Page 21 of Duke
So now Wheeler, being the dedicated entrepreneur she is, is planning to go to the trunk show by herself.
“You know Wheeler,” Mollie said last night when I confronted her about the situation. “That girl is gonna do what she wants to do.”
“You need to fight her harder on this.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Reschedule the pop-up, then.”
“I’vetried, Duke.”
It’s close to a twenty-hour drive through some pretty treacherous mountains.
I’ve driven through the Rockies several times with Garrett Luck, Mollie’s dad, who passed away last year, usually to purchase quarter horses from a ranch in Wyoming. Those roads ain’t for the faint of heart. Especially with the late-season snow they’re calling for.
I obviously can’t let her drive alone. I don’t want her to die for one thing. For another, my heart always skips a beat at the idea of having an excuse to get the hell out of Hartsville. Back in the fall, my brothers and I had a great fucking time in Austin for Cash’s bachelor party. Even before we left the Texas state capital, I was itching to plan my next trip.
Really, to get out of Hartsville again.
I get that buzzing sensation at the top of my spine. Ryder. Go figure, he was right. Giving Wheeler space, biding my time, has been the right call. Because all of a sudden, I have an opportunity to finally make this girl mineandexperience someplace new.
“Y’all got plenty of money now, Wheeler,” I hear myself telling her. “Why don’t you pay to ship all this shit and fly instead?”
“Because I don’t trust anyone but myself to get these boots to Aspen safely. This pop-up is a big deal for us, Duke, and I need everything to be perfect. Plus, this way I don’t have to fit all my outfits into one suitcase. Faux fur takes up alotof room.” She’s reaching inside the truck again, straining to reach the boxes on the tippy top of the stacks of boots piled inside.
Glancing up at the sky—God give me strength—I walk over to help. I reach the boxes easily, rearranging them so the stacks fit tightly inside the truck.
I’m hit by the image of her taking a sharp turn and the boxes tumbling down, shaking the truck. She’ll jam on the brakes, and they won’t work, and she’ll be screaming as she tries to pull over, boxes thumping around in the back while she catches the lip of the road and plunges to her death off the side of a mountain.
Wow.
Wow, that was graphic. And specific. And weird.
Mostly, though, it’s terrifying.
“How many outfits are you bringing?” I manage.
“Too many. Aspen is fabulous, so I need to be fabulous too.”
She’s excited. It’s cute.
She’s really fucking cute. Goddamn, I miss talking to her. Then again, can you miss talking to someone you only really talked to once, in a bar, over the best one and a half beers you’ve ever had?
“You check the weather?” I ask.
“It’ll be fine.”
I make a harrumphing sound that makes me think of my dad. “They’re calling for snow. Big system moving onshore from the Pacific—”
“You do know Colorado is, like, two thousand miles from any ocean?”
“You indoor people with your indoor jobs. Believe me when I say it’s a mistake not to pay attention to the weather.”
Wheeler grins, her eyes dancing as she turns to look at me. “Iaman indoor girl, and I’m proud of it.”
Exactly why she shouldn’t be driving this truck. Alone. To a destination eight hundred miles from here. A twenty-hour drive ain’t for the faint of heart.
“You ever driven in snow before?”
