Night Driving

Jackie would disagree.

“I know you’re the one who shoveled Mrs. Levison’s driveway last winter.” She nodded at the house of the elderly widow next door. “And that you got up at dawn to do it so she wouldn’t catch you and try to pay you.”

“Who, me?” He shrugged. “With this leg?”

“Probably one of the reasons you had to have a third surgery. You can’t stay still.”

Boone winced. She was right. “You’re too darn nosy for my own good.”

Their gazes met.

She raised a hand. “I have to go start packing.”

“Have a safe trip.”

“I’ll come say goodbye before I leave.”

“Okay,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

A small furrow creased her brow. “Are you all right?”

“Never better.”

“You’re such a liar.”

An involuntary smile twitched his lip. “I know.”

She tilted her head, studied him like he was a sad case. “Take care of yourself, Toliver.”

“Same to you, Duvall.” He wished she’d go. Boone didn’t want her watching him limp inside.

He waited until she’d disappeared before he crushed the empty beer can, scooped the bottle of pills off the table and dragged himself into his living room. He dry-swallowed one of the pills and grimaced. He was too antsy to sit, in too much pain to stand and too worried about Jackie to do anything else. He tried calling her again, but she wasn’t answering. He left a voice mail apologizing for what he’d said and asked her to please call him.

He pictured her in Florida, telling her fiancé what a tool her big brother was. Who was Boone to think he had a right to dictate how she should live her life? He had no right, and yet he could not in good conscience let her marry in haste. He’d done it. Lived through the fallout. Didn’t want her to make the same mistake. He had to see her face-to-face. Had to talk to this coastie she seemed hell-bent on marrying.

Things hadn’t been easy for Jackie. Their mother might have stayed with her longer, but that only seemed to have messed with Jackie’s head more. Boone considered himself lucky that he didn’t even remember Miranda.

Jackie, on the other hand, had been ten when Miranda took off, leaving her to be raised by her demanding father. She’d spent her life trying to measure up to Jack Birchard, and she’d told Boone on more than one occasion that the only time she felt truly relaxed were the summers they spent together in Montana at their Aunt Caroline’s lake house. Both of them kept hoping that one day Miranda would show up at her sister’s house, but she never did.

Boone’s dad had married Miranda right out of high school. He told Boone that he couldn’t call the marriage a mistake, because if he hadn’t married her, he wouldn’t have such a wonderful son. Wade Toliver knew how to make a kid feel loved. He’d been a hardworking building contractor who’d scrimped and saved and invested in buying and flipping houses, and then he was smart enough to get out of real estate before the housing bubble hit. With a father like Wade, Boone had barely missed having a mother. His dad had taken him everywhere with him, showing him the ins and outs of home maintenance, teaching him right from wrong.

Yeah. He’d be ashamed of you right now.

Okay. He’d screwed up, but whether his sister knew it or not, Jackie needed his clear-eyed perspective. He had to get to Key West before the wedding and talk some sense into her. He glanced at his watch. Six-thirty on Monday afternoon. That didn’t even give him five days.

His knee felt like it was set in cement. He eased down on the couch. How was he going to get to Key West? During his last surgery, he’d had problems with blood clots, and this time the doctor had told him that under no circumstances was he to fly, and he’d even discouraged long car trips as well. If Boone had to travel by car, he was supposed to stop frequently, get out and move around. But it wasn’t as if he could drive himself all the way to Key West. Hell, he couldn’t even drive himself to the grocery store. Pathetic.

He whipped out his cell phone and did a Google search for the distance from Bozeman to Key West. Twenty-three hundred miles. Approximately a thirty-eight-hour drive, and that wasn’t factoring in any stops.

Dammit. He shoved a hand through the hair that had grown shaggy since he’d left the military.

How was he going to get to Key West? Call a car service? That would cost a frigging fortune. Yes, he had the nest egg his father had left him, but most of that was tied up in investments, and since he hadn’t grown up rich, he was still tight with a dollar.

Which is more important? Money or keeping Jackie from ruining her life?

Jackie. No doubt about it.

He called the only car service in Bozeman and they flat-out told him they wouldn’t drive him to Key West. Now what? Hire someone to drive him? But who?

Too bad he couldn’t find someone to carpool with who was already going to Key W. He could pay for their gas.

Good idea. Great idea, in fact. But where could he find someone from his area headed in that direction ASAP?

Back to the internet.

He’d give it a shot. If he didn’t get a reply by tomorrow morning, he’d try to find someone who could drive him. Pushing himself up off the couch, he lumbered into the spare bedroom that he’d turned into an office. Angling his leg with care, he dropped stiffly into the chair and then booted up his computer.

He placed the ad on a number of sites, figuring it was a long shot. He ate dinner, packed a bag and then spent the rest of the evening fretting about Jackie. He tried calling her numerous times only to discover she’d turned off her voice mail. She was really steamed.

Bullhead. You got yourself into this, you better get yourself out.

He checked for a response to his ads. Nothing. Finally, he went to bed.

Boone woke up at his usual time. Five in the morning. He’d been out of the military for almost nine months, but he couldn’t seem to break the early-rising habit. Routine served him well today. He needed to get a move on if he was going to find a way to Key West by four o’clock on Saturday. Maybe this Scott Everly was the real deal, maybe he wasn’t, but Boone was determined to see for himself firsthand. He hadn’t been able to look after Jackie when they were kids, but he was definitely going to make up for it now.

He had a breakfast of eggs and oatmeal, worked out his upper body with weights, took a shower and then went to the computer with little expectation of a reply. Already he was thumbing through a list of his acquaintances who might be in a position to drive him to Key West. The list was pitifully short.

He opened his email and pop!

There it was. A reply to his ad. Yes. Eagerly, Boone read the message.

I am moving to Miami next week. I can take you that far if your trip can wait until Monday.

Disappointment stiffened his spine. He posted back.

That’s too late. Is there any way you can leave today instead of next week?

He pushed back from the desk, not expecting a quick reply, but the person must have been at his or her computer, because he’d no more than gotten to his feet than his computer pinged, letting Boone know that he had a new message.

Sorry, no, I still have to pack and load my things into a U-Haul. The soonest I could leave would be Thursday afternoon.

Boone did the math. If they left on Thursday afternoon and drove straight through they could arrive in Key West early Saturday morning, but with his knee, there was no way he could ride in the car for thirty-eight hours nonstop. He would have to factor in at least another day. The latest he could leave was Wednesday afternoon. He sat back down and typed.

What if I paid to have someone come pack your things and load the U-Haul today? Could you leave tonight?

Feeling antsy, he hit Send and waited.

Sounds like you have an emergency situation, but Mercury is in retrograde. I try not to travel when Mercury is in retrograde. It messes with travel plans.