The Christmas Strike. Nikki Rivers
Abby in sneakers, but I wasn’t going to risk going to my bedroom to get anything and giving Gwen a chance to talk me out of what I was going to do. I’d simply jump into Cole’s taxi with him and off I’d go—traveling light and not very far, but traveling, nonetheless.
I had finished packing and was scribbling a note, telling my family I’d be spending the rest of my strike in Chicago, when I heard the front door slam. I grabbed my parka, purse and suitcase, but by the time I got out to the front porch all I could see of Cole Hudson was the tail end of Ernie’s taxi.
I looked at the house. No. I couldn’t go back in. Now was the time. And the opportunity was here, it had just gotten a little bit of a head start, that was all. I didn’t see Jeremy’s truck anywhere, meaning only Gwen was in the house. I’d have to make a run for the garage. I was afraid that all anyone would have to do was to try to talk me out of it. I was sure I’d cave like a soufflé after someone slammed the oven door.
Suitcase in hand, I hotfooted it from the house, thankful now that I hadn’t much to pack. I winced when I pushed the button to open the old wooden garage door. It had always been loud. Now it seemed as if it screamed. I tossed my suitcase into the station wagon, then eased the door shut. I knew Gwen would hear as soon as I started the car. Face it, the wagon’s muffler had been damaged goods for a while now. But I figured that once I was down the short driveway, I was as good as gone.
I can’t even explain what it felt like as I drove away from the house and headed in the same direction Cole’s taxi had taken. I grinned. Yes, I could, I thought. It feels like I’ve escaped.
I tamped down the guilt at the same time I pressed harder on the gas pedal. There was no way Cole Hudson was taking off in his plane without me.
I averaged ten miles over the speed limit but even so, as I pulled into the small airport, Ernie was already pulling out. I rolled down my window and waved him to a stop.
“Which plane is Hudson’s?” I asked.
“That one,” he pointed. “Over there.”
I followed his outstretched finger. The plane was sleek and white, accented with black-and-silver stripes. As elegant as its owner—and just as powerful looking.
“Thanks, Ernie,” I yelled, not taking my eyes off of the plane.
Was I really going to do this?
Yes, I was, my heartbeat answered.
I parked, got out of the car, grabbed my suitcase and started to run. For the first time I appreciated the Louis Vuitton pilot’s case that Gwen had given me years ago when Jo, Iris and I had started planning our trip to Europe. Its wheels had no problem at all keeping up with me. I was running into the wind and yesterday’s snowfall was blowing around hard enough to sting my face. But I felt alive. Freedom was ringing! And, okay, it wasn’t Rome or Paris. It was Chicago. The point was, it wasn’t Willow Creek. I was making a symbolic stand—and not just for myself. For all of us—Iris, Jo and me. I’d go to one of the best restaurants that would let me in wearing jeans and sneakers and toast the others just like we’d always promised we would if one of us ever left again.
Too bad I’d have to put up with Cole Hudson’s company to do it. But Chicago was only about thirty minutes away by air. And a man like Cole Hudson was sure to have a driver waiting for him at the airport so I’d get a free ride into the city, too.
He hadn’t started the engines yet when I reached the plane. He hadn’t even taken up the stairs or shut the door. My luck was holding.
“Anyone home?” I yelled.
“Good God! What are you doing here?”
I spun around to find him coming toward me, his leather flight jacket plastered to his chest by the wind, his long silver hair streaming back from his rock hard face. I ran to meet him.
“I came to hitch a ride,” I said with all the confidence and pluck I could muster. Surely, he wouldn’t turn down pluck. And confidence he’d respect.
“Sorry, Ms. Blake. I don’t take on hitchhikers.”
I gave him my most winning smile. The pluck was fairly oozing out of me. “Come on. I need to get out of here. You’re leaving. It’s serendipity.”
“Forget it,” he grumbled as he kept walking.
I hurried to keep pace. “I’ll sit in the back and be really, really quiet,” I yelled over the wind.
“No!” he yelled back.
“Oh, stop being so argumentative. All I’m asking is to fly along with you. You’re going to Chicago anyway. You’re using the fuel. You’re depreciating the plane—or whatever it is planes do. You might as well have a passenger on board. In fact, it’s practically your patriotic duty to have a passenger on board.”
He stopped walking and turned to stare at me, those dark brows lowered over his gray eyes. I was pretty sure he was going to say no again, so I kept talking. “Just one way, that’s all you have to take me. And then I’ll be out of your hair and won’t bother you again.”
Finally, he spoke. “One way, you say?”
I nodded with the energy of one of those bobble-headed dogs in the back windows of cars. “I’ll worry about how to get back once I get there. Just take me with you—please.”
Was that a gleam I saw in his eye? Was he going to change his mind? I thought for a moment that he might even smile.
“All right,” he said. “As long as the deal is for one way only.”
“Well, you’re not likely to be flying into Willow Creek again anytime soon, are you?”
“Heaven forbid,” he grumbled.
“Then you’ll take me with you?”
He stood back and held out his arm toward the stairs. “After you,” he said.
The cockpit was to the right. It looked complicated and technical and interesting. I’d never known anyone who could fly a plane before. I started for the cockpit, fully intending to experience whatever I could.
“Turn left,” Cole Hudson ordered from behind me.
I was flooded with disappointment. “There are two seats up there and—”
“Ms. Blake, I agreed to take you with me. I didn’t agree to be your traveling companion. I prefer to fly solo and you did promise to sit in the back and be silent.”
“Fine,” I said shortly. “I’m sure it’ll be more pleasant that way, anyway.”
“Wise choice. Now sit down and strap yourself in. I’m behind schedule already.”
There were four chairs covered in black leather and a black leather sofa with small round tables at their sides. All were bolted to the floor. It was practically a flying living room. I sat down on one of the chairs. Nothing like flying business class, let me tell you. I sank into glove-like leather and discovered that the seat swiveled a full three hundred and sixty degrees. While I twirled, I noticed what looked like a small wet bar between the cockpit and the cabin. I hopped out of my seat to investigate. By the time I got there, Cole was blocking my way. His jacket smelled like worn, expensive leather.
“I thought I told you to buckle in,” he boomed.
“You haven’t even turned this thing on yet,” I pointed out. “I was just snooping. Looking for something to drink.”
His frown deepened. “This isn’t silence, Ms. Blake.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Look, you spoke to me first. I was merely being polite. Frankly, I’m also thirsty.”
He stepped aside. “Help yourself, by all means. Then kindly buckle in.”
I opened my mouth to say something and he put his finger to his lips.
“Shh.”