Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(80)

I pirouetted, startling Billy Ray who barked himself awake from under the table. I picked up the puppy, swooping him into the air in a circle.

He wriggled with joy.

“Billy Ray, your daddy is a genius, and your mommy is going to get her doctorate. Doctor Mommy!”

I set him on the ground and tossed a ball for him. He tore after it, little feet scrabbling on the floor. A glance at my watch told me I needed to leave now to get my ten miles in if I didn’t want to do the entire ride in the dark.

Good. Exercise seemed to juggle everything that swam in my head into neat and tidy boxes. A nice summer evening bike ride would give me a chance to figure out exactly how to make Jonah’s answer the center of it all.





*



With Billy Ray mournfully ensconced in his crate with a handful of treats and his favorite stuffed bear toy, I pulled on my fluorescent green cycling shirt, clipped on my helmet, and set off on the route Jonah had programmed for me.

The crickets were loud, and a few early fireflies lit up over the fields.

A part of me couldn’t believe that I, Shelby Thompson, was pedaling a bike over hill and dale in rural West Virginia. Not too many years ago, I’d been convinced that I needed to be in a city, working in the trenches with families and children in need. It was the most direct way to help. Yet even then, with that na?ve confidence in the cause, the work didn’t sit well with me. I’d sit in my car, eyes closed, taking slow deep breaths to work up the nerve to knock on doors I dreaded.

I felt like a failure giving it up. But I also knew, after the attack, I couldn’t knock on another door again. I hadn’t exactly embraced the sense of failure. More like tucked it away and tried to think about anything and everything else.

Research was safe. But it was also essential. And it brought me joy—bright, exciting, nerd-like joy—every time I dove into new data. It made me happy. Now, I was on the very early side of accepting that being happy in my life was more important than fulfilling a duty I didn’t feel cut out to perform. Maybe I didn’t have to feel so guilty about not finding the meaning I’d expected social work to provide? Maybe doing what I enjoyed would still help make a difference in the world?

I juggled gears and came out of my seat. Jonah had, of course, incorporated some of the hillier sections of road around Bootleg Springs. I kept an eye on my heart rate and my speed.

But my mind was racing with all the ways I could thread Jonah’s insight into my paper. I couldn’t wait to talk to him about it.

That wasn’t something new. I looked forward to my time with him every day. I liked watching him cook. Enjoyed playing with Billy Ray in the yard.

He’d accidentally built a life, and I was part of it.

Could I continue to be part of it?

If Jonah was staying, could I stay, too?

The hair on my arms stood up. I needed to look into universities and nonprofits within driving distance. If Jonah was staying. If I was staying. If we wanted a future together… Well, it was a lot of ifs. But they excited me rather than terrified me.

Headlights caught me from behind, and I moved to hug the edge of the road. I was a mile out of town on Mountain Road where there was road, guardrail, and then nothing but a steep drop.

I’d gotten more confident biking with traffic. But dusk had fallen, and the car wasn’t making any attempt to pass me. I could feel it inching closer and closer.

Maybe the driver didn’t feel safe passing me on such a twisty stretch of road. I let off the brake and folded over the handlebars.

Immediately, I picked up speed. So did the car.

I broke out of the turn, pedaling like hell toward the lights of town. Something felt wrong. And yet oh so familiar.

I wanted to twist in my seat, to look behind me. But I couldn’t do that without falling and probably breaking my neck. The tiny mirror on my handlebars did nothing but reflect headlights. The road was flattening, my speed dropping.

The angle of the headlights changed.

“Oh, thank God,” I whispered. The car was going to pass me.

But it didn’t. It pulled alongside me. An older sedan. Gray or dark blue. I couldn’t tell in the dark. The front wheel was missing the hubcap. I couldn’t see the driver. But they were riding the double yellow line keeping pace with me.

Did I know them? Was this just a joke?

But nothing about this felt funny.

I needed to get into town. Needed to be around people. Witnesses.

The car swerved into my lane and then back again. Too close for comfort. This wasn’t a joke. I wasn’t overthinking. I was in danger.

I shifted gears again and focused on form. I didn’t need to see the heart rate readout on my watch to know it was stratospheric.

The car slid toward me again, claiming the lane, but there were streetlights now. People ahead. I heard music coming from the park. I ignored my instinct to turn down an alley and try to get away from the car. I needed to lure them closer. Into the light and buzz of town. I needed to see who was behind the wheel.

One block and the car slowed, sliding in behind me again. I pedaled like mad, bursting onto Main Street across from the park. There was a band in the gazebo. A summer night concert I realized. The town square was crawling with people, and I felt tears of relief prick at my eyes.

I chanced a glance over my shoulder. But the car was gone.

I didn’t feel any safer.