Will shakes his head. “Just be careful,” he says. He snaps up the tow handle on his suitcase and ambles off with a confident stride that makes the most of that powerfully built body. Not that I’m checking it out.
His warning gnaws at me despite myself as I hustle to the rental pick-up bay—he does know the area better than I do—but the middle-aged guy who directs me to my jeep is all smiles and warm welcomes. I hop in feeling more at ease. Roll down the window, engage the engine, crank the tunes. It’s time to drown out all those uninvited feelings the plane trip stirred up. I want to be wiped clean and cool as an ocean breeze before I see Will again.
I keep the map open on the seat beside me. The first twenty minutes are smooth highway driving. But of course Will set up his “eco-resort” as far off the beaten track as he possibly could. Before long I find myself bumping along a winding dirt road with thick jungle on either side of me, feeling about as distant from civilization as Mars. My fingers tighten on the wheel.
It’s okay. No, it’s excellent. Sweet tropical perfume in the air and the chatter of exotic birds in the trees—it’s an adventure. And Will thought he needed to protect me from this.
I toss my hair back and laugh the way people do when they’re joyriding out into the wilderness in movies, and while I probably look slightly deranged, it gives me the surge of confidence I was hoping for.
I wonder how they get deliveries so far out this way? That question sets off a worry that leaves me scrambling for my phone. I ease off the gas so I can navigate one-handed.
“Rube!” my stepbrother-for-an-instant says when he picks up. Our parents’ marriage hung on about as long as the latest LOLCat, but that hasn’t stopped us from staying friendly.
“Hey, Jake! I just wanted to check on the status of my wedding gift.”
Jake has a knack for scaring up the most unattainable items. His best score on my behalf so far is an original by this obscure Flemish painter Brooke has been in love with since years before she got her degree in art history. She’s going to flip her shit when she sees it—assuming it makes it across the ocean in one piece.
“Everything’s in order,” Jake says. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”
Exactly what I want to hear. “I really appreciate it,” I tell him gratefully. “Remind me to treat you and Lizzie for dinner next time I’m in New York. That was my not-so-subtle way of asking how things are going with you,” I add, and he laughs.
“Things are good. Great, in fact.”
“Does this mean I’m penciling in another wedding?” I ask, and Jake doesn’t laugh again, which is about as close to a ‘yes’ as I need. Looks like the bachelor is finally off the market.
“How’s the resort?” he asks instead.
“Don’t think you’re changing the subject—” I start, just as a feathery hell-beast darts straight out in front of the jeep.
I drop my phone and hit the brake at the explosive fluttering of red and yellow, and the jeep swerves on the uneven road. The suspension lurches and thumps over something hard. Then the vehicle heaves to a stop with a pathetic hissing sound that knots my stomach.
“No, no, no,” I mutter, scrambling out. I freeze the second I set eyes on the creature that sent me veering—and then press the heel of my hand to my forehead.
It’s a chicken. Not even that big a chicken, now that it’s strolling the rest of the way across the road rather than charging forth as if it’s at the head of an invading army.
“You,” I inform it with a jab of my finger, “are lucky you’re not road-enchilada.” Lord knows where the hen came from. I haven’t seen anything that looks like human habitation in half an hour.
The hen waddles on into the underbrush on the other side. Why did the chicken cross the road? Apparently, to make me look like a total idiot.
A heavy wind whips up through the branches of the trees. It makes the leaves warble and flips my hair into my face. I peer up at the sky. Dark gray clouds are scudding across it. Time to get moving.
My gaze falls on the wheel that prompted my quick exit from the car. The jeep has sagged, the tire already gone nearly flat.
“You’ll pay for this!” I call after the chicken. It appears unmoved by my super-villain impression. I take a deep breath and shove my fingers back through my hair.
I can do this. I know how to change a tire. You can’t call yourself much of a driver if you don’t. I’ll just pop open the trunk, grab the spare and the jack, and in less than a jiff—
The trunk lid swings open, to reveal a perfectly good jack, and a whole lot more perfectly good space where the spare tire ought to be. My heart sinks. Or, to be accurate, it plummets to the soles of my feet.
And that’s when the sky cracks open with a boom of thunder.
Rain gushes down on me, drenching my hair and clothes in an instant. I slam the trunk closed and bolt for the driver’s side door I left open. As I raise the window against the deluge, I kick off my squishy loafers. Drops beat against the roof like I’m surrounded by an orchestra made entirely of drums.
Let me tell you, that makes a pretty shitty orchestra. Especially when you’re soaked to the bone. My bangs are dripping in my face. I swipe them aside with the back of my hand. At least the rain was warm?
Okay. I’m stuck in a downpour with a flat tire, miles from civilization. I don’t have any choice, do I?
I suck in a breath and grab my phone.
Brooke doesn’t answer my text or the call I try after. She must be busy with wedding planning stuff. Biting my lip, I try Trevor. Nope, he’s probably wherever Brooke is. Mr. and Mrs. Tanner, Brooke’s parents? Voicemail, both of them. I let out a sound of irritation and rest my head against the steering wheel for a moment.
I could call the main hotel number, but it’s Will’s hotel. He’d find out for sure. I would rather ride a mudslide the rest of the way there than see his smirk when he has to send his car service out to rescue me after all. There’s got to be someone else here I know . . .
Maggie! Brooke’s cousin and I aren’t super close, but the three of us hung out a bunch when I still lived in Philly. I look up her number, muttering a quick prayer under my breath, and dial.
I practically kiss the phone when Maggie’s husky yet upbeat voice answers two rings in.
“Hey, Ruby, did you just get in?” she says.
“Uh, not exactly,” I say, and lay out my current disaster as briefly as I can manage. To give her credit, Maggie only laughs a couple times, when I actually intend her to.
“Look,” she says, “it’s pandemonium around here right now, but I know I can find someone who’ll come grab you. It sounds like you can’t be more than a few miles from the resort. Just hold tight, okay?”
“Thank you so much,” I say, and sink back in my seat with a sigh.