Chapter 2

She wasn’t positive, but the way his hands moved, it looked like he knew what he was doing. As his fingers went dancing across the invisible strings, she could almost imagine the sound. For an instant she had a vision of those nimble fingers on her skin, making music of another kind. A shiver of anticipation whispered over her body, tightening her nipples and sending a tingle to her pussy.

Whoa, gal, are you that hard up, fantasizing about a hitchhiker? Time to chill a little.

By the time they roared through Flagstaff and headed into the long downgrade toward the distant Colorado River, they were singing duets along with the offerings of another station playing mostly soft rock oldies. Tom had a fair whiskey tenor, rough-edged yet sure, always right on key and sliding around the melody in some inventive harmonies. Stormy found it easy to slip her alto into the mix.

“You’re wasting a good sound there, Stormy, herding trucks down the road. If you ever get tired of it and want to try a new gig, look me up. We could make some good music together.”

There was nothing suggestive about his words, not really. She told herself it was just business, but still, night music and tangled sheets played across her mind, erotic visions to strum her nerves to a keen shiver. “I…I’ll think about it,” she managed. “Right now I got two kids and my mom depending on my earnings. I can’t walk off from my responsibilities.”

“No, reckon not. Well, maybe something’ll come along.”

She changed the station again and listened to the monotonous swish-whack of the wipers pushing heavier rain off the glass. They talked in fits and starts as the night ran on and the black wet ribbon of I-10 slipped by under the wheels. They were nearing Kingman now and moving into a turbulent Arizona monsoon storm. Lightning flashed all around, blinding brilliance like strobe lights. Stormy blinked as a flare right in front of them briefly blinded her.

As they rounded a curve, an eruption of lights spread ahead of them. Stormy downshifted fast, feathering the brake to slow without skidding. Red and blue glares from a covey of emergency vehicles ricocheted off the wet pavement. Headlights at a dozen wrong angles stabbed into the black rain. A tangle of vehicles road-blocked both lanes. She eased onto the shoulder and parked.

“Damn, looks like a bad one. We may not get to Vegas by sunrise after all.”

Tom had been dozing until she started to slow. He seemed to be fully awake now. “Oh, shit, looks like a real mess.”

“I’m gonna get down and go talk to that cop, maybe find what happened and how long we’re going to be sitting here.” The rain had tapered off to a drizzle. Stormy climbed down and made her way across the wet pavement to the nearest Arizona Highway Patrol officer, a long drink of water in the typical khaki tan uniform.

“Looks like a bad one,” she said. “What happened?”

He turned to her, revealing a distressed face in the flaring lights. “Cross wind hit a semi, started the rig fishtailing. From then on, it just got worse. Two trucks and about ten POVs, you know, privately owned vehicles, in the mess. Damn fools won’t slow down, even in the middle of a hurricane-strength storm. This is what happens. At least eight fatalities and a couple more may not make it to the hospital.”

“Gawd, that’s really bad. Any idea when the highway will be open again?”

“Not soon,” he said. “Unless you have a big tow truck and a helicopter or two in that rig you’re driving, it’ll prob’ly be daybreak. They’re stopping people at Kingman now, where they might get a room, or at least can find some food or coffee instead of just sitting here. If I was you, I’d bed down in my sleeper. If things clear earlier than I figure, I’ll come by and bang on the door so you can get going.”

Stormy nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Wish I did have something to help, but I’m just hauling Tennessee whiskey to Vegas.”

She went back to the truck, climbed in and told Tom the news.

He shook his head. “Bad scene. Sure glad I’m not a cop. I found out in Iraq I’m not real good with blood and guts.”

“I guess I could try and turn around and go back to Kingman, but I don’t see much use in it. Not much we can do but wait.”

He flashed a grin at her. “Yeah, no forty-acre field here, is there?”

She socked him on the shoulder. “Go on with you. I don’t need no forty acres to turn my rig around. Twenty will do just fine.”

At the instant her fist impacted his solid bicep, his hand closed around her wrist. All at once the cab filled with a humming tension. Energy arced between them, eyes to eyes and skin to skin where his callused fingers shaped a bracelet around her arm. She relaxed her hand and spread it across the heat of his taut muscle absorbing the masculine power he radiated.