In Roared Flint

“As if…as if I were dessert.”

His smile broadened. “You want dessert?”

“No. I’ve had quite enough! I want to go home. Now.” She had to get away from him. She had to. Six years’ worth of barriers erected from bitterness and disillusionment were beginning to crack. She wouldn’t let that happen.

“Sorry, babe. Not yet. Not until we talk, really talk.”

“I have nothing more to say to you. I want to brush my teeth. Do you happen to have an extra toothbrush?”

“I think there’s one in the bathroom.”

Spine stiffened, she walked to the rear door and waited until Flint unlocked it.

As soon as she was in the bathroom, she turned on the water and grabbed the pliers. With strength born of desperation, she yanked out the three remaining nails in the window. Her heart hammering like crazy, she tugged it upward. It stuck briefly, then slid open. She blew out a relieved breath. Standing on the toilet, she hitched up her torn dress and threw one leg over the windowsill.

“Julie!”

She froze.

Flint rapped on the door. “Julie, are you okay in there?”

“Dammit, Flint! Would you at least allow me some privacy? I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, sounding contrite.

She poked her head out the window and surveyed her surroundings. In the gathering dusk, the lake was still. The woods were hushed. The ground beneath the window was only a few feet down. Maneuvering herself through the opening, she held on to the sill, then dropped.

She landed ankle deep in muck.

Oh, gross. She stilled, listening for a second, then scrambled up the bank.

Sharp stones and stickers shredded her stockings and punished her tender feet. Shoes. She had to have shoes. Wincing with every step, she hurried to the spot where her silk pumps were still stuck heel deep in the ground. She grabbed them up and, dancing on first one foot, then the other, stuck them on her muddy feet.

Hoping against hope that Flint had left the key in the Harley, she ran to the motorcycle. No such luck. Panicked urgency growing, she hesitated, her darting eyes scanning the densely wooded area, trying to decide which way to go, what to do next. She couldn’t try for the boat; it was moored just beneath Flint’s feet. After spotting an outbuilding through the trees, she dashed toward it, praying that it held transportation.

She flung open the door and almost wept with joy. A pickup truck!

Her joy was short-lived. No key.

Panic increased, clawed at her insides until she thought that she would scream.

Wait!

In the corner.

A bicycle.

It wasn’t in the best shape—in fact, it was in pretty sorry shape—but it would do. She pushed it to the door and, after peering around the opening, pushed it outside. The frame was a little bent, and the back tire was almost flat, but it was transportation.

A streak of lightning flashed. She heard Flint bellow her name just before a boom of thunder rolled through the trees. The wind picked up, whipping branches and snatching at leaves, ballooning her skirt. Batting at the billowing silk, then gathering her tattered hem into a wad, Julie gritted her teeth and climbed on the bicycle.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t dare. She picked a likely direction and started pedaling the wobbly bike as fast as her legs would churn.

Four

Pedaling in high heels was murder, and no matter how much she wrestled with it, the tail of Julie’s bedraggled wedding dress kept getting caught in the spokes. She hadn’t gone a quarter of a mile, and already she was exhausted from trying to make headway on the decrepit bike. Only stubborn determination kept her herding the rickety thing down the lane in the fastfading light. At best, she had only a half hour before dark. She had to get home to her babies, who were sure to be upset and frightened, and to her family, who was bound to be frantic by now. And to Rob, of course.

Another boom of thunder struck, reverberating through the dense woods. The wind plucked at the yards of material tucked around her. She slapped away flapping fabric as the air grew chill and the tops of tall trees swished and swayed. When the first big splats of rain hit, she groaned. Oh, no. Please, no.

The tempo of the pelting raindrops increased. The sky darkened until she could barely see where she was going, and the drops rapidly escalated until they became a hard downpour.

Behind her a motor roared to life.

Her heart caught.

She pedaled faster, but as the dirt road turned to mud, the going got tougher. She could hear the engine of the Harley coming closer and see the headlight cutting through the torrent.

The rain plastered her hair to her head, rivulets of water ran off her chin, and her dress had turned into a sodden anchor when Flint pulled aside.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled over the howl of the storm.

“I’m going home,” she yelled back, never taking her eyes off the road.

“You can’t get home on that thing and in this storm. You’re going to break your fool neck. Come get on with me, and let’s get out of the rain.”

“Stick it in your ear, Flint Durham! I’m going home.”

Julie pumped the pedals with everything she had, but she wasn’t gaining much ground. The bike grew more and more wobbly, and she had to fight to keep it straight. Her arms and legs quivered from the strain. She knew that she couldn’t go on much longer, but she’d rather eat liver than admit it to Flint.

Suddenly she hit a hole. The jolt snatched the handlebars from her grip. The bicycle went one way; she went another. With a teeth-jarring splat, she belly flopped into a puddle. She spat, sputtered and cursed, then rolled over onto her back. As she lay spread-eagle in the middle of the oozing mud, she squinted at the sky and conceded defeat to the evil rain god that pummeled her. Dejected, disgusted, she closed her eyes and let the weather do its worst. She couldn’t get any more soaked, and she was too damned exhausted to care.

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