Hell on Wheels: A Loveswept Classic Romance Page 11

“Exasperated, maybe, but never tired of you. You aren’t a boring person, Roan Cullen.”

  Was this possible? Was she actually going to give him a reprieve? “In that case, I definitely don’t want to go back to Lubbock.”

  “Okay. But I warn you, you might not like the alternative. I talked to Amos this morning. He seems to think, and I agree, that if anything develops, it will be north—Kansas, Nebraska, maybe Missouri. Have you ever been to Nebraska?”

  “No.”

  “Well, Nebraska is my old stomping grounds. My mother still lives on the farm where I grew up. I thought we could pay her a visit, keep an eye on the weather from there, and be ready to take off if something does develop. But meanwhile we’ll be comfortable, and we’ll save money on motels. Those are your choices—Lubbock, or my mother’s.” She slammed the van’s back door, then crossed her arms and gave Roan a challenging stare.

  The choice was easy. Anything would have been preferable to returning to Lubbock, but a visit to a Nebraska farm sounded surprisingly appealing.

  “You’re sure your mother won’t mind an uninvited guest?” he asked.

  “Not at all. There’s plenty of room, and she’s a great cook. She’s always complaining that she never gets to cook for anyone but herself, and that’s no fun.”

  “In that case, sure, let’s go for the farm.”

  Victoria nodded, but she looked a bit worried. Maybe she was nervous about his meeting her mother, although she shouldn’t be. It wasn’t as if she were bringing home a new boyfriend. At any rate, he wouldn’t give her anything to worry about.

  Their destination, a town called Eads, was only four hours away. Roan enjoyed the countryside, although Nebraska, when they got there, didn’t look much different from Kansas—flat farmland, old barns and white frame houses, windmills, and little towns that were all blending together in his mind.

  Eads looked just like the others, a wide place on the highway lined with aging storefronts, with more modern buildings, a big discount store, and fast-food restaurants on the outskirts. When they hit Main Street, Victoria turned the van off the highway. They passed a quaint little town square, a generic-looking high school, a well-tended cemetery.

  Victoria offered brief comments about each point of interest. Roan nodded as her honey-smooth voice washed over him, less concerned with the town’s history than he was about the fact that Victoria was no longer mad at him. He wished, for the umpteenth time in as many minutes, that he hadn’t promised not to touch her. But he’d already broken his word once to her, when he’d ignored her attempts to get them out of the way of the tornado. He wouldn’t break another promise no matter how badly he wanted to.

  At last they ended up on a winding tree-lined country road that dead-ended in front of a small, neat white frame house with kelly-green shutters. A large, mongrel-like dog rushed out to meet the van, barking wildly and wagging his whole rear end.

  “This is the place,” Victoria said as she cut the motor. “I hope that famous appetite of yours is in full swing, because Mother will stuff you to the gills.”

  “Great. I’m ready for lunch.”

  A petite woman with frizzy blond hair rushed out on the front porch to meet them, and Roan realized with a start that she was Victoria’s mother. He had pictured someone tall and dignified, an older version of Victoria with silver-streaked hair pulled back in a bun, maybe wearing an apron.

  Nelva Driscoll was a head shorter than her daughter. And she was wearing a tennis dress. She wrapped Victoria in a fluttery hug. “Oh, honey, it’s good to see you. I just this minute got back from my tennis game and got your message.” She turned her blue-eyed gaze on Roan. “And this must be Professor Amos’s nephew. I’m sorry, Victoria neglected to mention your name.”

  “Roan Cullen,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Driscoll.”

  She shook it vigorously, and he got the impression that if he’d been at all encouraging, she would have hugged him. “Now, let’s not be so formal. You call me Nelva. Oh, it’s so good to have both of you here. Victoria, why don’t you get Roan settled in the guest cottage while I take a shower? Then we’ll see about dinner. You haven’t had dinner, have you?”

  “No, Mother,” Victoria said with a fond smile. “I know better than to eat before I get here.” She turned to Roan and added, “She means lunch. In this part of the country, lunch is dinner and dinner is supper.”

  After a few more directives about where to find sheets and towels, Nelva left for her shower. Victoria and Roan got their bags from the van. She left hers on the front porch, then led him along a stone-paved path to a little cabin sheltered in a grove of trees.

  “You have a guest house,” Roan said. “I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be impressed until you see the inside. It actually used to be a caretaker’s cottage. My grandparents lived here for a while when I was little.”

  “Grandparents.” He leaned against the porch railing. “I always wanted grandparents, but they all died before I was born. Are yours still living?”

  “Just one grandpa. He’s ninety-three and lives in a nursing home, but he’s still pretty with it up here.” She tapped her temple with one forefinger.

  “Wow. Ninety-three. I don’t think anyone in my family has lived that long. Uncle Amos holds the record.”

  “If they’re all like you, I’m not surprised,” she quipped, then immediately slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was tacky.”

  “But true. We Cullens do tend to live fast and hard. It’s a family joke that no Cullen is allowed to die of natural causes.” He couldn’t help the bitter edge that crept into his voice.

  She reached above the door frame and retrieved a key. But she paused in the act of unlocking the door. “Your sister who died—was that an accident?”

  Kim. Memories of that awful day had been nibbling at his subconscious since the day before, but rather than dwelling on them, as he usually did, he’d managed to push them aside. Now Victoria’s innocent question hit him in the chest with the force of a cement truck going full throttle.

  An accident? No, it was a deliberate act of negligence. Reckless disregard for safety. “She died scuba diving,” he said gruffly.

  Victoria looked up at him, her expression stricken. “God, that’s awful. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She twisted the key and pushed open the door. “Ugh, it’s musty in here. Let’s open the windows and air it out.” Roan watched her unlock and hurl open every window in the place until she got to one in the bedroom that was stuck. She strained and heaved, breathing heavily.

  He came up behind her. “Let me try.”

  “No! I can get it.”

  He grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her away, knowing her distress wasn’t about the window. “Vic, it’s okay. You haven’t said anything wrong.”

  She folded her arms around herself and hung her head. “Yes, I did. I hate it when people ask me about my father, wanting to know the details of why he died so young. I should know better than to ask morbidly curious questions.”

  “It’s okay,” he said again. “I’m the one who brought up the subject of death in the family. It was a perfectly natural question, not morbidly curious. But it isn’t something I can talk about.”

  “I understand. Consider the subject dropped.” They both went for the window, bumping shoulders. Victoria danced out of the way, as if she’d been branded with a hot poker.

  Roan silently shook his head, understanding just how she felt. Being so close and not being able to touch was eating at him. He’d been around desirable women who were off-limits before, and his solution had always been to get the heck away from them. But with Victoria, he found he was willing to endure the torture of unfulfilled lust just to be near her.

  That said something about her appeal. Or maybe it simply said something about his need for female companionship. How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to enjoy a woman’s company on any level? So long,
he’d forgotten.

  Victoria found a stack of white sheets in the hall cupboard and set about making the bed. Roan tried to help, but every time he looked at her on the opposite side of the mattress, he felt an overwhelming urge to reach across and drag her down to those crisp white sheets. Eventually he settled for putting cases on the pillows, leaving the sheets and blankets to her.

  By the time they returned to the main house, Nelva had changed into jeans and a Texas Tech T-shirt and was attending to several simmering pots on the stove. “I hope you don’t mind leftovers,” she said. “It’s just some sliced roast beef and gravy over rice.”

  “It smells wonderful,” Roan said sincerely. Real home cooking. How long had it been since he’d indulged in that, other than when he’d eaten Victoria’s chicken soup?

  Two of his favorite things, women and good cooking, and he’d been denying himself. Was it accidental? Or had he done it on purpose? What other of life’s pleasures had he deliberately avoided in the past three years?

  “Is there something we can do to help?” Victoria asked.

  “You can set the table,” Nelva said. “And put ice in the glasses for tea.”

  “I can do the ice part,” Roan said.

  Victoria gave him a look that said she was surprised at his sudden streak of domesticity. Well, he could be as civilized as the next guy when he wanted to be. And for some odd reason, at the moment he really wanted to be.

  Lunch was delicious, and Nelva was a delight, although Roan couldn’t recall ever seeing a mother and daughter such polar opposites in looks as well as personality. Nelva was as bubbly as Victoria was reserved. She was a toucher too, constantly reaching across the table to touch Victoria’s arm. She even did that a couple of times with him.

  Nelva inquired after Amos’s health and then asked all about the chase trip so far. When Victoria mumbled something like “Yeah, we saw one little twister, no big deal,” Nelva turned to Roan.

  “It might not be a big deal to Miss Meteorologist over here,” she said in a loud stage whisper, nodding toward her daughter, “but I’ll bet you were thrilled. Was this the first time you ever saw a tornado?”

  “Yes, it was. And it was exciting.” Maybe a little too. “I’ll be interested to see the video footage. In fact … do you have a VCR?”

  “Sure I do. That’s a great idea. Victoria never lets me watch her videotapes.”

  Victoria was shaking her head at Roan, and suddenly he realized why. Good Lord, how insensitive could he be? This woman’s husband had been killed by a tornado, and he was asking her to watch one?

  “Um, maybe later,” he said.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Victoria said at the same time. They both stopped and looked at each other self-consciously.

  “What’s wrong with you two?” Nelva asked. Then she winked and said, “Don’t tell me. You’ve got some X-rated footage mixed up with the storm videos, and you’re afraid it’ll pop up on the TV screen—”

  “Mother! That’s not even—I mean, I never—”

  “Oh, stop blustering.” Nelva nudged Victoria on the arm. She looked at Roan. “Honestly, the girl did not inherit her sense of humor from me.” But she grew more serious as she turned back to her daughter. “Do you think I don’t know why you’ve never shown me your tornado pictures? Victoria honey, your father’s been dead for eighteen years. Sure he was killed by a tornado. But if I got misty-eyed over every storm that passes over, I’d be the gloomiest lady in town. Trust me, watching a movie of a tornado isn’t going to send me into a weeping frenzy. One tornado was responsible for your father’s death, and I can’t hold it against all of them. You don’t, do you?”

  “Well, no,” Victoria agreed. “But sometimes, in certain situations, I still think of him.” Her gaze caught and held with Roan’s for a fraction of a second, and he knew she was remembering when they’d been caught in the hailstorm and she’d felt so helpless.

  “Come on,” Nelva urged, “go get your tapes. I want to see them.”

  Victoria finally consented, and Roan went out to the van to get both tapes. He sat on the couch between Victoria and her mother as they watched. Victoria would have stopped the tape before the part where they got into their argument, but Roan wouldn’t let her. He wanted to burn the scene into his brain—just in case he was ever tempted to forget—so he would never act like such a jerk again.

  Only when Victoria stepped in front of the camera, cursing up a blue streak, did Roan stop the tape.

  “Goodness, Victoria, I didn’t know you could cuss like that,” Nelva said.

  Victoria turned six shades of pink. “I didn’t either. I don’t even remember saying all those things.”

  “Believe me, it was appropriate to the situation,” Roan said, feeling uncomfortable at reliving the scene. But he’d already apologized at least twice, and he wasn’t going to again.

  Nelva laughed. “You know, Roan, I think you’re a good influence on Victoria. I always said she needed to loosen up a little.”

  “Mother, please …”

  Ordinarily Roan would have laughed at Victoria’s discomfiture. But not when he knew he was anything but a good influence on her. The videotape had just reminded him of that.

  Except for a few rough spots, Victoria thought the day went smoothly. Roan was polite, respectful, and thoroughly civilized—everything she’d thought he wasn’t capable of. In short, he wasn’t being himself, and it bothered the heck out of her. She couldn’t escape the feeling that she was responsible for his change of behavior.

  She found herself wishing her mother could see the Roan she knew. The two of them had the same kind of offbeat sense of humor, and she knew her mother would have appreciated his irreverence—more than Victoria herself had in the beginning.

  Roan did loosen up enough to regale her mother with some of his more daring escapades. Since Victoria wasn’t supposed to bolster Roan’s death-defying behavior, she had never encouraged him to talk about his adventures. But Nelva had no such qualms, and she egged Roan on, laughing at the more amusing tight spots he’d gotten himself into, showing appropriate horror over his brushes with death.

  For his part, Roan recounted his experiences matter-of-factly, with none of the swagger she’d expected from him.

  Victoria couldn’t help being fascinated by his stories, but they also scared the bejeezus out of her. How could someone take the gift of life so lightly? Either he’d never outgrown that adolescent belief in immortality, or he just didn’t care. She was beginning to believe it was the latter.

  After an early supper, Nelva suggested they play crazy eights. Victoria was all for it. She hadn’t played that game in years—since high school—and she could remember laughing with her friends over a messy table full of cards. Laughter was such a healing thing.

  But Roan declined. He thanked Victoria’s mother for the fine dinner, made some excuse about wanting to do a little reading, and left for the guest cottage.

  Victoria watched him go, puzzled. What was bothering him? Her mother stared after him, a speculative gleam in her eye. “Where has your professor been hiding this nephew all these years?”

  “Now, Mother, don’t start. Nothing is going on between Roan and me, and nothing will.”

  “Whyever not? He’s gorgeous.”

  “There’s more to life than good looks.”

  “Okay, what’s wrong with him?” Nelva challenged.

  “You have to ask, after listening to those stories of his? He obviously doesn’t sit still long enough to have a relationship. And even if he did—would you want to fall in love with someone who’s probably going to kill himself with those idiotic stunts he pulls?”

  “Victoria honey …” Nelva led her daughter to the couch, and they both sat down. “I married a nice, safe Nebraska farmer, and look what happened to him. You can’t predict these things, and you can’t live in fear of them. If I had somehow known that your father would be taken from me in his prime, I still would have married hi
m. I treasure the years we did have together.”

  Victoria smiled, as she always did when she thought about the strong love between her parents. And that gave her the perfect argument. “Roan and I aren’t in love the way you and Daddy were. I’m not even sure we like each other all that much.”

  “Since you’ve known each other for only four days, I’m sure you’re not in love,” Nelva agreed. “But you could at least give it a chance. You always analyze any halfway decent guy to death, until you come up with a reason why you shouldn’t even give it a try. You’ve been like that since puberty.”

  Victoria sighed. They’d covered this territory before. “Trust me on this one, Mother. Roan and I are as different as night and day. We disagree constantly, we have nothing in common—”

  “Sounds like your father and me,” Nelva said. “You inherited all your caution and common sense from him, you know. I was the crazy one. People thought our marriage would never work.”

  “Mother …”

  “Okay, okay. Do you still want to play cards?”

  “How ’bout we just watch an old movie?”

  Nelva dug out a 1930s screwball comedy with Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant, which gave Victoria a couple of hours of mindless enjoyment. But after her mother went to bed, Victoria’s thoughts turned to Roan again, as they had far too often these past few days. She wondered what he was doing. Was he really reading, or had he simply wanted some time away from her?

  After slipping into a knee-length T-shirt she’d found in a drawer in her old bedroom, Victoria sat cross-legged on her bed and pulled up the latest weather data on her laptop computer. But there was nothing very interesting going on, and more than once she found her gaze straying out the window, where she had a perfect view of the guest cottage. When the lights went off, she pictured Roan lying in the bed they’d made up, the snowy sheets contrasting against his tanned skin. The image sent a shock of awareness coursing through her. When had she become so … so lustful?

  She closed the computer and looked out the window again. This time she saw a faint orange pin of light she knew was the end of a cigarette. He was sitting on the porch, smoking. Alone. In the dark.