The Perils of Paulie (A Matchmaker in Wonderland) Read online

  We slept for almost twelve hours. Not intentionally, as I explained to Sam and Tabby, who had caught up to us by the following morning.

  “Roger is about an hour ahead of us,” Tabby said when we got dressed, and stopped at the hotel breakfast area for a little food. “The Essex team had an issue this morning when two of their tires blew at the same time and they only had one spare left. Roger had ordered the remaining tires stockpiled in Germany to be driven to Daugavpils.”

  “That’s close to us, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “About forty miles,” Dixon answered, looking at the map pasted into our logbook. “Damn. I was hoping we were ahead of them after all that driving.”

  “You were for a while. Then Roger mentioned how you’d driven to Moscow a day sooner than planned, and they drove all night to catch up.” Tabby shrugged. “I guess Dermott and Clarissa were really annoyed by that. Roger, of course, gets by without any sleep.”

  Dixon and I exchanged guilty looks at the mention of the second camera team having to play catch-up. “We should apologize again for racing off without you,” I started to say, but Tabby waved it off.

  “It’s all right. We kind of enjoy hunting you down. It’s just good you can’t go over fifty.”

  I made a face.

  Dixon asked, “How did the Essex team pass us if they were missing a tire?”

  “They got a temporary one from a local car dealership. I guess it makes the car shimmy something horrible because it doesn’t fit right, and they can’t drive over thirty miles per hour, but Sanders refused to wait for the actual replacements to arrive, so they’re determined to be in Daugavpils when the spares arrive.”

  “That sounds highly dangerous,” I said, glancing at the clock. “It shouldn’t take us long to get past them if they can only do thirty. Let’s see how much ground we can put between us and them.”

  “You haven’t looked outside, have you?” Sam, a bagel in his hands, stopped by to comment. “It’s pouring buckets out there.”

  “Ugh. We’ll have to put the top up on the Flyer,” I told Dixon.

  “Worse, we’ll be sopping wet by the time we stop.” He rose and stretched. I was momentarily distracted by the sight of that movement on his chest, even though it was covered by an undershirt, shirt, vest, and coat. Really, the man was entirely too sexy for his own good. I narrowed my eyes on him, wondering if I was going to have trouble with women coveting him.

  Tabby was chatting and joking about us needing to wear rubber suits in order to drive the Flyer when I turned my gaze on her. I knew from past conversations that she’d had both male and female partners, and now here she was with her hand on Dixon’s arm while she joked.

  I stood up, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that she was handling my man—because I liked Tabby; I truly did—but I wasn’t about to put up with other women fondling him right there in front of me.

  “What’s wrong?” Dixon asked me when Tabby turned to gather up some food to go.

  “What makes you think anything is wrong?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. It was my favorite eyebrow, too. “You’re glaring at Tabby as if she just took your favorite toy.”

  “Good call, Mr. Sexy,” I said with much meaning, and went off to rearrange the storage boxes on the car so that we could put the convertible top up.

  We’d had to use the top once in the U.S., but not since crossing the ocean. Putting it up required a complicated dance of turning cranks, hurriedly checking prop arms, and then cranking a bit more. One person had to guide the front part along its path until it was finally settled over the front seats.

  “Do I want to know—” Dixon asked, following me out to the car.

  “No. And I’m not jealous, just in case you were wondering, although you could keep your forearms to yourself, you know. You don’t have to go flaunting them everywhere, so women are forced to touch them because they can’t resist temptation.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said in a drawling voice when I started to unsnap the cover that tucked the hood away. “I’m going to say this just once, but I hope you heed me: you have to stop smoking crack first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh, ha ha, very funny.” I glared at him over the width of the car as we rolled down the cover. “I bet you’re eating it up, you man, you.”

  “Eating what up? Hang on—this arm is stuck. There it is. Go ahead, both verbally and physically.”

  “I bet you love Tabby throwing herself all over your person.”

  He paused in the act of snapping one of the roof arms into place and had the nerve to look at me like I was the one encouraging strange women to feel me up. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. No. Oh hell, I don’t know anymore. I just don’t like the fact that you’re so handsome women are going to be flocking to you. It’s going to be hell living with a man who could beat women off him with a stick.”

  He stared at me for the count of five, then burst into loud, lengthy laughter.

  I waited it out with a jaded look plastered all over my face.

  “Oh, Paulie,” he said finally, mopping at his eyes. “Only you could imagine that anyone, anyone else in the world would think I’m handsome.”

  “You are,” I said, annoyed that he didn’t understand what a burden I had to bear with his manly beauty. “You have a nice nose, and that jaw that makes my knees feel like they are made of pudding, and your eyes are so pretty, I just want to scream. And your chest! Holy hellballs, Dixon, your chest could make a sinner of a saint. I won’t even mention what your ass could do to people!”

  Still chuckling, he came around the car and took me in his arms, then kissed me on my nose. “You are the sweetest woman I know, and I have a very nice mother, sisters, and sisters-in-law. Thank you for thinking I have such a devastating effect on the female population of the world, but I can reassure you in all honesty that the only woman who ever hit on me was drunk and thought I was someone else.”

  “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this,” I said, allowing myself to be mollified nonetheless. I’d have to be made of concrete not to be swayed by the lure of his voice and body and hands while he gave me another kiss, this one steamy enough to make me moan into his mouth. My tongue danced around his, and I was thinking seriously of us going back to the room and giving in to our base desires when he finally dragged his mouth away from mine.

  “Now that is a kiss that will keep me going through the day,” he said, squeezing my butt before returning to his side of the car.

  “Just so long as you don’t allow other women to put their hands all over you,” I said grumpily, smiling to myself because it was clear that he was on his way to being in love with me. No one could put up with the things he put up with unless he was smitten.

  Ugh. I hate it when I try to be cheery with myself.

  Driving the Flyer in a heavy rain was a serious pain in the ass. It was hard at the best of times, but trying to see through the driving rain with no wipers on the windscreen made for tense driving. And then there was the fact that we had no side windows, so the wind and water blew in, soaking us and making our driving goggles fog up. By the time we reached Daugavpils, we were soaked and uncomfortable.

  “Worse,” I told Dixon when we stopped at one of the authorized gas stops to refuel, “there’s no sign of the blasted cheating Esses.”

  Dixon glanced toward the car. “I’m glad you said that out of range of the dash cam. We should be careful to keep our opinions to ourselves, at least until Roger proves that they are the ones causing the issues.”

  “Hrmph.” I snorted and made use of the station bathroom before we got back in the wetmobile and headed into Lithuania.

  The weather got worse and worse the longer we drove, thunder greeting us when we crossed the border, along with rain that rode the wind until it was almost horizontal hitting the windscreen.

&n
bsp; “This is miserable,” I said after I finished an hour’s stint driving. My arms ached, my hands were cold even in the leather driving gloves, my veil was sodden and dripped water all over me, and my face hurt from squinting to see through the rain.

  Dixon and I swapped seats without getting out into the monsoon. He’d been doing the bulk of the driving duties simply because it was hell to steer the Flyer in the onslaught, but I was beginning to think we had better find a spot to pull over and see if we could wait out the storm when Tabby texted me.

  August 8

  From: Tabby

  FYI our car just started making horrible grinding noises and the temp is rising. We’re turning around and going to the last petrol station we saw.

  August 8

  To: Tabby

  Oh no! Are you guys OK? Should we turn around?

  August 8

  From: Tabby

  Lord no. We’ll catch up once we have a mechanic look at it. Texting Roger to warn him.

  I told Dixon what was happening.

  “Ask her,” he said, peering through the rain, his jaw tight, his fingers white on the steering wheel as he fought to keep the car from veering off the road in the face of the blinding wind and rain. “Ask her if the Essex team got their spare tires.”

  “Maybe we should stop for a bit,” I said, eyeing him with concern. “We can’t keep going on like this. We’re both wiped out, and we’ve only been driving for five hours.”

  “I’ll be damned if I get any farther behind them. We’re so close, I can almost feel them.”

  August 8

  To: Tabby

  Dixon wants to know where the Esses are. I know you’re not supposed to tell us, but I assume they are in front of us.

  August 8

  From: Tabby

  Yes. Not far, though, according to Roger.

  I contemplated keeping that fact from Dixon, since I knew it would keep him behind the wheel longer than was wise, but he was a grown man and he knew his limits. “They’re not far ahead of us.”

  “Good.” A grim smile played with his lips. “This storm is going to be just the break we need. The Zust will have an even harder time than the Flyer in it.”

  “Why?” I asked, reviewing the mental image of the Essex car.

  “It’s smaller and lighter. I bet this wind is all but tossing them around the road.” He shifted the car into the highest gear, which let us zoom along at a dazzling fifty miles an hour. He brushed at the moisture on his goggles. “Cover yourself up with the blanket, love. No sense in you getting pneumonia.”

  A warm, fuzzy feeling swept over me at his words. My father had always been overprotective, but I’d never until that moment appreciated how nice it was to have someone concerned for my well-being. I pulled the lap blanket over so it covered his legs as well as mine, and snuggled into his side. “Let me know when you need a break.”

  Two miles later, we hit the detour. Evidently the storm had been raging in this area for a day and the bridge over a river had been damaged by some flooding upstream. We were rerouted off the highway to a single-lane road that wound through farmland, heading first one direction, then another, but slowly meandering toward a return to the highway.

  Or at least that’s where I assumed the road led. The sky was so dark, we’d had to turn on our headlights in order to help see, even though it was only four in the afternoon. We bounced along behind a small car that eventually turned off at the entrance to a farm. I felt oddly alone as the Flyer struggled down the pothole-riddled road.

  “This is—ow!—horrible,” I said, wincing when I bit my tongue at a particularly bad rut. “This road is more hole than paved surface.”

  “If it wasn’t for the Essex team—” Dixon started to say, then suddenly swore and wrenched the steering wheel to the side. Looming up out of the near dark was the black shape of a person who was waving his arms. Beyond him was the familiar bulk of an antique car.

  “Speak of the devil,” I said under my breath when Dixon pulled up and Anton leaned his head in, water streaming off his hat onto Dixon’s lap.

  “Road’s flooded ahead,” he said, his breath coming in short gasps. “We only just got the Zust winched back out of it. Thought we might see you.”

  “Hullo,” Sanders said, shoving his head in as well. “We thought we’d see you sooner rather than later. Road’s impassible ahead. Stephen is talking to the local farmer to see if we can stay the night with him. Shall we declare a temporary truce?”

  “Temporary?” I said, my ire rising.

  Dixon patted my hand and said, “That sounds like the sensible thing to do. Is there somewhere we can park the cars out of the rain?”

  “That’s what Stephen’s asking,” Sanders replied, and withdrew his head when another figure stumbled around their car toward us.

  “You haven’t seen Dermott and Clarissa, have you?” Anton asked.

  “No. Why?” I felt my nostrils flare, even though I knew it was a far-from-attractive look. “Did the Esses do them in, too?”

  Anton didn’t even look at me when he answered. “We lost sight of them about an hour back. They were ahead scouting out the road, but then the bridge closed and I think they were on the other side. What?” This last was said in response to a call from Sanders. “Ah. Good.” He leaned back in to say, “Looks like the farmer said we can park the cars in his barn.”

  “What do you think?” I asked Dixon when he carefully backed up the Flyer, turning the great white car to follow the small black Zust down the driveway. “Can we trust this truce that Sanders mentioned?”

  “Not for a red-hot minute,” Dixon said immediately. “I’ll sleep in the car tonight.”

  “We’ll both sleep here,” I said, knowing full well I wouldn’t be able to sleep while he was guarding the car.

  “No need for you to get a crick in your neck, too.”

  “There’s every need. For one, I want to be with you. For another, we’re partners in this race and we’ll take turns staying awake and guarding the Flyer.”

  He flashed me a look that made me go all warm and fuzzy again inside. “Have I told you today how wonderful you are?”

  “No, but we’ve had a hell of a drive, so I forgive you.”

  A very nice couple was on hand to greet us and show Dixon where to put the car (the Zust got the parking spot inside the barn, so Dixon had to make do with a freestanding carport arrangement where the couple’s tractor normally sat), then hustled us all inside, where we were given vast quantities of soup and very strong tea.

  We changed out of our wet clothing and, since no cameras were around, put on jeans and sweaters. The storm continued to rage, and we spent a few comfortable hours tucked away in the farmhouse, listening to the wind and rain try to beat its way in to us.

  “You can sleep with me in my room,” the daughter of the house, a pretty girl of about fourteen named Mirea, said in English when night finally claimed the already dark sky. Fortunately, with the darkness came an abatement of the storm. “Mama said the men can sleep downstairs.”

  I looked at Dixon. He nodded. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  As I followed her upstairs, I heard Dixon say to Sanders, “This truce of yours means we’ll all be sleeping in the house, I assume.”

  “Of course,” Sanders answered. “Where else would we sleep?”

  I didn’t trust him any farther than I could spit, and hoped Dixon didn’t, either.

  Mirea chatted away for a good half hour before finally getting into bed. “I’ll just sit here in the chair for a bit,” I told her. “Then I’ll check on the car. You don’t mind if I come and go, do you?”

  “No,” she said rather doubtfully. “But I have a nice bed. Mama and Papa just bought it for me.”

  “I’m sure it’s wonderful, but our old car is very delicate, and it has to be checked a lot to mak
e sure it’s OK,” I fibbed. “And Dixon is tired from doing most of the driving. Whew. Thank god the rain is letting up. I hope it means this storm is finally passing.”

  A half hour later I slipped down the back stairs and out through the kitchen, then scurried around to where the Flyer was parked. It was covered up to the windscreen in mud and dead bugs, and the interior was almost as wet as the exterior, but it was home, and I crawled over the front seat to claim the back when I landed on something soft that moved. “What the hell? Dixon?” I asked, freezing, half in horror and half in surprise.

  “Paulie?”

  The blanket beneath me shifted, and the vague image of Dixon’s face came into view in the dim light from the house. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Protecting the car. I assume you had the same thought as me.”

  “That the Esses are bastards and not to be trusted any farther than a snail can spit? Yeah, I had that thought.” He shifted so I could sit on the seat. “But you are pooped. You shouldn’t be out here.”

  “Neither should you. You’ll be much more comfortable in a real bed.”

  “You’re the one who fought the Flyer all day in the rain. You deserve some serious rest.” I made shooing motions at him. “Go back to the house and get some sleep. I’ll guard the car.”

  Even through the muted darkness, I could see the jaded look on his face when he said, “I prefer that you sleep in comfort, which means you need to return to the house and get a good night’s sleep.”

  I sighed and slapped my hand on the seat. “We aren’t really going to have an argument about who goes back to the house, are we?”

  “No, but that’s because I’m too tired. Would you mind moving to the front seat? My leg is cramping with you sitting there.”

  “Oh, I like that, Mr. I Want You to Be Comfortable. The front seat isn’t anywhere near as comfy as this one.”

  He nudged me with his toes until I gave in and clambered over to the front seat. “I know it’s not, but you’re smaller than me, and you’ll fit there better.”