Free The Long Road Home by H. D. Thomson

not.”
    Twenty minutes later, he pulled into another rest area that looked suspiciously like the last, the only difference being a darker shade of brown brick and trimming on the buildings. He slammed the door, strode around to the front of the Explorer and yanked the hood open.
    Clarisse decided a breeze, however hot, was preferable to staying and sweating in the confines of the car. She left Vivian stewing in the front and found John staring grimly into the engine compartment.
    She eased her hip against the fender, relieving the weight from her injured leg and peered under the hood, not that she knew anything about the mechanics of a car. “How bad does it look?”
    He continued to stare at the engine, his stance rigid. “Not good.”
    “Can you tell if we’re low on Freon?”
    “No.”
    Clarisse frowned, sensing the anger and tension in his corded muscles. “What do you mean?”
    John straightened. “I’m not a mechanic. The problem might not be the Freon. I could have a bad compressor.”
    “Then why did we stop?”
    Tiredly, he brushed the sweat from his face, leaving a black smudge near his temple. He squinted up to the sky, his square jaw rigid. He remained silent for so long that she wondered whether he was going to answer. But after a moment, he said, “I needed some space.”
    “Oh.” Damn, she sounded stupid.
    Lines of strain bracketed his mouth and fanned from his eyes. The fatigue in his eyes made Clarisse realize that even though John kept his complaints to himself, he was having just as difficult a time as the rest of them.
    “Here,” she said in sympathy. She leaned over and brushed his temple with her thumb. “You’ve got grease on your face.”
    The instant her hand touched his skin she recognized her blunder and froze. The strength and warmth of his big body and the rugged planes of his face enticed her, ignited a longing for his touch. She met his gaze. Something stark, yet intense, flared in their gray depths. Stunned, Clarisse gasped. Her pulse thundered through her veins and drummed in her ears. She wanted him. There was no denying the desire curling deep inside her belly.
    John’s hand clamped around her wrist. His fingers dug painfully into her flesh, and his eyes narrowed angrily, darkening to deep charcoal. His glanced at the place where Vivian sat hidden by the hood, and his expression altered, grew remote and bitter.
    He flung her hand away. “Don’t do that again.”
    Clarisse stiffened. Did he hate her that much? “Why? Does my touch bother you?”
    His nostrils flared. “Why would it?”
    She shifted and turned from his cold eyes. She stared in front of her, barely seeing the woman and child walking across the grass lawn, or the teenage couple holding hands. A humid breeze stirred the tendrils of her hair, and she irritably brushed them away from her face. A door slamming and a toddler’s laugh carried over the wind.
    Clarisse swallowed down her anxiety. She couldn’t withstand much more of John’s company, of being stuck in the same car with him, of sleeping and eating in the same quarters, of constantly watching her tongue. “I need to get to San Diego as soon as possible. I don’t want to take the time to get the air-conditioner fixed. If we stop off at the next city, we’d lose at least another half-day, probably more. I can’t handle—” Clarisse stumbled to a halt, afraid of revealing how much John disturbed her. “My sister’s expecting me in four days. There’s rehearsals, the gowns, and other preparations.”
    “I don’t know if we have a choice, Clarisse. It’s hot, and it’s going to get worse. Stuck inside a car with no relief is going to make tempers fly.”
    “So what do you think we should do?”
    “Hell if I know.” Impatiently, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I guess we can keep on driving and stop off early. I’ll use my cell to change our reservations to another hotel. We’ll have an early night and get up when it’s still