Hell on Wheels: A Loveswept Classic Romance (17 page)

“And when the trip’s over? That’s only a few more days. What happens then?”

He took a deep breath, trying to think of something brilliant and profound to sum up his feelings about that. In the end, he settled for “I don’t know.”

“I don’t either. It would be nice if one of us knew.”

“Can’t we just see how things go?”

“You mean, maybe we’ll be tired of each other by then, and we will have worried for nothing?”

Not in a million years. He didn’t think he could ever tire of Victoria, in or out of bed. She challenged and stimulated him in a way no other woman had.

But there were practical reasons why a long-term relationship between them wouldn’t work. He had obligations, assignments to be completed. He couldn’t drag her around with him to war zones and Amazonian treks even if she were willing, which of course she wouldn’t be. She had a job, a career, and it usually didn’t take her out of Lubbock, Texas.

He had to admit that for the first time in his life, the concept of a committed relationship didn’t seem like a threat. But a tiny aberration in his thinking didn’t mean he’d suddenly been given the temperament to stay with one woman the rest of his life. Finding out if he could do it was an appealing proposition, but he had no intention of using Victoria as a test.

He should tell her now that what they had together, no matter how wonderful it felt at the moment, was fleeting. They should simply enjoy it while they could. He needed to learn to live with himself before he could expect someone else to. Admittedly, that goal didn’t seem so out of reach anymore. But he was a long way from it.

If he was honest with her up front, she would be prepared for the inevitable parting. And so would he.

But somehow he simply couldn’t summon the words he needed. Instead, he held her closer and kissed the
end of her nose. “Let’s let the future take care of itself, huh? Why waste time worrying, I always say.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Victoria said.

No, he was dead wrong. He knew he would spend every waking moment of the next five days worrying, wondering how he would say good-bye to her … how he could ever walk away from her.

Victoria put on a brave face as she closed up the back of the van and said good-bye to her mother. Despite Roan’s reassurances, she was worried about how things would go between them once they left the farm. He seemed edgy, and she wondered if he was tired of storm chasing, and maybe a little tired of her. They’d been with each other constantly for over a week.

Now that he’d captured a tornado on film, would he grow bored and antsy to move on to his next adventure? Now that he’d coaxed her into bed and discovered her most intimate secrets, was he ready to move on to his next conquest? Would their time together be reduced to nothing but memories and weather videotapes?

She knew she was being paranoid. Roan had given her no indication that he was in any way bored with her, and he’d made it quite clear he intended their intimacy to continue as long as they remained together.

But they couldn’t remain together once her vacation
was over. Perhaps that was what troubled her most of all. During her weakest moments she kept trying to envision a lasting relationship with Roan.

She was spinning impossible dreams, she reminded herself time and again. Despite their obvious sexual compatibility, she and Roan weren’t suited to each other. He’d grown up with a father in the military who’d dragged him all over the globe, while she’d been raised on a Nebraska farm. They were at polar opposites when it came to politics; they couldn’t agree on movies. He loved to read thrillers, and she thrived on serious biographies. He would never understand her quiet fascination with meteorology, any more than she could relate to his death-defying adventures.

He smoked, for heaven’s sake.

Didn’t all the experts say that the happiest couples came from similar backgrounds, harbored similar tastes, established similar goals?

Even if she could look past their differences, there was one thing she couldn’t overlook: Roan didn’t value his own life. One of these days he was going to get himself killed, and she refused to be around when he did.

Dammit, she was not going to let all these depressing thoughts ruin the short time they had left together. This was one storm-chasing trip she would remember the rest of her days. Why mar it by mourning what could never be?

“We’re aiming for southeastern Missouri, right?” Roan said, breaking into her thoughts.

She pushed the unpleasant ruminations aside. “Yes.
Ozark country. Not the best terrain for visibility, but we’ll have to live with it.”

“We’ll make better time if we head for Kansas City, then catch 69 South.”

Since they had a lot of miles to cover, Victoria agreed to his plan. He’d proven to be a good navigator, as Amos had guessed. She wondered if Amos had any idea just how good his nephew was at a number of skills, like …

“Are you going to tell Amos about what’s happened between us?” she asked suddenly.

Roan stared at her as if she’d just sprouted horns. “What, are you crazy? If there’s one thing in this world that scares me, it’s the thought of Uncle Amos with a shotgun aimed at my heart. I plan on dying in a much more exotic way.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she said sharply.

“What? Talk like what?”

“Don’t talk so casually about dying.”

“It’s a joke, Vic.”

“I don’t like it when you make light of death, especially yours.” To her horror, a rush of tears filled her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. She pulled over to the side of the road and threw the van in park, then fumbled in her purse for a tissue. What was wrong with her?

Ah, hell, she knew what was wrong. She had fallen in love with Roan Cullen.

“Vic?” he said gently, running one finger up and down her sleeve. “Want to tell me what this is about?”

“I don’t like to think about people I care for, dying.”

“No one does,” he said gently. “But everyone has to die sooner or later. And I guess everyone is at least a little bit fearful of that last day on earth. Maybe joking about it is my way of pretending I’m not afraid.”

“Are you afraid?”

The seconds ticked by in silence, stretching out until it seemed as if time stood still. Indecision played about his handsome features. At last he answered. “Sometimes. Other times I think about the fact that at least it would end the speculation.”

And the pain
, she wanted to add, although she knew he was already thinking the same thing. “I don’t even care to speculate,” she said instead.

Suddenly he smiled. “How did we ever get into such a morbid conversation? Look, I’m sorry if I upset you. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I’ll watch what I say.”

Victoria sighed. He just didn’t get it. She wasn’t worried about her feelings, she was worried about his attitude. She wanted him to value his own life as she valued hers. Maybe in some crazy way she’d believed that she’d given him hope for the future, and that’s why his cavalier words about dying had cut her so.

Silly. Did she think he might fall in love with her and magically transform? Did she dare hope she might give him something to live for?

That was exactly what she’d been hoping for, futilely, it seemed.

“I’m okay now,” she said, wiping away the last of her tears. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I must be
tired … or something.” She reached for the ignition key, but he grasped her hand and stopped her.

“Vic, look at me.”

She couldn’t. She was too afraid he would read the truth in her eyes. He tilted her chin up until she had no choice but to meet his gaze. She did so defiantly.

“I’m not planning to clock out anytime soon, okay? Not when I’ve got nights with you to look forward to. When I’m with you, in bed, I feel safer than anywhere else on earth.”

His reassurance was hardly comforting. Sure, she’d given him a reason to live—for the rest of the week. But a man who challenged death on a regular basis would soon grow bored with feeling “safe” in her arms. And after she was gone from his life…?

Since there appeared to be no hope that he could understand her concerns, she pulled up a smile. She felt anything but safe when they made love. She felt open and fragile and far too vulnerable. But she wouldn’t tell him any of that.

“I’m just being weird, okay? Let’s forget it. Oh, and I agree about Amos. I don’t plan to tell him a thing, so you don’t have to worry about ducking those shotgun blasts.”

They drove hard for several more hours, but the day proved to be a wash.

“I say we hang it up early and buy a bucket of chicken for dinner,” she suggested. “This is great country for a picnic.”

They were on the northern edge of the Ozark Mountains. The gently rolling hills were awash with wildflowers and the temperature was mild. The puffy white clouds, although not good storm-producers, were pretty as they floated gently past like aimlessly grazing sheep in a field of blue. Victoria was glad that there were no tornadoes that evening. She wanted nothing more than to while away lazy hours with Roan, making daisy chains … making love.

Her gaze locked with his, and she knew he’d caught her with her lascivious thoughts. What was worse, she knew he was thinking along the same lines as she, and he wasn’t a bit ashamed. She felt her face growing hot with embarrassment as well as desire.

“Chicken sounds good,” he said mildly, but his wicked smile told her something else.

A few minutes later they found a roadside diner, which by some miracle featured fried chicken to go. With two box dinners filling the van with a delectable smell, Victoria drove out of town the same way they’d come. She remembered seeing a dirt road that meandered off the highway into a thicket of pine trees—perfect for their picnic.

The road was as she remembered it, a twisting, bumpy dirt path that challenged the van’s suspension. She silently apologized to Amos for abusing the Chasemobile.

At last she found the perfect spot, a flat area blanketed in pine needles, overlooking a gurgling creek. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, covering the area in an ever-changing kaleidoscope of dappled sunlight.
She pulled an old blanket from the back of the van and spread it out while Roan fished a couple of not-quite-cold canned drinks from the cooler they’d packed that morning.

Greasy fried chicken and tepid ginger ale. Victoria was stretched out on the blanket, leaning up on one elbow, eating as if this were her last meal, savoring every bite, every moment. And Roan was staring at her as if he wanted to devour her instead of the food.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she said with a saucy half-smile.

“It’s the photographer in me,” he said, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. “It’s the light and shadow, and the way your hair is mussed up just so … stay right there.” He abandoned his dinner and went to rummage around in the back of the van.

Great. She’d thought she was inspiring lust, and instead she’d inspired an artistic endeavor.

Soon she discovered that both art and lust were involved. By now she’d gotten used to Roan snapping candid shots of her. But she’d never purposely posed for his photos, and she resisted at first.

“Look into the camera and pretend it’s me,” Roan coaxed, “and you want to make love to me.”

“I do want to make love to you,” she said in all seriousness. “But not while you’re holding a camera.”

He lowered the Nikon and stared at her, licking his lips, and she thought she had him. She unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse and gave him a come-hither look.

“Yeah, that’s what I want,” he said, quickly bringing the camera up again and snapping off two shots.

“Roan!” She sat up and buttoned her blouse. “Cut that out. I don’t intend to take my clothes off for pictures, and that’s final.”

“Aw, why not?” he asked good-naturedly.

Why not?
Because if at some point in the future he started to miss her, she didn’t intend for those pictures to take her place. If Roan wanted to see her naked, he would have to come to her and get the real thing.

“I’m just not comfortable acting sexy in front of a camera.” She refused to meet his gaze.

He knelt down beside her, his expression full of contrition. “I’m sorry, Vic. You’re so uninhibited in bed, I guess I forgot that you’re rather, um, conventional in other aspects.” He nuzzled her neck. “Come on, we have only a few more minutes of good light. I want to finish up this roll of film—with you fully clothed, don’t worry.”

Now she felt silly for objecting. She briefly caressed his face, and gave him a light kiss. “How about letting me finish up the film? I’ll take pictures of you for a change.”

“Sure, okay.” He put the camera strap around her neck. “Let’s go down by the creek.”

They picked their way carefully down a steep incline until they reached the fast-running stream, its waters skipping and dancing over smooth, round rocks, making a pleasing gurgle.

“What do you want me to do?” Roan asked.

“Do? Hmm. Just do what you normally would, I guess.”

Her instructions were unnecessary. Roan was already contemplating the creek and the natural bridge of rocks that led to the other side. She laughed as he leapt from stone to stone, hamming it up for the camera, pretending to lose his balance and then catching himself.

She halted mid-laugh as she felt a crawling sensation on her left foot. About the time she looked down and saw the anthill she’d been standing in, the ants began stinging with a vengeance.

She shrieked and, without a second thought, bolted for the creek. The moment she hit the ankle-deep water, she slipped on the mossy bottom. Her legs flew out from under her and she fell with a splash onto her fanny, although she did manage to hold the camera aloft and save it from a fatal dunking.

Still holding the camera up, she pulled off her shoe and rubbed at her sock and the leg of her jeans to make sure the nasty little critters were gone.

“Victoria?” Roan stared at her, balancing on one foot and looking so shocked at her behavior that she would have laughed if she hadn’t been so wretchedly cold. “What on earth …”