Page 26 of Duke
She doesn’t respond to that. But she’s still smiling when she brings her thermos to her lips.
CHAPTER 7
Gas Station Wine and Cozy Cabin Vibes
Duke
We’re climbing into the mountains when a gust of wind hits us, shaking the truck.
The steering wheel vibrates beneath my fingers. I tighten my grip, ducking my head to peer out the windshield.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Wheeler grips the handle on the frame above her door. “Do you think we should pull over, or…”
We’ve been on the road for over twelve hours now. The afternoon light is fading. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registers just how bone tired I am. My ass is sore, my back aches, and my eyes are sandpaper, thanks to leaving my damn contacts in for way too long. I’d take them out, but I feel like I look like a dork in my glasses.
I perk right the fuck up, though, when the wind hits us again and I have to yank on the steering wheel to keep us in our lane.
“Duke!” Wheeler’s other hand lands on my forearm. “Jesus, the wind up here. Why didn’t they say it would be this bad?”
The highway is mostly deserted, save for the occasional plow and salt trucks. But there’s a sheer drop on our left and a wall of rock on our right, so even though we’re the only ones on the road, I still need to be careful.
I chuckle, partly as an attempt to keep Wheeler at ease. “They kinda did with that blizzard warning.”
“The blizzard’s not supposed to start until eight.” She glances at the clock that glows on the dash. “It’s only five.”
I shrug. “Told you the weather up here changes quickly.”
“You sure you’re okay to drive?”
“Yep. All good.”
Truth be told, the weather is deteriorating fast. The snow has started. Just flurries at the moment, but the wind is whipping them around. I know once the snow really starts to come down, we’ll be facing whiteout conditions. Especially as it gets dark. The truck’s headlights will reflect off the snow, making it virtually impossible to see.
We gotta get to Aspen before that happens. Four more hours. A little less if we get lucky with the weather.
In the meantime, I have to keep Wheeler calm. My cute little city girl clearly ain’t used to traveling in adverse conditions.
Luckily for her, I am. Garrett Luck taught me how to drive in rain, shine, and snow while hauling a trailer full of ornery mustangs.
Wouldn’t say this is easy in comparison, but I’m only the normal amount of nervous as we climb our way through the mountains in the deepening darkness. An hour passes. Two. Three.
I keep the conversation flowing in an effort to distract Wheeler, the two of us chatting about a little bit of everything. She asks what my favorite book is—toss up between anything Ernest Hemingway or Anthony Bourdain wrote—and I pick her brain about the World War II fiction she devours in marathon audiobook sessions while driving between Dallas and Hartsville.
We share a love of Excel, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, and colored lights at Christmas. It’s my favorite holiday, but hers is Halloween because she loves to dress up and buy Reese’s pumpkins in bulk.
The truck doesn’t have Bluetooth—hell, it doesn’t have so much as a CD player or tape deck—so we find a country stationon the radio, and together we sing along to Dolly Parton and Garth Brooks.
“So this trunk show.” I bite into a Twizzler. “What are your goals, other than selling all those boots we got in the back?”
Wheeler looks vacantly at the Twizzler she has in her hand. “Network. Meet their buyers, their customers. Get feedback on what people are looking for. Then again, who knows if this trunk show is even gonna happen?” She glances out the window at the swirling snow. “I mean, I know Dallas is totally ridiculous when the weather gets bad. Half an inch of snow, and the whole city shuts down. I imagine Aspen is much better prepared to handle it. Still, if this storm dumps a couple feet of snow on us…”
“They’ll clear it, no problem. And if we gotta stay an extra day or two to make up for lost time, then we stay an extra day or two.”
I feel her looking at me. “You’d be okay with that?”
“Wheeler, I am so damn happy to be somewhere other than Hartsville I can’t even tell you. Of course I’m okay with that. Ask me to stay a week. Two weeks. I’d love the excuse to be away.”
She lets out a soft chuckle. “You really don’t get out enough, do you?”
