Hell on Wheels: A Loveswept Classic Romance Read online

  Well, it was a cinch his rafting exploits weren’t impressing her, which was rather refreshing. He sampled the soup. “Mmm, this is great, Vicky.”

  A cold wave seemed to descend on the room, and Roan knew darn well no one had turned on the air-conditioning. Everyone grew very still.

  “My name’s Victoria, not Vicky,” she said, her voice crisp.

  “Oh, sorry. I’ll try to remember, but nicknames just sort of pop out of my mouth. Most people like them, right, Unc?”

  “I don’t,” she said.

  Amos frowned disapprovingly, but Roan wasn’t sure whether his uncle was displeased with him, with Victoria, or both of them.

  “So, what time do we leave tomorrow?” Roan asked, diplomatically changing the subject.

  Amos laid down his spoon. “Roan, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m hanging on to life by a thread. My sinuses are on fire, my eyes are practically swelled shut, and my lungs sound like a calliope. I’m also running a hundred-and-one-degree fever, last I checked. I’m not going anywhere for at least a week.”

  “You mean you’re canceling the trip?” Roan’s disappointment was keen. Although he wouldn’t have minded a day or two to recharge his batteries, the thought of canceling the whole trip depressed him. For years he’d wanted to go storm chasing with his uncle, and this was the first time Amos had ever consented to let him come along. He might not ever get another chance to see a tornado up close and personal.

  “No, not exactly. You and Victoria can go without me. She needs a chase partner and you need a guide. The arrangement should work out perfectly—provided, of course, that Victoria agrees.” Amos exchanged a meaningful look with his protégé.

  Roan could have kicked himself clear to Katmandu. Now he really regretted the gold-digger comment, and he shouldn’t have called her Vicky either. His fate rested in her hands, and judging from the black looks she kept aiming his way, the prognosis wasn’t good.

  “I’ll get my stuff from the car,” Roan announced decisively. He left the kitchen, but not before giving Victoria a long, almost challenging look.

  She was glad to see him go. She would be relieved of his overwhelming presence for a few minutes anyway.

  “You could at least be civil to the man,” Amos scolded.

  “Civil? He’s lucky I didn’t ‘accidentally’ dump that soup down the front of his shirt. He called me a gold digger!”

  Amos’s bushy white eyebrows drew together in an expression of incredulity. “Gold digger! Good Lord, I thought I’d laid that stupid rumor to rest years ago.”

  “It’s okay,” Victoria said quickly, before the professor got all excited and worked himself into another coughing attack. “He corrected himself. Said if I was after your money, I would have married you by now or moved on.”

  Amos laughed uproariously at that, prompting a series of hacking coughs anyway. “And what a catch I’d be too,” he said when he’d recovered. “Don’t worry, missy, I think Roan was just rattling your cage. He doesn’t mean any harm. You’ll take him along, won’t you?”

  Victoria tried not to look at Amos, at those hopeful, red-rimmed eyes. After all he’d done for her, how could she turn down such an earnest request? “I haven’t decided,” she said once again. “Amos, can you in good conscience send me off for two weeks alone with your nephew? At the very least he’ll drive me crazy. At the worst he’ll distract me so badly I’ll make a dumb decision and get us both killed.”

  “Now, missy, I’ve never seen you get even a little rattled during a chase, and I don’t believe you’ll start now, no matter how, er, distracting my nephew might be.”

  “Distracting” didn’t even begin to describe Roan Cullen, Victoria thought.

  “Besides,” Amos continued, “he might turn out to be a better chase partner than you think. I’ll wager he’s a great navigator, and you can’t argue with his photographic skills. He’ll blow both of us away in that area.”

  “Please, let’s not talk about getting blown away.”

  Amos chuckled briefly, but then his expression grew somber. “If you don’t want to chase with Roan, I suppose I could find someone else for him to ride with. Those two kids from the university, John Higgenbotham and Dave Devors. They’re always looking for someone to finance their chase trips, and I’ll warrant Roan would front the money.”

  Victoria shivered at the thought of those three on the road together. “John and Dave? Neither of them can forecast their way out of a paper bag, and when they’re lucky enough to find a storm, their main objective seems to be to punch right through the middle of it and do as much damage to their car as possible.”

  Amos frowned. “Hmm, you’re right. Roan would only encourage them to be irresponsible. Any other suggestions?”

  “What about Eddie and Marilyn Dunne?”

  Amos shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to Eddie. You know how Marilyn is. She likes to chase something besides storms, and she’d be on Roan like mold on cheese.” Amos sighed. “Oh, well, maybe next year. I hope he doesn’t decide to take off on his own to chase storms. He knows just enough about it to get himself in real trouble.”

  Victoria couldn’t stand to hear the defeat in Amos’s voice. “Oh, all right!” she said, wondering what she was getting herself into. “I’ll give it a try. But if Roan doesn’t behave himself, I’m coming straight home.”

  Amos beamed. “That’s my girl. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

  They suspended their conversation when Roan came back inside carrying a cardboard box full of dirty laundry. “Okay if I use your washer and dryer, Unc?” he asked.

  “Sure. It’s out on the back porch.”

  “I remember.”

  Victoria watched him walk through the kitchen. She couldn’t help herself. He had a certain aura about him that drew the female eye. It wasn’t just his taut body either. It was more a sense of quiet but dangerous layers that hid just below the happy-go-lucky surface.

  She realized Amos was talking to her.

  “… leave the dishes and go watch the Weather Channel. I want to see what’s cooking for tomorrow.”

  They sat together on the couch in the living room. Amos made notes on the photocopied blank maps he always kept at the ready. Victoria stared at the screen, but her attention was on the sound of running water and off-key whistling coming from the back porch.

  “Just one thing I should warn you about,” Amos said quietly, his eyes on the screen as he penciled in fronts, wind direction, and high and low pressure zones.

  “Just one?” she said dryly.

  “No matter what happens, don’t let Roan drive.”

  TWO

  It felt great to indulge in a real, hot shower, Roan thought as the stinging spray pelted his shoulders and cascaded down his body. Before the raft race, he’d been on assignment for National Geographic, camping in West Virginia with a group of scientists studying black bears. Baths in a nearby river, plus an occasional shave with a battery-powered razor, had kept him reasonably well-groomed, but nothing could compare to a close shave and the hot spray and steam from good ol’ indoor plumbing. This was the second shower he’d taken since his arrival in Lubbock the day before.

  He didn’t even mind the razor nick he’d inflicted on his chin.

  When he emerged from the bathroom, he heard voices coming from Amos’s office, otherwise known as “Tornado Central,” and he meandered to the open doorway to see what was going on. Amos and Victoria were hunched over a group of maps, seeming to do battle with handfuls of colored markers. Their conversation made little sense to Roan; something about “convergence” and “diffluence” and “upper-level wind velocities” and “millibars,” whatever those were. They’d been arguing good-naturedly since Victoria’s arrival an hour before.

  “So, how’s it look?” he asked.

  They both turned, and he found he liked the way Victoria stared and her cheeks pinkened.

  “Roan, for heaven’s sake, put some clothes on,” Amos blustered.
“There’s a lady present.”

  Yes, Victoria was a lady all right, a class act down to her indigo jeans, obviously new, and cotton blouse with little rosebuds embroidered on the collar. Only a true lady would blush at a man wrapped fairly decently in a towel. “What kind of clothes should I put on?” he asked innocently. “I wasn’t sure what was appropriate for storm chasing.”

  “Anything comfortable,” Victoria answered, quickly recovering her poise. “We’ll spend most of our time in the car. And bring a jacket.” She turned her attention back to her maps.

  He had a long way to go before winning over Ms. Victoria Driscoll, he realized, looking forward to the challenge. At least she hadn’t decided to cancel the trip. If she were willing to spend two weeks in a car alone with him, she must not despise him too thoroughly.

  He retreated to the guest room and plucked a pair of tiger-striped briefs from a pile of freshly washed laundry. “For you, Vicky,” he murmured, grinning.

  He wasn’t planning to make a play for her; Amos would knock him silly for even thinking about it. But she was an intriguing package, so solemn and scientific. He couldn’t imagine what she was hiding behind those changeable hazel eyes. Trying to guess would give him something to think about during the long hours in the car to come.

  After climbing into his oldest, most faded pair of jeans and another T-shirt from his almost endless supply, he quickly folded several changes of clothes and stuck them in his duffel, along with his travel kit. If there was one thing he could do quickly and efficiently, it was pack. His camera equipment would take up more room than his clothing.

  He stopped long enough to run a comb through his wet hair, ruthlessly pulling out several tangles. How long had it been since he’d really examined himself in the mirror? he wondered. He was leaning a bit toward the caveman look, but he supposed there wouldn’t be time for a haircut today. It was past nine o’clock. He was surprised they weren’t already on the road, but Victoria hadn’t behaved as if she were in any particular hurry.

  He carried his things out and set them by the front door, ready to roll at a moment’s notice, then checked in again with Tornado Central. Amos and Victoria were now staring at a radar display on a television set, discussing something about a slow-moving front and a dry line and where the “triple point” was likely to be by midafternoon. Another weather map was displayed on Amos’s computer.

  “So, how does it look?” Roan asked for the second time. He never really got an answer the first go-round.

  “Pretty marginal,” Amos said.

  “Dismal,” Victoria added.

  “Does that mean we’re not going?” Roan was surprised at the pang of disappointment he felt. Only yesterday he’d been wishing for a couple of days off to recharge his batteries. But today he found himself eager to be on the road again.

  “Oh, we’ll go,” Victoria said resignedly. “We might be taking pictures of cactuses and lizards instead of tornadoes, but there’s always a chance.”

  “Yeah, there’s always a chance,” Roan repeated, holding eye contact with her.

  Her eyes widened slightly, as if she couldn’t quite believe her ears or the cocky, flirtatious grin he gave her. She stared at him so long, in fact, his grin faded and he was the one who looked away first.

  “Your chin is bleeding,” she said.

  “Mmm.” He grabbed a tissue from the box Amos carried everywhere with him, and dabbed unconcernedly at the shaving nick. “Is there time for breakfast?”

  “More time than we need,” Victoria said. “I made some bran muffins this morning. They’re in the kitchen. There’s orange juice too.”

  “Bran muffins?” Roan repeated with just a touch of skepticism as he stood aside to let the other two exit the office.

  Amos surreptitiously punched him in the arm with more force than a sick old man ought to be capable of. But it caught Roan’s attention and prevented him from adding, Blech. What he wanted for breakfast were some eggs and bacon, pancakes, maybe French toast, but that didn’t mean he ought to insult Victoria’s offering. Given her underwhelming enthusiasm for his company, she might be looking for any reason to call off the whole trip.

  The muffins, laced with cranberries, weren’t half bad, especially with a heavy coating of butter and three cups of coffee to wash them down. But Roan still craved a healthy dose of cholesterol. After camping with those bear-watching people, who acted as if they’d never heard of refined sugar, caffeine, or white flour, much less alcohol or tobacco, he’d had it up to the gills with healthy living.

  “Well, I guess we ought to get on the road,” Victoria said with a baleful face. She looked like she was headed for a jail sentence instead of her vacation.

  Amos ceremoniously handed her the keys to his van. “Take good care of her.”

  “I’ll be careful. And if there’s any damage, I’ll pay for it.”

  “Oh, now, missy, that’s not necessary. It’s about time Chasemobile II got christened with a few hail dents. Just”—his gaze darted toward Roan and back—“just remember what I said.”

  Roan knew Amos’s veiled reference had something to do with him, but he chose to let it pass. Amos had probably warned Victoria not to let Roan take advantage of her, or some such nonsense. Amos was awfully protective of his protégé, even if they weren’t romantically involved.

  “This is some fancy equipment you have here,” Victoria commented as they loaded Roan’s things into the back of the van. He certainly hadn’t scrimped when it came to his video camera, which was an even more recent model than Amos’s.

  “It’s my living. I try to stay up-to-date, except for that old Nikon. It was made back before everything went electronic. No bells or whistles, but it’s the best camera for a flood or rainstorm. It won’t short out if it gets wet.”

  “Like in a hurricane?” She pointedly eyed his HURRICANE ANDREW BLEW ME AWAY T-shirt, noticing the way the thin red cotton stretched across his chest and the sleeves rode up high on his biceps. The thing had obviously shrunk in the wash. Surely he hadn’t bought it that snug on purpose.

  Or maybe he had. She had to drag her gaze away.

  “Most of my pictures of Andrew were taken from inside a car,” he replied, seemingly oblivious of her appraisal. “You ever seen a hurricane?”

  “No, and I don’t plan to. There’s no challenge chasing a hurricane. You always know where it is. Anyone who can’t get out of the way of one is just asking for trouble, in my opinion.” She knew she was being too critical of him, and she vowed to watch herself more closely in the future. Her job was to gently prod Roan to see things her way—not antagonize him.

  He didn’t seem to take offense. “Maybe so, but nothing compares to a firsthand encounter with those one-hundred-sixty-mile-per-hour winds. As a meteorologist, wouldn’t you like to experience that?”

  She actually shivered, despite the fact that the heat of a West Texas day was already building. She’d watched Roan’s hurricane videos—roofs and billboards flying through the air, palm trees bent almost to the ground, people fleeing for their lives.

  Watching the video, she’d felt for a minute that she was actually in the middle of all that violence, bringing back painful, frightening memories.

  “I wouldn’t,” she finally answered. “The study of storms is strictly a spectator sport for me. I don’t like getting in the middle of one, and I never will.”

  “Oh.” He actually looked disappointed. Maybe the man did have a death wish, as Amos feared.

  Of course, Roan had no idea how ferocious a tornado could be. Although much smaller than hurricanes, tornadoes could pack more punch, driving metal through wood, picking up cars—and tractors—and carrying them hundreds of feet into the air. At least with a hurricane, people knew it was coming and could get out of harm’s way.

  Not always so with a tornado.

  Shaking off her grim thoughts, Victoria slammed shut the back doors of the van. “Ready?”

  “Ready, but can we make one stop before
leaving town? I need to return my rental car. Is there a Pennywise office around here?”

  Victoria stared openmouthed at his gray midsized four-door sitting in the driveway. “That’s a rental car?”

  “Yeah. You don’t think I’d own something that ugly, do you?”

  Victoria owned a similar model, which was tucked away in Amos’s garage, but she decided not to tell Roan that. “Did they rent it to you in that condition?”

  “What condition? It runs great.”

  “I mean the broken headlight, cracked windshield, crumpled fender, missing hubcaps …”

  “Oh, that. I did some pretty hard driving the last couple of weeks.”

  Couple of weeks? Amos wasn’t kidding when he’d warned her not to let Roan drive. “There’s a Pennywise office on the way out of town.”

  Amos was standing on the front porch, watching their preparations. Victoria went over to give him a farewell hug. “Take care of yourself, now,” she said. “I’ll really miss you.”

  “Somehow, I kind of doubt that,” he replied with a wink. “A couple of young people with two weeks and endless stretches of highway ahead of them don’t need an old man around.”

  Victoria started to object to his assessment, but he shushed her.

  “Roan really means no harm,” he said in a low voice. “Give him a chance. He’ll settle down, and I bet the two of you will have a good time.”

  “Don’t most men settle down after they leave their teenage years?” she whispered back. But she softened the question with a smile. She didn’t want Amos worrying too much about her.

  Even Roan gave Amos a quick hug and a blithe promise that they would be careful. With one last wave and a honk of the van’s horn, they were off—toward what, Victoria wasn’t sure.

  Roan followed her in his car to the Pennywise office. Well, followed wasn’t exactly accurate. He apparently didn’t like lagging behind anyone, so he alternated between tailgating her and pulling up into the lane next to her. He shot through one yellow light while she was able to stop in plenty of time, and he had to pull over and wait.