Detour Ahead. Cindi MyersЧитать онлайн книгу.
or so, cruising along at a nice safe speed, humming in harmony with Bonnie Rait on the stereo, enjoying the beautiful spring day.
Then one of those nasty orange signs had popped up on the side of the road. One that said Road Construction Ahead. And then an even nastier sign had appeared. Detour.
She’d sat up a little straighter in the seat and told herself she could handle it. All she had to do was follow the signs and she’d end up back on the highway, traveling in the same direction. No problem.
Except she must have missed one of the signs, or maybe they’d forgotten to put one out. She made two or three turns and by that time she was so confused, she couldn’t have said which way was the right way to go.
So she guessed. A dangerous proposition, but the only other alternative was to wake Craig and ask for help. What self-respecting woman wanted to do that? Especially one who had made such a big deal about driving?
She shifted in the seat, trying to get more comfortable, and stared down the road, hoping for a road sign or a billboard or anything to tell her where she was and where she needed to go. But all she saw were empty fields and distant trees. No houses, no people and no signs.
Keep driving, she told herself. You’re bound to come to a town eventually. That’s what roads do. They connect towns.
She glanced at Craig again. His hair was ruffled and dark beard stubble showed along his jaw. She imagined he’d look like this first thing in the morning.
Her imagination quickly stripped him of his shirt, and painted a picture of him reaching for her across the rumpled sheets….
Stop that! She jerked her gaze back to the road, and tried to ignore the very different kind of heat scorching through her body. This was insane. She didn’t usually behave this way with the men she dated. And she had to travel three thousand miles with Craig. She couldn’t keep looking at him like a dieter contemplating the dessert of the day. She was an adult. She ought to be able to control these…these urges, and relate to Craig like another adult. A friend. A very sexy, very male friend.
She stifled a groan and clutched the steering wheel even more tightly. Why couldn’t they have met back in Washington? Gotten to know each other over a few weeks? Then they could fall into bed guilt-free. But not on a cross-country trip when they were still practically strangers.
What did it matter? He obviously wasn’t interested. Oh, his body was, but you couldn’t trust a man’s physical reactions. They could get turned on by pictures in magazines or random hints of certain perfumes. So when she’d come on to Craig back there by the creek, she would have been amazed if he hadn’t responded.
His mind wasn’t interested, though. He’d made that clear up front. He didn’t want any “complications.” Which she figured was a polite way of saying he didn’t want her. Mr. Strictly Business wasn’t interested in Ms. Anything Goes. What else was new?
She passed a house, and then another. A small billboard urged her to shop at Dave’s Auto Parts in Downieville. Half a mile farther a green sign announced that she was entering Downieville, population thirteen hundred. And three. Relief flooded her. She’d stop at a gas station or grocery store in Downieville and ask for directions. She checked Craig. He still slept soundly. With any luck, she could find out what she needed to know and head back in the right direction before he ever realized what was going on.
As she guided the car down the two-lane through the center of town, nostalgia overwhelmed her. Downieville reminded her of Dimmitt, with its mom-and-pop stores, signs in the windows celebrating the accomplishments of the local school teams and flower boxes along the sidewalks. It looked like the kind of place that would be fun to poke around in, if they had more time.
The town was small, but busy for a Saturday afternoon. People filled the sidewalks in front of the neat rows of shops, and traffic was heavy. Cars, trucks, even a fire engine clogged the street up ahead. Had there been an accident? Or maybe there was a big game.
She followed the stream of cars, inching past sidewalks lined with people. Some had even brought lawn chairs and sat down to watch. Some of them waved to her, and she waved back. She rolled down a window, intending to ask a passerby what was going on. Just then, a band started up, trumpets and a big bass drum loud in her ears.
She looked behind her and indeed, a high-school band, complete with a trio of twirlers in leotards, marched in formation behind her car. Beyond them, she could see a truck pulling a trailer decorated with crêpe-paper flowers. Facing forward again, she saw two clowns skipping ahead of her, bunches of balloons in their hands.
The band let out another loud fanfare. “Huh? Wha—?” Craig sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked around, blinking. “Where are we? What’s going on?”
She watched one of the clowns hand a balloon to a giggling toddler. “I think we’re in a parade.” Ahead of them in the traffic, she could make out a red convertible, with a tiara-clad young woman perched on the back seat. She tossed out candy, and the children scrambled for it.
“A parade! Are you crazy?”
“Look in my tote and get that bag of hard candy, will you?”
“What?”
“Just do it.” She smiled and gave her best Miss America wave to the passing crowd.
Craig handed her the candy. “How did we end up in a parade?”
Ignoring him, she ripped open the bag and tossed a handful of candy out the window. It landed short of the sidewalk and children rushed to gather it up. “Smile,” she told him. “Everyone’s watching.”
He looked around, scowl still firmly in place. “I can’t believe this.”
“Here. Throw some on your side.” She shoved candy into his hand. “It’s fun.”
Looking doubtful, he rolled down the window on his side and threw out a handful of candy. One of the clowns strolled over and handed him a balloon. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, but the clown had already moved on to the car ahead of them.
“How sweet!” Marlee laughed at a boy and his dog who watched the parade from the back of a pickup parked at the curb. “Do you need more candy?”
“What I need is to know how we got into this mess,” he said.
“Maybe I thought it would be fun to visit the strawberry festival.” She pointed to the banner stretched across the street in front of them. Downieville Strawberry Festival! it proclaimed.
“Downieville’s not on our route. And we don’t have time for this. We’re already behind schedule.”
“Oh, stuff your schedule!” She spoke without rancor, still smiling and waving to the crowd. All the cars and trucks and floats turned in beneath the sign, which appeared to be the entrance to the local high school.
As Marlee pulled into a parking space and shut off the engine, a round, crinkly-faced man with straw-blond hair and bright blue eyes rushed up to them. “Welcome to Downieville,” he said, thrusting his hand in the open driver’s-side window. “I’m Ed Hoskins, the mayor. I saw you folks get caught up in our parade. Thanks for getting into the spirit of things.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mayor Hoskins. I’m Marlee and this is Craig. You have a wonderful little town.”
“Glad to meet you. And thank you.” He shook both their hands, though Craig continued to frown. “We think Downieville’s a special place. Now y’all come inside and join in the festivities. We’ve got all kinds of craft and food booths. Games. Fun for everyone.” He opened the door and ushered Marlee out.
Craig joined them. “Sir, I—” he began.
“Ed, we’ve got a problem!” A harried-looking older woman rushed up to them. She gave Marlee and Craig a brief smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need the mayor’s help here.”
“Nancy, what is it?” the mayor asked.
“Doc