For Love of Thunder by Maggie McIntyre

Author:Maggie McIntyre [McIntyre, Maggie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ryeland Press
Published: 2022-11-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

“We’re halfway across Missouri, the ‘beating heart of the Midwest.’”

“You think so? It looks like it needs some resuscitating.” Tara kept her eyes on the road ahead, the IS-74 which ran straight as a die east to west across the state from St Louis to Kansas City. They were well over a hundred miles into it now, and the small towns they had passed looked pretty weather-beaten and rundown. This was prime tornado country, and she kept her eyes peeled for any looming storm clouds on the horizon. Ricky remained a fount of information, pulling up nuggets of trivia from the encyclopedic depths of her iPhone.

“Yep, that’s what the state tourist site says, though why it’s called the Show Me State, I can’t imagine. What’s there to show us? Two great big cities with country farms and beef lots in between. But it says here Missouri’s big on brewing and wine making. A quarter of the population are of German descent, so they grow a lot of grapes for Riesling type wines. It also says it’s one of the most liberal states for alcohol consumption because of that, so we can get drunk tonight if you want to. They brew a heck of a lot of beer around here too.”

“I thought Missouri was more a center for the French Creole people and its own version of their language. My great-grandmother on my mom’s side was Missouri Creole. Her folks left St Louis back in the nineteenth century and moved down to Louisiana.”

Ricky looked at her, as though she was trying to detect any French forebears. “Yeah, I can imagine that. Cherokee on one side, French on the other. You’d look wonderful in Paris fashions. Natural chic and all that.”

Tara swallowed a laugh and almost choked. “You’re full of it, Ric. I’m the least stylish person on the planet.”

“No, you’re not. You have everything, face, figure, that ‘Who gives a shit?’ attitude. I think you’re gorgeous.”

A warm flush rose up through Tara’s cheeks. The cab suddenly seemed hotter than normal. She lowered the window to her left to take in some fresh air.

“And I hope you realize, I wish you were mine. I mean, really mine,” Ricky whispered, her voice husky.

But it was a firm and definite statement, an honest confession. “Oh no, honey,” Tara said before Ricky could say any more. “Please don’t. I’d be so bad for you. You don’t deserve that. You’re worth so much more.”

“Tara, listen.” Ricky switched off the radio and turned to face her.

Tara couldn’t handle the face-to-face, so she scowled a little and looked firmly ahead through the windshield.

“I want to show you just how wonderful you are and find out why you have such a lousy self-image. It’s not how I remember you when I was a kid. You shone with self-confidence in those days. We all believed you could do anything, and you could. You were a fantastic horsewoman and riding teacher, and we all had a crush on you. You must’ve known.

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