it.
In less than five minutes, they were on the Interstate that he’d mentioned. She saw a sign. St. Louis, 194 miles.
St. Louis. She let that dance around in her head for a minute. “Joe Medwick. Ducky Medwick,” she corrected.
He turned to stare at her. “What?”
“St. Louis Cardinals. He holds the record for most runs batted in during a single season. Late 1930s.”
“Thirty-seven,” he said, “1937.” He paused, then added, “How the hell did you know that?”
She’d surprised him. Oddly enough, that made her want to smile. Nothing else that had happened up to this point had seemed to faze him but he looked absolutely flabbergasted that she knew baseball. “Sports trivia is not reserved for the male species,” she said.
“Right,” he said. He was silent for a long minute. “Motel should be just up the road.” He paused again. “Have you eaten lately?”
She didn’t feel hungry. “A little while ago,” she said.
He nodded and kept driving. The SUV churned through the snow on the road, its tires slipping occasionally as they encountered patches of ice. They stayed on the road, however, which was more than she could say for the three cars they passed that were in the ditch.
It took them fifteen minutes to get to the hotel. He pulled into the lot and she stared at the building, trying to catch some feel for whether she’d ever been here before. She didn’t think so.
It was a two-story wood building, painted mostly red with some white trim, with each room having an exterior door. She counted them. Eight up, eight down, with a small office at the front of the building. The parking lot was full of cars and had already been plowed at least once. There was a big white sign with blue lettering and a red border. The Daly American Inn. There was a flagpole and a flag near the front door. She wondered if someone had braved the elements that morning or perhaps they simply never took it down.
She stared at the flag, watched it flap in the wind, partially obscured by the flying snow. Something fluttered in her chest. “Oh,” she said, putting a hand to her heart.
“Problem?” he asked.
She shook her head. What could she say? Yes, plural but none that I can talk about.
He took the space in front of the office. She gripped the door handle tight. “Like I said, I don’t have any money on me.”
He shrugged. “We’ll worry about that once we know if they have a room. I’ll go check.”
It sounded as if he was willing to pay for it. Thank goodness. She would send him a check. Right away. She paid her debts. At least she thought she did.
He got out of the vehicle and snow blew in. It was really getting cold.
She watched him walk into the office. His dark down jacket came only to his waist. He wore jeans and cowboy boots and with his narrow hips and nice long legs, he was totally rocking the look.
It felt a little ridiculous that given the circumstances she had even noticed. But it was also oddly comforting, as if her subconscious was letting her know that everyday pleasures, even those as basic as admiring a sexy stride and a fine rear end, were not beyond her grasp.
The office was well lit and she could see a young man behind the desk. He was staring down at his cell phone, punching buttons. He looked up, evidently listening to whatever Cal was saying, and shook his head.
Her heart sank. She hadn’t realized how much hope she’d had pinned on getting a room, having a place to rest. If that wasn’t possible, she had no idea what she was going to do. Maybe they would at least let her sit in the office until...
Until what?
That was the great unknown.
She saw Cal reach into his pocket. Push something across the counter. Take the plastic key that the young man offered.
Hallelujah, it looked as if it was going to be okay.
When Cal returned to the vehicle, he handed her the plastic key. “You got the last room,” he said.
“I was worried. I saw the clerk shaking his head.”
“Just didn’t understand what I was asking for.”
It was perfect. She could sleep. For as long as it took. Then wake up and be able to deal with everything.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked. “I want to keep track.”
“Rooms are eighty-nine bucks a night. You’re in number fourteen. Second floor, two doors from the end.”
“Perfect.”
“How’s the head?” he asked.
“Still hurts,” she said honestly.
“Nauseous?” he asked.
She actually felt better than she had a half hour earlier. “No.”
“Your pupils look normal,” he said. “Which hopefully means that you don’t have a concussion. But I’m still worried about that. You’re sure that you’re going to be able to call someone to help you?”
“Absolutely,” she lied.
He drove the SUV to the corner of the building where her room was located and put the car in Park. He reached into the backseat and pulled out another pair of thick white socks. “Your feet are going to get wet walking in. Take these so you have something dry to change into.”
He was a really nice guy. “Can I have your address?” she asked. “To mail you a check. For the hotel, and these,” she said, waving at the clothes he’d given her.
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Pay it forward someday.”
That was a nice idea. “Well,” she said. It was crazy but she didn’t like the idea of getting out of the car. She felt as if something bad was about to happen. But this man had done enough for her. There was nothing to be gained from stalling.
“Thank you,” she said. She extended her hand.
There was a slight pause before he reached out and very formally shook her hand. His index finger had a callus and she resisted the urge to rub the pad of her thumb against it. “Good luck,” he said.
She swallowed hard. Some good luck would be nice. She opened the door and got out. She went to close the door.
“Hey,” he said. He pointed to the backseat. “Don’t forget this.”
Her wedding dress. She grabbed it and the horrible veil that had hurt her head and wadded them under her arm. She ran up the exterior staircase and inserted her key into the door. It opened. She turned.
He was still there. Watching.
She waved.
He nodded and pulled out of the parking spot.
She went inside, feeling strangely sad. She should be happy to be free of the man. She needed time to figure out what to do next and she needed to be totally focused. That would have been difficult if Cal Hollister had stuck around.
She sat down on the ugly green-and-gold bedspread and stared at the tan carpet. What the hell was she going to do?
* * *
CAL’S FRONT FENDER was edging out of the lot when he decided that he might be a fool but he didn’t intend to be a hungry one. He still had the pie that he’d tossed into his backseat but it wouldn’t hurt to have a backup supply of candy bars, chips and red licorice, his favorite, if he did happen to get stuck. And the hotel vending machine was probably his best bet.
He backed up, parked his SUV and went inside. The desk clerk, phone still in hand, looked up. Cal waved at him and pointed his index finger at the vending machine in the alcove off to the side.