No Strings Attached

Suddenly the car began making clunking sounds.

“Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

“It sure as hell doesn’t.”

“Why’s the car making that awful noise?”

“Beats me,” Jack replied with a lift of his shoulders. “This is a rental, remember? But it doesn’t bode well for continuing our trip.”

The clunking grew louder, then steam began rising from the hood. Samantha’s eyes widened, her voice filling with alarm. “Is the car on fire? It looks like it’s on fire. Do you think we should get out? I don’t want to burn alive, Jack. Cremation has never been my thing.”

“I don’t think so. My guess is the water pump might be going. We’ll get off the road at the next exit.”

“But it’s Sunday afternoon. There won’t be any mechanics open.”

“Which means we’re going to have to find a motel and have the car fixed in the morning, if we can find someone who works on cars. From the looks of our surroundings, the residents here might still be driving horse-drawn buggies.”

Ever so slowly, they clunked and clanged their way to the next exit and found a seedy motel that sat back amidst a thick cluster of pine trees.

At the sight of it, Samantha made a face of disgust. “This place is right out of Psycho. I don’t want to stay here. It gives me the creeps.”

“We don’t have much choice. It’s the Bates Motel—well, Pine Hollow Lodge—or the car. I’m opting for a bed, no matter what the room looks like. At least we’ll be inside where it’s dry.”

Heaving a deep sigh, she said, “Okay. But if the proprietor looks anything like Norman Bates, I’m not taking a shower.”

SAMANTHA WAITED in the car while Jack braved the elements to rent them a room for the night. When he returned a few minutes later, he was frowning, and she figured the news wasn’t good.

“They’ve only got one room left. Apparently the storm has stranded a bunch of tourists heading north, and they’re full.” Just then, the pink neon Vacancy sign added a big red NO.

“Oh well. At least we’ve got a room. After sitting in this car, contemplating the size of the backseat, I’ve decided to be grateful for that.”

“That’s my girl. I’ll grab the bags. Here’s the key. It’s number eight. Go ahead and unlock the door, I’ll be right in.”

SAMANTHA WANTED TO CRY when she stepped into the motel room, which smelled like stale cigarette smoke.

Hell had better furnishings!

The green shag carpeting covering the floor was threadbare and didn’t look too clean. A brown, stained and torn chenille bedspread did nothing to disguise the lumpy mattress on the one double bed. She stared at the bed for several moments, unable to keep her heart from racing. She and Jack had never slept in the same bed together.

Don’t be stupid! You’re perfectly safe with Jack.

Yeah, but is Jack perfectly safe from me?

Why on earth was she suddenly fixating on Jack? Samantha had never done that before. Well, not for a long time, anyway.