrated it before, and he’s doing it again. My hands
ball into fists, and for a split second, I consider turning around and heading
elsewhere. If only he weren’t the only person around. I can’t afford to offend
him. Not when he’s the only person who can help us.

I grit my teeth and force myself to take slow, measured
breaths.

“I need help,” I whisper, my voice slightly hoarse.

“Say again?”

“Our car’s stuck down the road,” I say and point behind me
in a broad circle because suddenly I can’t remember which direction I came
from.

His shrug is almost unnoticeable as he regards me in
silence. I open my mouth to explain my situation, when he leans against the
doorframe, his posture hostile.

“What do you want?”

“Isn’t that obvious? A hurricane’s coming,” I say slowly in
case he missed the countless weather and safety alerts. Or the pitch-black sky
on an otherwise fine afternoon.

“There are no hurricanes in Montana. Only storms.” He eyes
me with a frown, as though he suspects me of making up some bullshit excuse to
get inside his home and then burgle him. Yeah, I watch the movies.