Page 11 of Hideaway Whirlwind (Big Boys of Berenson Trucking #4)

Teagan

“Soooo,” I start off slowly, trying to make conversation. Anything to pass the monotonous time as I sit wedged between the two front seats on the floor instead of buckling myself into the passenger seat like Elliott keeps asking me to. “Have you always wanted to be a truck driver?”

Elliott grunts a non-answer.

I frown, picking at my sore cuticles. Elliott is always quiet while driving, but there’s a different quality to it this time.

A heaviness in the air that even the kids can sense, keeping their voices low despite hating being cooped up in their seats again.

I have to wonder if his mood has anything to do with what I told him or the way I touched him last night, having woken up with my fingers running through his thick hair before falling back to sleep.

Had he been awake? And why was he sitting up in the first place?

Maybe it had something to do with his back.

Crap . I’ve done a bang-up job of making everything weird, and he probably thinks I’m a freak.

Elliott sighs heavily, as if begrudgingly deciding to answer me. “I wanted to be a deputy. ”

“Really?” I ask, perking up. “So why did you choose trucking? Because of your brother?”

He shakes his head, tugging his collar away from his neck. “It wasn’t a choice,” he mumbles, hardly moving his lips.

It wasn’t a choice . His answer has me reevaluating how much more I want to know about him, and choosing, rather, to scoot away from him, closer to my kids.

I end up making my pinky nail bleed when I chew it past the quick, growing increasingly nervous as my mind spins theories as to why he couldn’t become a deputy.

He’s bad news , and I don’t need any more of that in my life.

* * *

The temperature falls as the weather worsens after crossing the border into Texas, but Elliott pushes through, probably looking forward to the moment he can drop us off at Marigold’s house.

I’m looking forward to it, too, if only so I don’t end up making things weirder.

I’ve also run out of clean clothes to wear beneath the flannel that Elliott hasn’t asked me to return yet, since I didn’t pack nearly as much for myself as I did for the kids, so everything needs a good washing.

Elliott grunts as he carefully slows the truck to avoid rear-ending a small sports car that cuts him off suddenly, swerving around an accident in the left lane where a pickup truck looks to have spun out.

He mutters curses under his breath as traffic slows even more due to the snow sticking to the ground, which he says is highly unusual since it typically melts soon after falling. More bad news.

“Should we pull over and get another motel room?” I ask, holding onto the front seats, the wipers swishing across the windshield at top speed, visibility dangerously low.

“Probably,” he says with a croak, his voice rusty after so many silent hours. “But last time I checked, the news said the storm is now supposed to hold for the next three days. Without salt trucks down here, we’d be stranded for who knows how long.”

Dustin and Sydney both whine from the back. “Not again,” Sydney says. “It’s so boring.”

Though I’ll take boring any day over the fear and chaos we’re used to, I don’t contradict her.

* * *

“Almost there,” Elliott says, too many boring hours later, when a large, silver lake ahead comes into view.

“Yay!” The kids cheer in their seats, their voices growing louder with excitement that the trip is nearly over.

I feel the same way, my eyes growing hot and my heart beating faster. This is it. We really, truly, finally got out . I almost can’t believe this is real.

And just like that , my excitement plummets when Elliott’s truck starts backsliding when he tries to crest a small hill right before we get to the Berenson Trucking warehouse. I grab Elliott’s arm with a muted shriek, panic rising that we’re going to get in an accident, and the kids scream.

“Buckle yourself in,” Elliott demands for the millionth time, and I finally listen, scrambling into the front passenger seat, tucking the lap belt beneath my baby bump without making it too obvious.

Twice more, he attempts to climb the hill, only for the truck to inch backward.

“We’re not getting up this hill,” he says, angling the truck off the road on the snowy grass, the truck leaning precariously into the ditch that runs parallel.

Elliott lets the engine idle as he drops his head back with his phone held to his ear. He repeatedly redials his brother, but none of his calls will go through. Next, he tries Marigold’s husband, Davis, who also works at BT. Same thing happens.

“What do we do now?” I ask before looking back to check on the kids, finding tears in their eyes and frightful expressions.

“We’ll have to leave the truck here until the snow melts or we can get it towed.

” Buttoning his flannel up to his throat and flipping his collar up, he says, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.

” He throws open the door and shuts it quickly.

Sticking to the grass, he jogs up and over the hill out of sight.

* * *

Growing worried the longer we have to wait, I let loose a squeak of relief when Elliott steps out of a blocky, vintage brown Bronco with huge tires that he parks beside the eighteen-wheeler. With snow crowning his head and shoulders, he hurriedly climbs into his driver’s side seat.

“The warehouse is closed. Davis left this for me,” he says, passing me a folded piece of printer paper before ducking into the back of the cab to start unbuckling the kids from their seats.

“The state’s power grid is failing, so phone service is out.

Davis and Goldie are staying with friends after a pipe froze and burst in their kitchen.

Don’t know how long it’ll be before they can get it repaired and move back home. ”

My heart sinks as I read the apology note, hastily scrawled in unfamiliar chicken-scratch handwriting, confirming what Elliott said. No power, no running water, and no room for us at their friend’s house .

“Where are we supposed to go?” I ask, shoving the note in my pocket.

Elliott plops Kendall on my lap with a tired sigh. “We’ll put the car seats in the Bronco, and I’ll drive y’all over to my brother’s place, since they have more beds to spare.”

I have no choice but to go along with it, hoping it won’t be too awkward staying with and relying on more strangers for who knows how long.

Elliott asks me to stay in the truck with the kids while he unbolts and transfers the car seats and our bags to his Bronco with great, big body shivers and ice forming on his mustache.

After slamming his trunk closed with the last of our things, Elliott finally cuts off the truck’s engine. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I answer, buttoning up against the cold while we hurry to strap the kids into the Bronco that he left idling with the heat on full blast. My knuckles turn white as I grip the handle hanging from the Bronco’s ceiling above the passenger window and tamp down my fear that we’re going to wreck when Elliott’s tires slip a few times after pulling away from the ditch.

Time passes painfully slow again while the sun sets, and a blanket of darkness settles over the land without any stars or lights flickering in the distance.

There’s nothing but the black and dense, sinister woods instead of the vast, empty desert, nor any of the massive, ultra-bright neon signs I’m used to in Vegas. It’s perfect .

Elliott

Just a few feet past the hidden gravel turn-off to my cabin, I have to throw my right arm out across Birdie’s chest to stop her from lurching forward in the passenger seat when the back end of the Bronco swings out after hitting a patch of black ice invisible in my headlights.

“It’s ok, you’re ok,” I say, reluctantly dropping my arm and steering the Bronco over. “Change of plans. Gonna back up and take y’all to my cabin. My brother’s property borders mine on the left side, and I’ll run through in the morning to check on him and his wife.”

“Why not tonight?” she asks with a hand over her heart, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

“It’s a long trek through the woods on foot. Too dark and dangerous for you and the kids, especially with the ice. ‘Sides, I have a generator for power if mine is out. With my setup, we shouldn’t have to worry about burst pipes or losing water either.”

With Birdie’s nod of acceptance, I steer the Bronco onto the gravel, which isn’t nearly as slick as the roads, and make the half-mile journey through the trees to my cabin.

The Bronco dips in a pit in the gravel that I’ve been meaning to fill in as I swerve left around the one-story wooden structure with its pitched roof and bottom border of natural gray and brown stones to pull in behind the new-to-me midnight blue Bronco I’m restoring.

It’s parked beneath the carport attached to the shed where I keep my tools, spare car parts, and my collection of handy shovels.

I step out of the Bronco first, cocking my head to the side, listening for anything that might be lurking nearby.

But it’s a quiet night, the small creek on the right side of the cabin frozen solid and no longer babbling.

Satisfied that nothing and no one is watching us from the shadows, I motion for Birdie to hop out with the kids.

I know my way in the dark, but for their sake, I shine the flashlight on my phone across the large stone paver walkway and up the four wooden steps to the covered back deck while keeping Kendall bundled to my chest since she’s the smallest and most susceptible to the cold.

“Yup, power’s out,” I say unnecessarily when we step through the back door into the kitchen, flipping the light switch up and down a few times. The cabin remains cold, dark, and somewhat stale, needing to be aired out after five weeks on the road.

I show Birdie, Sydney, and Dustin to the wood-paneled living room just past the L-shaped kitchen of original wood cabinetry.

While the older kids collapse on the seventies tweed sofa I should have replaced long ago, I pass Kendall to her mama, who sits in my dark brown leather rocking recliner.

After throwing several spare blankets on top of them to keep them warm, I pop into the shed to stow some of the cargo that will need to be burned and buried and retrieve my gas generator.

It provides a steady thrum of background noise as soon as I get it hooked up to the cabin, running almost as loud as the diesel engine in my truck.

Dead tired but still putting one foot in front of the other, I bring our bags and leftover food inside last, dropping them on the round, eat-in kitchen table with its four wooden chairs.

I’ll have to build a matching high chair for Kendall and get booster seats for Sydney and Dustin .

My spine goes ramrod straight as soon as that thought crosses my mind, and I shove it out of my head, slamming my mental walls down .

Dustin jumps up to pick through the remaining food for a snack. Something I’ve learned over the past few days is no matter how much the boy eats, he’s never full…just like his papa.

Damnit . So much for those mental walls of mine.

“Are you super rich?” Dustin asks me through a mouthful of potato chips, eyes wide as he does a slow circle, observing everything.

It’s the last thing I expected him to ask as I eye my place, seeing it for what it is—just an old, mostly bare cabin out in the sticks.

But also, I realize with a flicker of pride, a standalone, three-bedroom retreat, set miles apart from my closest neighbors, with recently resanded and stained original hardwood floors, clean except for the dust that has settled since I’ve been gone.

And best of all, quiet. So very quiet. Vastly different from their apartment.

“Dustin!” Birdie hisses, standing and tucking Kendall under the blankets with Sydney. “It’s rude to ask people about money.”

His brows dip. “Why?”

“Most people are uncomfortable talking about their finances,” she answers tiredly, peering up at me with a wary expression. “Others might be offended.”

“What’s ‘finances’?” Dustin asks.

“Money.”

Dustin nods, then turns to me. “So you got lots of money?” he asks with a yawn, crumbs falling from his mouth.

I half-bark a laugh and place a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “I have what I need.” Though I guess in comparison to what he’s used to, I am rich, in more ways than one.

Birdie drags her hands down her face with a groan. “Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

“But why?”

“Listen to your mama,” I tell him. “It’s polite to swallow first before speaking.”

“Sorry,” Birdie whispers.

I tip my head toward her, wishing she would come closer so I could touch her as casually as I do the kids, but with much different intent. “Don’t be. Kids are curious.”

Of course, Dustin hears that and runs with it. “How come you’re not married? My mommy’s not married. Are you getting married?”

“Oh man,” Birdie says with another groan.

The answer comes to me without pause while I try not to stare at Birdie.

I would in a heartbeat, kiddo . Plenty of people have asked me the same question over the years.

When are you going to start dating again?

Aren’t you lonely out in the woods? What do you need that big house of yours for?

I know a widow I could set you up with. It’s tiresome, and since I never answer, people should know better than to ask by now.

“Is this our house now?” Dustin continues. “Can I have my own room? And a dirt bike? And a puppy? And a tiger? Tigers are cool.”

Birdie claps her hands once to stop him. “Ok, bedtime, guys.” She looks off down the hallway that separates the kitchen from the living room. “Um…”

“I have a guest room y’all can stay in tonight,” I say, though I’ve never had any guests.

Motioning to Sydney and Kendall to follow, I take their bag of clothes and all the blankets, then lead them down to the first of the two doors on the right that look out on the front yard, opposite the hall bathroom and laundry room on the left. “It’s not much,” I warn .

Birdie sits on the edge of the full-sized bed—the only piece of furniture in the room—and reaches for Kendall. “We have all we need,” she says with the hint of a grin. “Thank you.”

I grip the bronze door handle so hard I fear it’s going to break off in my hand, wishing I could stay with them, even risk throwing my back out by sleeping on the floor again, instead of having to leave them for the night.

“I’m at the end of the hall,” I say, tilting my head sideways.

“Got it,” she says, rolling her lips in between her teeth, tipping her chin up.