I’d seen Zach he was toddling around, so it had definitely been a while.
I had nothing against this kid specifically, but I wasn’t good with them in general. My little kid days with my parents were just blurry images in my head, and Aunt Velma had tried her best, but even though I had been one didn’t mean I could be responsible enough for raising one without serious mental issues.
Velma turned to look at me, disapproval on her face. “Daphne Lane. You don’t like kids?”
“I do.” Sort of. “Don’t they always ask, Are we there yet? over and over?”
Aunt Velma pursed her lips. “Well, that’s true. But it’s only two hours.”
Right, only two hours. Gilligan and his crew went out for three-hour tour and never came back.
“Saddle up!” Goldie called, hopping into the driver’s seat.
JT hadn’t said a word, hadn’t gotten near us. I had a feeling he wanted to be anywhere on the planet besides riding in a metallic pickle with two borderline geriatric women, a woman he’d Tased and a kid holding a garden gnome and a pee bottle. Climbing in and shutting the door behind him had to be one of the hardest things he ever had to do.
Even though he was a complete jerk, I sympathized because I felt just about the same way. Although, it was going to be pretty dang hard not to jump his bones with his fabulous scent filling the closed space for several hundred miles. It was possible the pheromones he pumped out would pull Goldie and Aunt Velma right out of menopause.
Goldie took the driver’s seat, Aunt Velma claimed shotgun, with Zach sitting behind Aunt Velma in a chair I hadn’t noticed before, which dropped from the wall like a jump seat for a flight attendant on an airplane. He was all buckled in safely and the three of them were gabbing away.
JT and I sat on the bench seats farther back, me behind the small table, him, with his legs stretched out, across from me. “You know this is all your fault,” he said bitterly.
“Me?”
“You ran over my motorcycle.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I leaned forward, bracing my forearms on the table. “You made me miss my plane. If you had just let me go, I’d be somewhere over the Pacific Ocean right now and I wouldn’t have hit your flipping motorcycle. And I wouldn’t be riding in this RV either.”
I had a point and by the hard set of his jaw, he knew it. “It’s still your fault.”
I rolled my eyes as I tucked my earbuds in, hoping to drown him out with music from my iPod.
Once we got on the interstate, we started to make progress, but very slowly. The pickle couldn’t handle the hills on the east side of town, and of course we had to cross Bozeman Pass to get out of the Gallatin Valley. We were going so slow even a combine passed us in the left lane.
I, of course, made no mention of this since it wouldn’t help us go any faster, so I pulled out my e-reader and buried my nose behind it, pretending to enjoy a book.
“Jesus, I could walk up this hill faster,” JT grumbled, loud enough I could hear it over my music.
A truer statement had never been said. Even me, who only ran when chased by an axe-wielding murderer, could have scaled the steep highway faster. It was almost impossible to be patient when my life was moving forward at twenty miles an hour.
By the time we started our descent at the top of the pass, I really had gotten into my book and only looked up when we were slowing at the end of an exit ramp.
“Why are we getting off the highway?” I called forward.
Aunt Velma glanced over her shoulder. “It’s a Trekker Truck Stop. When you get a large drink you pay once and get free refills at every one along the way.”
Goldie maneuvered the RV into the large lot and parked in a pull in/pull out spot. The place was huge—rows and rows of gas pumps, more eighteen-wheelers than I could count. The large sign boasted All-u-can-eat buffet for $4.99 and free hot showers with purchase .
“Stay with me, Zach. You three, this
I had nothing against this kid specifically, but I wasn’t good with them in general. My little kid days with my parents were just blurry images in my head, and Aunt Velma had tried her best, but even though I had been one didn’t mean I could be responsible enough for raising one without serious mental issues.
Velma turned to look at me, disapproval on her face. “Daphne Lane. You don’t like kids?”
“I do.” Sort of. “Don’t they always ask, Are we there yet? over and over?”
Aunt Velma pursed her lips. “Well, that’s true. But it’s only two hours.”
Right, only two hours. Gilligan and his crew went out for three-hour tour and never came back.
“Saddle up!” Goldie called, hopping into the driver’s seat.
JT hadn’t said a word, hadn’t gotten near us. I had a feeling he wanted to be anywhere on the planet besides riding in a metallic pickle with two borderline geriatric women, a woman he’d Tased and a kid holding a garden gnome and a pee bottle. Climbing in and shutting the door behind him had to be one of the hardest things he ever had to do.
Even though he was a complete jerk, I sympathized because I felt just about the same way. Although, it was going to be pretty dang hard not to jump his bones with his fabulous scent filling the closed space for several hundred miles. It was possible the pheromones he pumped out would pull Goldie and Aunt Velma right out of menopause.
Goldie took the driver’s seat, Aunt Velma claimed shotgun, with Zach sitting behind Aunt Velma in a chair I hadn’t noticed before, which dropped from the wall like a jump seat for a flight attendant on an airplane. He was all buckled in safely and the three of them were gabbing away.
JT and I sat on the bench seats farther back, me behind the small table, him, with his legs stretched out, across from me. “You know this is all your fault,” he said bitterly.
“Me?”
“You ran over my motorcycle.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I leaned forward, bracing my forearms on the table. “You made me miss my plane. If you had just let me go, I’d be somewhere over the Pacific Ocean right now and I wouldn’t have hit your flipping motorcycle. And I wouldn’t be riding in this RV either.”
I had a point and by the hard set of his jaw, he knew it. “It’s still your fault.”
I rolled my eyes as I tucked my earbuds in, hoping to drown him out with music from my iPod.
Once we got on the interstate, we started to make progress, but very slowly. The pickle couldn’t handle the hills on the east side of town, and of course we had to cross Bozeman Pass to get out of the Gallatin Valley. We were going so slow even a combine passed us in the left lane.
I, of course, made no mention of this since it wouldn’t help us go any faster, so I pulled out my e-reader and buried my nose behind it, pretending to enjoy a book.
“Jesus, I could walk up this hill faster,” JT grumbled, loud enough I could hear it over my music.
A truer statement had never been said. Even me, who only ran when chased by an axe-wielding murderer, could have scaled the steep highway faster. It was almost impossible to be patient when my life was moving forward at twenty miles an hour.
By the time we started our descent at the top of the pass, I really had gotten into my book and only looked up when we were slowing at the end of an exit ramp.
“Why are we getting off the highway?” I called forward.
Aunt Velma glanced over her shoulder. “It’s a Trekker Truck Stop. When you get a large drink you pay once and get free refills at every one along the way.”
Goldie maneuvered the RV into the large lot and parked in a pull in/pull out spot. The place was huge—rows and rows of gas pumps, more eighteen-wheelers than I could count. The large sign boasted All-u-can-eat buffet for $4.99 and free hot showers with purchase .
“Stay with me, Zach. You three, this
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