“Thank you.”
He grinned. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re an excellent newscaster,” she commented, returning the favor. “Even when the news is bleak and it seems that nothing is right in our world, I come away feeling optimistic and hopeful.”
“Thank you.” He seemed surprised to learn this. “It seems to me we can respect each other professionally.”
“It’s just that…”
“Yes?” he coaxed when she didn’t immediately continue.
“I might be putting my foot in my mouth by saying this, but it seems to me it’d help if you could learn to relax.”
“Relax?” He repeated the word as if he needed Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary to decipher the meaning.
“You know,” she murmured, sorry now that she’d brought up the subject. “Let your hair down once in a while and stop being so damn serious.”
A whole lot more than the tips of his ears went red this time, and Carrie realized she’d made a major mistake. The color circled both ears and spread like a flash flood down his neck.
“Perhaps you should look at yourself before throwing stones,” he suggested.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she admitted and then, because she was curious, added, “What about me? Feel free to speak your mind.”
“Then I will.” Kyle appeared downright eager. “You don’t think before you speak. You say whatever comes to your mind, without censoring the thought. And while we’re on the subject—” He stopped abruptly.
“Go on,” she urged, with a saccharine smile.
What he’d said about her talking before thinking was true, but she’d hang before she admitted it.
The waitress delivered their order, and Carrie dove into her salad as if she needed to kill it before she ate the first bite. She stabbed the lettuce with her fork with so much force that a black olive leaped off the plate and rolled across the tabletop.
“Don’t eat that,” she snapped, as if there were some threat that he would, without sterilizing it first.
“You’re as immature and stubborn as a two-year-old,” he continued, “and you haven’t got a sensible thought in your head.” He attacked his sandwich as if he expected to bite into shoe leather.
“You’re so caught up in your own importance you don’t even realize how arrogant you look to everyone else.” She took another vicious bite of her salad.
“You wouldn’t want to know how others see you,” he returned between gritted teeth.
“This will never work,” Carrie announced. Calmly she set her fork aside and reached for her purse. She pulled out several bills, set them on the table, and stood. “I prefer to buy my own lunch, thank you,” she said, and without a backward glance walked away.
It took a full ten minutes for the churning anger to leave Kyle. He wished to hell he knew what it was about Carrie Jamison that annoyed him so much. He’d seen her with other people and admired and envied their easy camaraderie.
No matter what she said, it was a lot more than his choice in suits that had set her off that first day. Some of what she’d suggested about him contained a grain of truth. A tiny grain of truth. Mustard-seed-sized truth. All her talk about his being a stuffed shirt rankled. It simply wasn’t true.
As for him, Kyle had decided weeks earlier what he found so objectionable about her. Carrie reminded him of his own dear sweet mother. Lillian Harris had never left the sixties. He’d read once that anyone who remembered the sixties wasn’t there. His mother was one of the original flower children, protesting the war in Vietnam, preaching the gospel of love and peace. She’d made her living selling love beads and daisies on the sidewalks of Haight-Ashbury until she’d gotten pregnant with him.
In Carrie he saw the “don’t worry, be happy” philosophy his mother always followed. Kyle loved his mother, although he didn’t exactly view her as a parent. He had mostly raised himself, although Lillian would be shocked to hear him say it. Even now that he was thirty, she called him at least twice a week and faithfully read him his astrology chart while Kyle listened politely and gritted his teeth.
Lillian meant well, but he’d lived the majority of his life escaping her clutches. He certainly wasn’t keen on working with someone who reminded him so much of dear ol’ Mom.
The days that followed proved to be more strained than the whole previous year, despite their best efforts to prove otherwise. Although Kyle never actually saw Clyde watching him and Carrie, the station manager was there, big as life. He remained hidden in the background, probing into the fractured relationship like a schoolboy prying at road kill with a long stick.
It didn’t come as any surprise when Clyde asked to see them both in the office at the end of the second week. Kyle wished to hell he’d been able to work something out with Carrie, but their lunch and subsequent encounters had proved how impossible that was.
Carrie’s eyes met his, filled with accusation and dread. He made sure his own gaze echoed the sentiment. The way he saw it, they were both decent people who simply brought out the worst in each other. Kyle had never said to any other woman the things he said to Carrie. He was convinced the same was true for her.
Clyde motioned toward the two wooden chairs in his office.
“Have you two have anything to say before I give you your last paychecks?” he asked, eyeing them as if he expected to read the small print of their warring personalities across their foreheads.
“Of course,” Kyle lied. “This job means a good deal to us both.”
“Kyle and I deeply respect each other,” Carrie added quickly, with a smile so dazzling it might have blinded anyone else.
Clyde’s hands went behind his back. “That’s not the way I hear it.”
Kyle opened his mouth to protest, and he noticed that Carrie did too, but Clyde stopped them both with an outstretched hand.
“I’d hoped you two would work toward becoming friends.”
“We’re friends, aren’t we, Kyle?” Carrie asked him hurriedly.
The bright, phony smile was back, and if he could see through it, Clyde would as well.
“Of course we’re friends,” Kyle answered, making an effort to be convincing. “Good friends. Why, we had lunch just the other day and talked everything out. We made a few basic decisions.”
Clyde frowned and started pacing the narrow space between them and his desk. He didn’t say anything, and Kyle grew more uncomfortable with every sweep he made past the chairs.
“You know we’re both signed up for the broadcasters’ convention in Dallas next weekend, don’t you?” Kyle directed to Clyde.
“Yes. From what I understand it’s a great place to pass out your résumés.”
“As Kyle was saying, we had lunch together and came up with a few ideas of how to overcome our differences,” Carrie said.
“What ideas?” Clyde asked pointedly.
Kyle looked to Carrie at a lss. Damn it all, he hated to lose this job. It was exactly the experience he needed before moving into television as a news director. He was willing to start at the bottom and gain the necessary experience. He certainly hadn’t anticipated being fired.
“We decided to drive to the convention together,” Carrie said.
Drive to the convention together? Where the hell did she get that idea? Kyle bit back a reply. She’d actually suggest they travel together after their disastrous lunch? The woman was nuts. Or desperate. Probably both.
“Really?” Clyde paused mid-step and stared at them for a moment.
“It’s a sort of sink-or-swim project,” Carrie said, warming to the subject. “Kyle suggested it, and I agreed. We want to do whatever we can to convince you to give us another chance. If you still want to fire us after the convention, then by all means go ahead. All we’re asking is that you give us this one last opportunity.”
Kyle noticed that the deejay was perched dangerously close to the edge of her seat. Another inch and she’d land on her fanny.
“W
orking at KUTE means that much to you?” Clyde asked.
“Oh, yes,” Carrie said.
Kyle thought she might find work in the theater. Surely the woman had a flare for the dramatic.
Clyde said nothing for several moments. Then he grinned.
Kyle could read the handwriting on the wall. He was going to be trapped for a thousand-mile round trip in a car with a woman he intensely disliked.
“I want you both to take a couple of extra days off before the conference,” Clyde said. “Get to know each other. I’ll give you the time off with pay,” he added.
“You’d be willing to do that?” Carrie said in a low, stunned voice. She flashed Kyle a triumphant smile.
He was pleased she was so happy. Personally he thought the entire idea was crazy.
“The way I see it, you’re either going to cure what ails the two of you,” Clyde said, “or end up hating each other.”
Kyle didn’t need the station manager to tell him which it would be. They’d end up murdering each other before the end of the convention.
2
Kyle had mapped out the route he planned to take—I-35 all the way—and had it on the seat next to him when he pulled up in front of Carrie’s house. The way he figured, they could drive the whole 550 miles in one day and get this farce over with as quickly as possible.
The conference wasn’t officially open until Friday evening, with a cocktail party, but he hoped to arrive late Wednesday night or early Thursday morning. He didn’t think Carrie would disagree; he thought she wanted to visit her sister, who lived somewhere near Dallas. The less time they spent in each other’s company, the better off they’d be. Frankly, he didn’t know how they were going to manage this trip together and keep their sanity.
Kyle couldn’t be sure of Carrie’s feelings, but he strongly suspected they matched his own. He was planning on using the conference to scout out another job. There was no way in hell they were going to settle their differences. It was a lost cause, and had been from the moment they’d met.
When he pulled up and parked in front of the small rambler that Carrie rented in the Kansas City suburb of Olathe, he was pleased to see her suitcase sitting on the porch. At least she was punctual.
No sooner had he climbed out of his black BMW than she opened the front door and stepped outside. She wore her hair in cascading curls that reached halfway down the middle of her back. This was a switch. Kyle couldn’t remember seeing Carrie without that wacky piled-up hairdo of hers. It surprised him to discover how little she actually was.
He glanced away quickly, not wanting to look at her. He thought of Carrie as an Amazon, if not in stature then in attitude, and didn’t want to see her as anything else than the damned nuisance she was. He’d already made up his mind about this situation, and although he was willing to make an effort, there were limits to what he would do.
Without a word, he took the suitcase out of her hand. She released it grudgingly. He loaded it into the trunk and opened the passenger door for her. She smiled her thanks, but he had the impression she would have preferred to open her own door.
So that was the way it was to be. Fine. Just fine. It was what Kyle had been expecting. What he’d planned on. She intended to make this trip as miserable as possible, sort of a “going down in flames” approach, he guessed.
Carrie was studying the road map when he climbed in next to her. Bracing his hands against the steering wheel, he opened his mouth to announce the route he’d planned and the stops he’d scheduled.
“Before we get started,” she said, cutting him off in mid-breath, “there’s something we should discuss. I was hoping we could make the best of this.” She spoke stiffly, without looking at him. “There’s no need to make each other miserable.”
“I was beginning to think that was unavoidable.”
She sat so straight it was as if her spine had been dipped in starch. “It is if you take that attitude.”
“All right,” he said reluctantly. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, I tend to get carsick if we don’t make regular stops, and I’d enjoy seeing the sights along the way, if that’s possible.”
Kyle tightened his fingers around the steering wheel and held his tongue. So much for clocking the whole 550 miles their first day out. From the sound of it, Carrie was going to demand a pit stop every thirty miles.
“Car trips with my father were nightmares,” she went on. “He hated to stop for anything other than the bare necessities. We’d pull into a rest stop, and he’d sit there and fume at all the cars that were getting ahead of him.”
Kyle could identify with that, but he was wise enough not to say so. There was something about getting behind the wheel of a well-tuned precision automobile that brought out the competitor in him. He enjoyed long-distance driving and considered trips of more than a few hundred miles to be something of a test course. He didn’t need Carrie to tell him it was a male thing; Kyle was well aware this obsession was some primal part of himself.
“We can make stops as needed,” he said, still determined to keep them to a minimum.
“Thank you.” She released a slow sigh, as if greatly relieved.
Kyle headed toward the highway ramp and Carrie read the map.
“Are you planning on staying on the interstate?”
“Of course.” This wasn’t exactly a pleasure trip. He couldn’t think of a single reason for an excursion off the main road. There certainly weren’t any sights he was interested in seeing. As far as he was concerned, the sooner they arrived in Dallas the better.
“It’s awfully boring,” Carrie murmured. She sounded like a disappointed five-year-old. Great. From the sound of it, she was looking for him to entertain her as well.
They’d only gone a few miles when Kyle asked her if she needed a potty break. It was a weak attempt at a joke, but when she assured him she did, he ground his teeth and pulled off the next exit.
He’d known this trip was going to a disaster the minute she came up with the suggestion.
Carrie was really trying to get along with Kyle, but he was making it impossible. He sat next to her, sullen and uncommunicative. Having suggested a rest stop, he stewed because she took him up on it.
Carrie had decided to make one last-ditch effort to get along with Kyle, but she wasn’t putting all her eggs in one basket. Her co-worker had made it as clear as rainwater that he didn’t believe their taking this trip together was going to work. If the first few miles were any indication, they were doomed.
She was meeting Tom Atkins in Dallas. Tom was an old friend from college. They’d done their internships together, and he’d phoned the night before to ask if she was attending the Dallas conference. Before she knew it, Carrie was pouring out her tale of woe. Tom suggested several solutions, all of which involved her moving. It rankled to admit defeat, but given no other choice, she’d promised to connect with Tom and scout out other job possibilities while she was at the convention. She’d already made plans to visit her sister as well.
Carrie’s stomach growled, and Kyle cast her an accusing glance. She hadn’t eaten much breakfast. Surely he intended for them to eat sometime.
“I suppose you’re hungry.”
“I can wait,” she answered, willing to endure a few twinges of hunger in order to keep the peace. But only to a point. He’d learn soon enough it was better to feed her than press on until she became overly hungry.
“If I remember correctly, there’s a gas station at the next exit,” Kyle said. “If we’re lucky they’ll sell sandwiches and we can grab those and eat in the car as we go.”
“I’m not eating in the car,” Carrie said. Peace, it seemed, wouldn’t come cheap. “We’ve been on the road forever. I need a break.”
“You just had one,” he cried.
“That was miles ago.”
“Fine,” he said, but it sounded like the one word had severely strained his patience.
“Listen, Kyle,” she said. “We’re go
ing to have a lot of problems if you insist on driving with your penis. I need a rest room, and it wouldn’t hurt either of us to stretch our legs.” His attitude had been rotten from the moment he’d picked her up, and she wasn’t going to take much more of this.
“Okay, since it’s so important to you we’ll take a break. Is fifteen minutes satisfactory?” Kyle glared at her.
“Thirty minutes.”
“Thirty?” He made it sound as if it were a life-and-death matter for them to get back on the highway in record time.
“Thirty,” she repeated firmly.
“All right, all right.”
The exit he remembered appeared five minutes later, and he took it without comment. Pulling over to the pumps, he started to put gas in the car while she went inside. As luck would have it, the station sold sandwiches encased in hard plastic containers, sliced in such a way to reveal their contents.
Carrie opened the refrigerator case and sorted through the limited selections. She opted for beef for Kyle and turkey breast for her, along with two cans of cold soda and a large package of potato chips.
By the time she finished paying for the items, Kyle had topped off the tank and parked the BMW alongside the station near the rest rooms. Apparently he intended for them to stand next to the car and eat.
Actually it felt good to stand, so she didn’t make a fuss, not that she believed it would do any good. Kyle was being stubborn. He finished first and fidgeted impatiently while she took her time, refusing to be intimidated into rushing.
When she found him staring at the interstate, it was all she could do not to point her finger at him. Her assessment had been right from the first. Kyle Harris was exactly like her father.
“What?” he said.
“You’re looking at the traffic,” she said, as if this alone were enough to prove her point, “and you’re thinking about all those cars that have gotten ahead of us.”
He was honest enough not to argue with her. Encouraged by his silence, Carrie took the map he’d brought along and spread it open across the trunk of his car. “I’d like you to consider taking a different route,” she said, without looking at him. She held an anticipatory breath.