Page 370 of Steamy Ever After

“Depends on my mood. I’m kind of in a Disturbed state of mind. Do you mind?”

I pause and then smile when I realize he means the rock group. “I love Disturbed.”

“Well, settle in and get comfortable. Tell me if the music gets too loud.” He cranks the sound as the first notes of a new song race out of the speakers.

Conversation comes to an end with the full-bodied sound, leaving me to wonder if Drake is headbanging or banging his hand on the steering wheel.

Either way, the music allows me to sink into my thoughts. And while his woodsy scent permeates the cab of the truck, at least I’m not subjected to his primal beauty during the drive.

I need time alone with my thoughts and to prepare for what might come next. I’m equally terrified of moving too slow as I am of moving too fast.

Keeping track of where he’s driving proves impossible, although I try. My memory of Peace Springs is that of a kid riding a bicycle.

I follow the drive down the lane from my uncle’s house, the turn left, which brings us past the elementary school. The rough road smooths out, telling me we’ve reached the center of town, but that’s as far as my misguided directional sense goes.

“Where are you taking me?”

“What part of surprise do you not understand?”

“Just wondering how long we’re going to be driving around. Surely we’re on Main Street by now.”

He huffs a laugh. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride. We’ll get there when we get there.”

Is he deliberately trying to get me lost?

I tap the armrest, my fingers drumming out my frustration. When I lift my hand to yank the blindfold off, his fingers curl around my wrist, tugging it down.

“Uh-uh, city girl. Just a bit longer and we’ll be there.”

“Where?”

“Dinner and dancing, of course.”

Ugh. Maybe they built someplace new in town? It makes sense. A lot of small towns expand their borders by incorporating surrounding lands. Old farms are taken over and barns get turned into dance halls. Maybe that’s what he has in mind?

Sure feels that way.

The truck moves from the easy ride over asphalt to a bumpier ride over an unpaved road. Rock and gravel grind beneath the tires, which means we moved onto one of the many unimproved roads surrounding town. A few minutes turn to ten, and then a few more.

“Almost there,” he says. “Promise you’ll sit tight for a second? I need to open the gate.”

Open the gate? Must be a renovated farm. This town has more head of cattle than it does people. Cattle gates are as ubiquitous as blades of grass in the fields.

“I promise.” And while the temptation to peek is overpowering, I don’t want to ruin his surprise. Not after he went to so much trouble.

The driver’s side door opens and the truck rocks as he exits. When he returns, he settles into his seat and grips my hand.

“Tell me,” he says, “favorite movie genre.”

“Um, I don’t know.”

The one thing about medical school, and the even more rigorous residency training, is a distinct lack of free time. I can’t remember the last time I watched a movie, let alone saw one in a movie theater.

“I like a good science fiction piece.”

“Star Wars geek or Trekkie?”

“Both I guess.” Both franchises released movies recently. I’m not a complete mushroom and do manage to see some movies when they come out online. “I like the one with the mutants too.”

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