Page 8 of Whispers and Wildfire
“I did not,” Will protested.
Thomas raised his eyebrows at him.
Will grinned. “Oh yeah, I did. Sorry.”
“Anyway,” Thomas said with a slight roll of his eyes, “I found it the other day. Here.”
He handed me a small blue pouch that cinched with a drawstring. I opened it and emptied the contents into myhand. There was a little toy sports car—cherry-red—a pocket-sized flashlight, and a small plastic compass.
I held up the car. “Do you know what this is?”
“A cool sports car.”
“It’s a very cool sports car. This is a Lamborghini Essenza SCV12. They only make them for racing.”
“Have you driven one?”
“Afraid not. Those bad boys cost over two million dollars.”
His smile faded, and a look of seriousness passed over his features. “This didn’t cost that much.”
I laughed as I put everything in the bag and cinched it closed. “Of course not. This is awesome, buddy. Thank you.”
“There was another car in there. A black one. But, Will.” He rolled his eyes again. “If I find it, I’ll give it to you.”
“I didn’t know it was Uncle Luke’s,” Will protested.
“It’s all good, buddy,” I said. “I have my Lambo.”
I set the bag near the door so I wouldn’t forget it when I left, then went back to the kitchen to help Annika finish dinner while the kids watched their show. The evil queen came on again. It was the strangest thing, but hearing it gave me another burst of adrenaline. What was it about that voice?
Was it weird to have a crush on a cartoon character?
My curiosity was soon forgotten as we all sat down for dinner—oven-baked chicken and salad. I stayed long enough to help clean up, then spent the next twenty minutes saying goodbye and giving Emma and Juliet each “just one more” hug.
Before I pulled away from the house, I put the bag with Thomas’s gift in the glove box of the blue 1970 Chevelle I’d restored the year before. A mild sense of restlessness made me antsy. It was still early, and I thought about going to the Timberbeast Tavern for a drink, but that didn’t sound appealing.
Maybe I’d just go for a drive. It was a nice evening. A hazeof smoke from wildfires deeper in the mountains had lingered for the past several weeks, but it had cleared up after a hard rain the other day, leaving the sky clear and blue.
After leaving my sister’s neighborhood, I headed through town. Summer was tourist season, and the sidewalks were alive with activity—families, visitors, kids skateboarding. I passed Lumberjack Park, where evening picnickers sat on blankets, and someone threw a ball for their dog.
I kept going, passing the turn that would have taken me to my house, and headed toward the highway. As I came around a bend, a car drove right out in front of me.
Adrenaline surged through me, and my instincts kicked in as I hit the brakes. I swerved enough to miss the other car without losing control and winding up in the ditch.
Whoever was driving the second car overcorrected, tires squealing on the asphalt. I caught a quick glimpse of a woman with a dark ponytail as she spun and wound up facing the other direction.
Instead of driving off, I pulled over. I wasn’t mad. Not really. I wasn’t about to admit—not even to myself—how much I liked the surge of adrenaline. How much more alive I felt after that near miss. And even though she’d obviously pulled out in front of me without looking, she hadn’t hit me. But she’d stopped in the middle of the road and hadn’t moved. I just wanted to make sure she was all right.
My car faced her passenger side. I got out and hesitated. Was she going to get out? Drive away?
Her door opened, and she got out, hurrying around the front of her car.
And giving me another hit of adrenaline, potent and intoxicating. My eyes widened, my heart thumped hard in my chest, and it almost felt like someone had kicked the air out of my lungs.
Melanie Andolini.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” She stopped dead in her tracks, right in the middle of the road. “Luke?”
