Jan Hudson – In Roared Flint (страница 3)
Watching her children, Julie smiled and her chest swelled with pride and love for the pair. Megan and Jason were the light of her life and worth every ounce of heartache she had endured.
When Melissa reached the gazebo, the music changed subtly. The crowd rose and turned.
“That’s our cue, sweetheart.” George Travis kissed his daughter’s cheek.
Julie took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her shaky lips and they started the walk down the flagstone path. Every muscle in her body seemed to quiver, and once she almost stumbled. Her father patted her hand and held his over it.
Why was she so nervous?
She looked at Rob, who waited for her at the gazebo, an adoring expression on his face, his eyes shining brightly as he watched her approach. He was such a dear, sweet man. How could anybody not love him?
They stopped and the minister began. His words echoed vaguely in the buzzing inside her head.
“Her mother and I do,” her father said, then stepped back to take his place on the front row.
The minister began again, and the buzzing in her head grew louder and louder until it was a roar. Was she about to faint?
The roar grew louder. Distracted, the minister stopped and looked up from his prayer book. The guests fidgeted and murmured. Rob glanced over his shoulder and frowned. Julie glanced over her shoulder and almost had a heart attack.
Flint Durham, astride his Harley, vroommed through the side yard, cut a swath across Patricia Spalding Travis’s bed of lavender petunias, and was headed down the flagstone path straight for the gazebo.
He screeched to a stop mere inches from the bride and groom, set one black-booted foot on the ground and scowled. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled at Julie.
The guests gasped.
“Getting married,” she enunciated distinctly.
Flint’s black eyes swept over Rob, then he sneered. “To
“Flint, would you go away! You’re making a spectacle of yourself and ruining my wedding!”
“Damned right. You’re coming with me. Get on the bike.”
“I will not!”
“Now see here,” Rob said, stepping forward.
Flint reached beneath his leather vest, whipped out a gun and shoved it against Rob’s nose.
Rob froze.
The guests gasped louder.
A woman shrieked.
A man’s voice boomed.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Panic rose up in Julie’s throat. He’d gone mad, absolutely mad. Dangerously mad.
“Get on the bike,” Flint said gruffly, ordering Julie with a quick gesture of his head.
“Flint, please, can’t we—”
“On the bike.” He gestured with his head again. The gun under Rob’s nose lifted him until he was tiptoeing in his patent leather shoes and sweating profusely.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
She hesitated only a millisecond. Her babies. She had to protect her babies. She tossed Melissa her bouquet, hitched up the short train of her dress and climbed on behind him.
Flint flashed Rob a wolfish grin. “So long, sucker.” He shot the groom with two good squirts from the water pistol he held, then revved up the bike and took off across the marigold bed.
With Julie cursing and beating her fists on his back and pandemonium breaking loose behind them, he threw back his head and laughed.
“Damn you, Flint Durham!” Julie shrieked, beating against his back with her fist. “Stop and let me off this thing.”
“No way,” Flint shouted over his shoulder.
“If you don’t let me off, I’ll jump!”
“You’ll break your beautiful neck. Hang on,” he said, rounding a corner at a high speed.
She clutched his waist and leaned into the turn, instinctively recalling the technique even though she hadn’t been on a motorcycle in more than six years—not since Flint left. His long hair fluttered against her face and she automatically moved closer to him to avoid it, pressing her cheek against his broad back. It felt excruciatingly, maddeningly familiar. She stiffened.
She would not be drawn into his spell. Not today. Not ever again.
She began beating his back with her fists once more. “Stop! Stop! Let me off.”
“No!”
Julie couldn’t recall feeling so helpless. The feeling infuriated her. Sooner or later he had to stop—for a light, a stop sign, or something—and she would jump off this infernal contraption and call the police. Flint would never see daylight again. He would rot in jail.
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. Like one blessed, he hit every light perfectly as they roared out of town, her wedding dress hitched up to her thighs and billowing behind her. She frantically tried to signal other cars, people at a road-side fruit stand; they all smiled and waved back.
Flint turned off the main highway onto a secondary road that cut through the heavily forested area and headed in the direction of the huge Sam Rayburn Lake. Oh, dear Lord, nobody knew this backwoods part of the county as well as Flint did. He’d grown up on the banks of the lake and explored every pig trail in the woods. Even if Uncle Hiram came after her with a posse, they’d never find her if Flint didn’t want her to be found.
They took another fork, then another, in such a convoluted route that Julie was soon hopelessly lost. She leaned her forehead against Flint’s back and her shoulders sagged. “Please stop. Please, Flint, please.”
The Harley slowed, rounded a curve, then drew to a halt in front of a cedar cabin beside the water.
Julie scrambled off the back of the bike and made a dash for the road. His arm hooked her waist and lifted her from her feet. “Not so fast, love. We have to talk.”
“Talk? You must be kidding. I don’t have a thing to say to you! Put me down right this minute, or I’ll scream my head off.”
“Scream away, darlin’. There’s not a soul within hearing distance.” He started toward the door of the weathered cabin.
She tried peeling his arm from her waist. “Please, Flint. You’re hurting me.”
Looking contrite, he immediately set her down. “Oh, sugar, I’m sorry.”
The minute her feet hit the ground, she made a dash for it. Before she’d gone two steps, he caught her wrist. “Hold it. I told you that we have to talk.”
He tried pulling her toward him, but Julie set her jaw and dug in her heels—literally—sinking the backs of her peach-colored silk shoes into the spongy ground and giving him a venomous look. He wasn’t deterred for more than five seconds. He merely plucked her from her pumps, tossed her over his shoulder and headed up the steps to the porch.
“Dammit, Flint, don’t do this!”
He unlocked the front door, kicked it shut behind them, then set her on her feet. When she made a lunge for the door, he grabbed her again. This time he turned the key in the dead bolt and dropped it in his pocket. She struggled against his grip on her, and he let her go.
Glaring at him, she stomped to the front door and rattled the knob. Locked, of course. “Give me the key.”
Flint leaned against the mantel of the stone fireplace, folded his arms and slowly shook his head.
“There must be another door to this place.”
He gestured to the rear where the kitchen was. “It’s locked, too.”
Thrusting out her jaw, she declared, “Very well. I’ll use a window.”
“Be my guest.”
Marching to a window, she threw open the sash and met burglar bars. She rattled them. Locked. She whirled and glared at him some more. “Exactly what do you expect to accomplish by keeping me a prisoner here?”
“I expect to talk you. I told you that earlier. I’m determined that we’re going to get some things straightened out here, come hell or high water. Just listen to me for a few minutes. It’s important for you to understand—”
“I’m not listening to you, Flint Durham,” she shouted, covering her ears with her hands and marching around in circles. “I’m not listening to a single syllable that you have to say.” Keeping her hands over her ears, she started singing “Dixie” at the top of her lungs as she continued her barefoot stomping.