Page 42 of This Heart Of Mine (Chicago Stars 5)

“I’ll look through your bookshelves while you take a shower.”

Chapter 8

A smart girl never accepts a ride from a stranger, even if he is a hottie.

“Hitchhiking Hell”

article for Chick magazine

Molly crawled with Roo into the backseat of the snappy SUV Kevin was driving instead of his Ferrari. She propped up the pillow she’d brought along and tried to go to sleep, but it wasn’t possible. As they sped east past the urban blight of Gary, then took I-94 toward Michigan City, she kept asking herself why she hadn’t opened her mail. All she’d needed to do was show up at the attorney’s office. Then she wouldn’t have been body-snatched by a mean-tempered quarterback.

Her refusal to talk to him was beginning to seem childish. Besides, her headache was better, and she wanted to know where they were going. She stroked Roo. “Do you have a destination in mind, or is this a make-it-up-as-you-go kidnapping?”

He ignored her.

They drove for another hour in silence before he pulled over for gas near Benton Harbor. While he was filling the tank, a fan spotted him and asked for an autograph. She clipped a leash on Roo and took him into the grass, then slipped into the bathroom. As she washed her hands, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. He was right. She did look like hell. She’d washed her hair, but she hadn’t done anything more than drag her fingers through it afterward. Her skin was ashen, her eyes sunken.

She began to reach into her purse for a lipstick, then decided it took too much effort. She thought about phoning one of her friends to come get her, but Kevin’s implied threat to talk to Phoebe and Dan about her physical condition made her hesitate. She couldn’t stand causing them more worry than she already had. Better to go along with him for now.

He wasn’t in the car when she returned. She debated getting into the backseat again, but doubted he’d talk to her unless she was in his face, so she put Roo there instead and climbed in the front. He emerged from the service station with a plastic bag and a Styrofoam coffee cup. After he got inside, he stuck the coffee in the cup holder, then pulled a bottle of orange juice from the sack and handed it to her.

“I’d rather have coffee.”

“Too bad.”

The cold bottle felt good in her hands, and she realized she was thirsty, but when she tried to open it, she discovered she was too weak. Her eyes filled unexpectedly with tears.

He took it without comment, unscrewed the lid, and returned it to her.

As he pulled away from the pump, she choked back the tightness in her throat. “At least you muscle boys are good for something.”

“Be sure to let me know if you want any beer cans crushed.”

She was startled to hear herself laugh. The orange juice slid in a cool, sweet trickle down her throat.

He pulled out onto the interstate. Sand dunes stretched on their left. She couldn’t see the water, but she knew there would be cruisers on the lake, probably some freighters on their way to Chicago or Ludington. “Would you mind telling me where we’re going?”

“Northwest Michigan. A hole called Wind Lake.”

“There goes my fantasy of a Caribbean cruise.”

“The campground I told you about.”

“The place where you told me you spent your summers when you were a kid?”

“Yeah. My aunt inherited it from my father, but she died a few months back, and I was unlucky enough to end up with it. I’m going to sell it, but I have to check out the condition first.”

“I can’t go to a camp. You’ll have to turn around and take me home.”

“Believe me, we won’t be there for long. Two days at the most.”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t do camp anymore. I had to go every summer when I was a kid, and I promised myself I’d never go back.”

“What was so bad about camp?”

“All that organized activity. Sports.” She blew her nose. “There was no time to read, no time to be alone with your thoughts.”

“Not much of an athlete?”

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