Detour Ahead

Dear Reader,

Ideas for books come from everywhere. The idea for this book actually came from personal experience. Anyone who knows me knows I have no sense of direction. I can get turned around in a huge discount store and have to stop and ask someone how to find the exit! I have taken many a detour in my travels, some of which have led to meeting interesting people and discovering beautiful faces. (Of course, some of them also lead to lots of frustration.)

My husband, a man who was born with an internal compass, is amazed at how easily I get lost, but he’s learned to live with it. I’ve long wanted to write about a directionally challenged woman and an always-knows-where-he’s-headed man who learn to love each other. So here it is. I hope you enjoy Marlee and Craig’s story.

And if you ever see me driving aimlessly down a street near you, take pity and offer to give me directions!

Cindi Myers

P.S. I love to hear from readers. Write me at P.O. Box 991, Bailey, CO 80421 or e-mail Cindi@CindiMyers.com. Visit me on the Web at www.CindiMyers.com.

Take deep breaths. There’s no need to panic.

Marlee gripped the steering wheel so tightly her fingers were pratically fused to the leather. She gnawed her lower lip and tried to think calming thoughts.

Except that she didn’t have a clue where she was, or even if she was headed in the right direction. She glanced over at Craig, still sleeping, snoring softly. Thank God he wasn’t awake to witness this.

She’d done fine for the first hour or so driving. Then one of those nasty orange signs had popped up on the side of the road. Detour.

She’d told herself she could handle it, she just had to follow the signs. No problem.

Except she must have missed one of the signs, or maybe they’d forgotten to put one out. By that point she’d made two or three turns and had been completely confused.

So she’d guessed. A dangerous proposition, but the only other alternative was to wake Craig. And admit that she’d gotten lost. In the middle of nowhere. Not anywhere close to his precious planned route.

And what self-respecting woman wanted to do that?

Detour Ahead

Cindi Myers

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cindi Myers believes in love at first sight, good chocolate, cold champagne, that people who don’t like animals can’t be trusted and that God obviously has a sense of humor. She also believes in writing fun, sexy romances about people she hopes readers will fall in love with. In addition to writing, Cindi enjoys reading, quilting, gardening, hiking and downhill skiing. She lives in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado with her husband (whom she met on a blind date and agreed to marry six weeks later) and two spoiled dogs.

Books by Cindi Myers

HARLEQUIN FLIPSIDE

10—LIFE ACCORDING TO LUCY

20—WHAT PHOEBE WANTS

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

902—IT’S A GUY THING!

935—SAY YOU WANT ME

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

82—JUST 4 PLAY

118—RUMOR HAS IT

149—TAKING IT ALL OFF

168—GOOD, BAD…BETTER

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

1

THOSE OF YOU who’ve been following this Web diary for a while know that I am somewhat directionally impaired. In fact, you may recall I began this blog as a way of sharing some of my more interesting adventures while deviating from my original route—in other words, crazy things that happened to me while getting lost.

But my latest attempt to find my way in unfamiliar surroundings has landed me in hot water. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it here, but then, when have I ever held anything back from you, my faithful readers?

I lost my license.

I don’t mean I’ve misplaced the thing and can’t find it. I mean it was taken away from me. Pulled. I’m no longer a legal driver.

I was driving the wrong way down a one-way street and…And the traffic court judge took one look at the points on my driving record and confiscated my license. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t racked up all those speeding tickets, too. And if I hadn’t been cited two other times for carelessness behind the wheel. Can I help it if I make a few wrong turns sometimes?

Maybe it’s like my friend Susan says. I need to carry a compass. Of course, then I’d have to learn to actually read a compass. A Girl Scout I was not….

Just thought I’d share that update. Now, real life beckons.

Real life in the form of two projects that needed to be finished by Friday, four phone calls to return and a handful of mail to open. Not to mention Susan’s wedding to deal with. Marlee Jones sighed and signed off from her Travels with Marlee Web site. What had begun as a way to teach herself HTML code had turned into a guilty pleasure. Her Web log, or blog, pulled in several hundred hits a day and she actually got fan mail. Most of it from nice ordinary people. Of course there was Dave, who wrote to her from Cellblock Sixteen at the state pen, but he at least was polite, and safely locked away for life, or so her contact in the criminal justice department had assured her.

She shook her head and picked up the heavy cream-colored envelope she kept propped against her monitor.

Mr. and Mrs. Anthony St. John request that you join them in celebrating the marriage of their daughter, Susan Elisabeth, to Bryan Fredericks, son of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne Fredericks and Alison Reynolds.

Susan would have a fit when Marlee told her the latest. She ought to be calling any second now….

The phone rang and Marlee picked it up on the second ring. “Hello, Susan.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I’m psychic.”

“No, really, how did you know? Did your cheap-ass boss finally spring for caller ID?”

“Gary isn’t cheap, he’s frugal. After all, we are a nonprofit organization.”

“That’s his excuse for everything. But I notice that he isn’t doing without the finer things in life, while you labor away in that little closet of an office.”

Marlee glanced around her office, which had, in fact, been a storage closet in another life. Yeah, it was small and dingy and out of the way, but that had its advantages. Nobody ever bothered her back here and she was pretty much free to do what she liked.

“You’re not answering my question,” Susan said. “Since when are you psychic?”

“I know you’ve got Travels with Marlee linked to your home page. You read the new post, didn’t you?”

“What’s this about losing your license? How does a grown woman lose her license?”

“It’s not my fault,” Marlee protested. “Some people are born without a sense of direction. There’ve been studies.”

“You’re a study all right. The big question is, how are you going to get to my wedding? Don’t think I’m going to go through this without you. Besides, there’s a groomsman I want you to meet.”

“Susan!” Marlee rolled her eyes. Though Susan fancied herself a matchmaker, the truth was, her fixups always ended up broken. “I’m coming to be with you at your wedding, not to meet a man.”

“But this one would be perfect for you.”

“Right. Like that accordion player—what was his name, Terry?”

“Larry. And I thought you’d appreciate his quirkiness.”

“He was a horrible accordion player. And his idea of a hot date was a visit to the Air and Space Museum, to look at every single exhibit.”

“So I was a little off with that one. This guy I know you’ll like. But first you have to get here to meet him. Without a driver’s license, how are you going to do that? I know you won’t fly.”

Marlee shuddered. Looking at all those planes at the museum had been bad enough—no way was she getting on one. “Maybe I could take a bus.” She glanced over at the computer on her credenza. A chorus line of chimpanzees tap-danced their way across the monitor screen. Could she look up bus schedules online?

“Ick. It would take a week. You’d be a wreck by the time you got here. I don’t want my maid of honor looking like she slept sitting up for a week.”

Marlee sighed. She didn’t particularly want to try sleeping sitting up. Now that she was on the downhill slide toward thirty, even a couple of nights of less than blissful slumber made fine lines and dark circles appear out of nowhere. “What about the train?”

“Hello? Have you ever checked an Amtrak schedule? To get from D.C. to San Diego you have to change trains umpteen times and it takes like four days. It would be as bad as the bus. And way more expensive.”

“I guess I could try to catch a ride with someone else. Any other guests driving from D.C. to San Diego for the wedding?” Susan and Bryan had met in the capital city, so it stood to reason other wedding guests were from here. Though most of them were probably flying. Let them trust their lives to a heavy metal tube floating on air. She’d stay firmly on the ground, thank you very much.

“That’s a brilliant idea!” Susan sounded thrilled.

“It is?” As ideas went, it didn’t sound particularly spectacular to Marlee. She spent every day designing wildly creative ads for non-profits. Using rappers to promote the Reading Is Fundamental program—now that was a brilliant idea, but this…?

“Craig Brinkman is driving from D.C. You can ride with him.”

“Uh-huh. Who is Craig Brinkman?” She picked up a pencil and wrote a note for herself to call the metro library about a photo shoot.

“He’s Bryan’s old college roommate. The best man, as a matter of fact. It’s the perfect solution.”

“This isn’t the guy you’re trying to fix me up with, is it? Because I really don’t want to be fixed up right now.” Or ever, if Susan was doing the fixing. She was a great friend, but she didn’t have a clue what Marlee really wanted in a man. But then, Marlee wasn’t too sure on that score either.

“Craig?” Susan’s laugh came out more like a snort. “Absolutely not. Craig Brinkman is definitely not your type.”

“Why do you say that? If he’s so awful, why are you suggesting I travel all the way across the country with him?”

“He’s not awful. In fact, he’s a really nice guy. But he’s sort of uptight. A real overachiever.”

Marlee looked around her closet office. “And I’m an underachiever.” Ouch.

“You’re just not as ambitious as Craig. I mean, this is the man with a plan—for everything.”

She made a face. Craig Brinkman definitely didn’t sound like her type of guy. And not someone she wanted to spend a week in close quarters with. With her laid-back approach to life, she’d have him driving off a cliff inside of two days. Three, tops. “I don’t know, Suz. Drive cross-country with a man I’ve never even met? It seems kind of weird.”

“Craig’s a nice guy, really. One thing about being anal, he won’t get lost. And he’s one of Bryan’s oldest friends. You like Bryan, don’t you?”

As if I’d be clueless enough to tell you if I didn’t like the man you’re going to marry. But thankfully, she didn’t have to fake liking Bryan Fredericks. He was a genuinely good guy. Chances were this friend of his was a good guy too. Still…

“Craig will probably appreciate the company,” Susan continued. “And you can split expenses. I’ll have Bryan call him and set it all up.”

Marlee chewed her lower lip. If she was going to make Susan’s wedding, it was either gut it up to get on a plane, or accept a ride with mysterious Craig. “Okay. And thanks. I dreaded the thought of having to miss your wedding.”

“No way are you going to miss this. How many other best friends do you think I have? It’s too late to order another dress—or to find another gal pal.”

Marlee laughed. “Thanks. I can’t wait to see you again.”

“I can’t wait to see you. I need you here to help me deal with all the wedding craziness.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You try interviewing six caterers and three florists in one week. It’s enough to make me want to elope.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I said I was crazy, not insane. I’ve waited years for my dream wedding and I won’t let anything stop me from having it. Including a maid of honor with no sense of direction.”

“Right, well, have this Craig guy give me a call. We’ll see if we can’t work something out.” She hung up the phone and relaxed in her chair, bouncing against the springy back. Susan sounded so happy. So in love. The tiniest pinch of jealousy grabbed hold of Marlee. Why did some women find love so easily while others never seemed to get a break?

She herself had had about as much luck finding Mr. Right as she did finding her way around the city in traffic. Maybe whatever genetic flaw led to her always getting lost was connected to her inability to sustain a relationship. Sure, she had plenty of male friends, but not one special man. Men didn’t take her seriously. Her last boyfriend had flat-out told her he couldn’t plan a future with a woman who didn’t even think about lunch ahead of time.

So what was wrong with being spontaneous? Her motto was Be Prepared—for Anything!

She sat straight in her chair again and resolutely opened the file for RIF. Was her carefree attitude a sign of immaturity? After all, what kind of grown woman lost her license? And while all her friends had moved on to high-profile jobs and fancy homes and families of their own, she still lived in a funky little carriage-house apartment in Georgetown, and had a job that provided more satisfaction than salary. No wonder men looking to settle down steered clear of her.

She let out another sigh and told herself to concentrate on work. Marching along to a set plan for her life sounded like sheer drudgery. She couldn’t see living in a certain kind of house or working a certain kind of job just because it was expected. She needed more freedom to move around, to go with the flow.

If that made her man-poison, so be it. Except for her lackluster love life, she was happy, and what more could a girl ask for?

Except maybe a better internal compass.

FROM: TopToque@govnet.net

To: Marlee@TWM.com

Subject: Driving to San Diego

Understand you need ride to Bry & Suz’s wedding. Am leaving Sat. June 6, 8 a.m. sharp. You’re welcome if you can pay your expenses. Expect 5 nights on road. Let me know ASAP.

Marlee frowned at the e-mail message that showed up in her box two days after her conversation with Susan. She assumed this “TopToque” character was Craig Brinkman. He wasn’t much on small talk, was he? A little “Hello, how are you, my name’s Craig,” wouldn’t have been out of line, would it?

Okay, maybe she was being too hard on the guy. Maybe he was shy. Or he felt awkward about this whole give-a-ride-to-a-stranger thing. She could relate to that.

No problem, then. She’d be the one to break the ice. She’d show him how it was done.

From: Marlee@TWM.com

To: TopToque@govnet.net

Subject: Road Trip!

Hi Craig. Good to hear from you. I’m Marlee Jones, erstwhile best woman in need of a ride to San Diego. Thanks so much for agreeing to help me out here. I promise I’ll be good company and, of course, I’ll pay my share of the costs.

Since we’re going to be spending some time together on the road, I thought it might be nice to get to know each other a little first. How about coffee or a drink sometime? Call me at 555-6129. I’m looking forward to meeting you!

Marlee

Smiling to herself, she hit the Send button. That should thaw Craig out a little. They could meet for a drink, hammer out the details of the trip and when it was time to hit the road they’d practically be old friends instead of strangers.

“Hey, Marl.” Gretchen Wunderlich, her boss Gary’s secretary, slipped into Marlee’s closet/office. “Gary told me to give these to you.” She dumped a pile of multi-colored papers on Marlee’s desk.

“What is all this?” She frowned at the top sheet, “Sterilization Techniques for Meat Handlers.”

“P.I.O. sheets that need to be updated. Gary says to work on them as you get the chance.”

Public Information Office sheets always needed updating. Most of them dated from the forties and fifties. Marlee pulled a pale-pink sheet of paper from the stack. “Safe Food Handling for the Housewife” was illustrated with drawings of a smiling woman in a full-skirted dress, apron and high heels. “Why did Gary send these to me?” she asked.

Gretchen leaned against the doorjamb and smacked a wad of gum the color of a honeydew melon. “They’ve been cluttering up the office for months now. I got tired of moving them around and complained, so Gary had me bring them here.”

“So now they can clutter up my office. Gee, thanks.” She frowned at the six-inch high tower of paper. “I thought the interns were supposed to do this kind of grunt work.” As a nonprofit, the agency relied on interns from George Washington University for free labor.

“This semester’s intern is designing an animation program for the art department.”

Great. Now even the interns did more exciting work than Marlee. “Tell Gary I don’t think I’ll be able to get to this anytime soon.”

“No prob.” Gretchen heaved herself upright once more and started to leave. She stopped halfway out the door and swung around to face Marlee again. “I almost forgot—Gary really liked your idea to use the rappers for the Reading Is Fundamental promo.”

“Great.” Of course, it would have been greater if Gary had managed to tell her this himself, but she’d learned to be grateful for small favors.

Gretchen was almost out the door again when Marlee stopped her. “Gary knows about my vacation, right? Remind him I’ll be away the next two weeks.”

“I’ll remind him. Knowing Gary, he won’t even notice you’re gone.” Gretchen waved over her shoulder, then was gone, her feet slapping on the tile floor in rhythm with her popping gum.

Marlee sank into her chair and stared at the P.I.O. sheets. So much for the artistic, interesting and important work she always bragged about whenever her friends asked why she continued to work for a peanuts-for-pay nonprofit when she could be plying her trade for real dough at one of the big ad firms around town.

Not that she hadn’t asked herself from time to time if she was really making the best use of her talents. Sure, working for programs like Reading Is Fundamental and the March of Dimes was rewarding and important, but was she selling herself short by not being more ambitious?

Ambition sounded like so much hard work. She’d always been one to go with the flow and see where life took her next. Only lately she felt as if the flow had stopped and she wasn’t going much of anywhere.

She shoved the P.I.O. busywork aside and opened a new file on her computer. Writing new blog entries always helped her to sort out her thoughts.

Road trip!

Don’t those words immediately make you think of fun and adventure? Whether it’s a Spring Break caravan to the Florida beaches or a summer safari across the country, hitting the road with friends for a few days away from the grind is a sure cure for a case of the dulls.

Yours truly is about to set off on a cross-country odyssey of my own. I’ll be traveling from D.C. to San Diego to attend by best gal pal Susan’s wedding.

Before you start alerting state police to be on the lookout for me, rest assured that I will not be driving myself on this trip. (See previous entry for the whole sad story of my recently departed driver’s license.) No, I have the privilege of a chauffeur for this vacation, the wedding best man. More on him later.

Right now I’m musing about the value of road trips in general and this one in particular. I’m thinking this will be the perfect time to take a closer look at where I’m headed—literally and figuratively.

Don’t worry, though, I don’t intend to get too serious. I’m not forgetting this is a vacation, too. And vacations are for fun. For cutting loose and doing things we might not do in the confines of our ordinary lives. How else to explain the penchant for Las Vegas conventioneers to sing karaoke or overly pale beachgoers to throw their backs out doing the limbo?

So expect a few surprises from yours truly in the coming weeks. Though I don’t know exactly how yet, I intend to find my own way to cut loose.

MARLEE was well into her regular Wednesday-night movie marathon when the phone rang. She was tempted to ignore it, since tonight’s theme was road-trip movies and she hated to break away from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert to talk to what was probably a phone salesperson anyway.

But guilt and the worry that it might be a friend in need drove her to hit the pause button and reach over and pluck the phone from its cradle. “Hello?”

“Is this Marlee Jones?”

“That depends on who’s calling. Who is this?”

“This is Craig Brinkman.”

“Oh, hi, Craig.” She smiled and tucked her feet up under her, settling in for a longer conversation. “Nice to talk to you. How are you doing?”

“I’m actually pretty busy right now. I just called to get directions to your place.”

“Sure. Or if you want to meet for a drink or something I can bring you a map.”

“I don’t really have time for that. Just give me your address.”

She frowned. Craig wasn’t any chattier on the phone than he was via e-mail. “Sure. I’m really easy to find.” She rattled off her address and the names of the cross streets.

“Great. I’ll pick you up at eight on Saturday morning.”

Almost too late, she realized he was about to hang up. “Wait, wait,” she called. “Don’t hang up yet.”

“What is it?” He came back on the line.

“Is there anything I should bring? Anything you need me to do?”

“No, I already have everything planned out. And I have reservations for hotels along the way.”

“You do?” Not that she wasn’t aware some people traveled this way; she just never saw the point.

“Yes. That way we don’t have to waste any time searching for a place to stay each night.”

“What if something happens and we don’t make it to the place where you have reservations?”

“What could happen?”

“I don’t know—bad weather, construction detours. Or we could get lost.” She didn’t mention that she always got lost at least once on a trip of any length.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I have our itinerary all mapped out and I’ve checked road conditions.”

“Oh. Well, I wasn’t really worried.” She shifted the phone to her other ear. “Are you sure you don’t have time for a quick drink? Or a cup of coffee.”

“Sorry, but I’m pretty busy here. I’d better go.”

Without waiting for her to say good-bye, he hung up. She replaced the phone in its cradle and stared at it, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Hadn’t Mr. Brinkman heard that first impressions counted? He certainly hadn’t made a very good one with her.