Baily's Irish Dream: Baily's Irish Dream / Czech Mate. Stephanie Doyle
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a day old.
“I know what you’re thinking…I always wanted a big wedding with all the trimmings, but with Mom and Dad gone and Pierce not having any family, either, we decided to keep it small. Just you and a friend of Pierce’s. Oh, and I know that’s only seven days away, but it should only take you three or four to get here if you drive all day. That’s probably faster than the train what with all the schedule juggling you’d have to do. So I’ll expect to see you at the end of the week. Can’t wait!” Beeeeeep.
His sister’s voice seemed to echo throughout the house. She was going to marry that sleazy, two-bit fortune hunter, and he only had six days to stop the wedding. Six days. It simply wasn’t enough time. For a moment he considered flying, but the idea was gone as soon as it had entered his head. He had given his word to Sarah that he would never fly, and his word was his bond. She was right about the train schedules being a hassle, too. There was no point in trying to reason with her on the phone, either. She may be flaky, but she could also be very stubborn. The only way to handle this was face to face. Which meant getting in his car and driving.
Without wasting any time, he opened the suitcase that was still filled with his clothes from the trip he had just returned from late last night. He had driven down to San Francisco to meet with a potential client interested in his unique software package. Daniel’s product was one of a few that the large timber company had shown an interest in, and he had a hunch that his trip had all but sealed the deal. Still, nothing was concrete, and the last thing he needed was something to distract him from winning the bid.
Family, however annoying, came first. His only choice was to do what Sarah suggested: drive to Philadelphia. Not to attend her wedding, but to stop it. His vice president, Bruce, could handle the California bid while he was away.
Decision made, Daniel’s next step was to find some clean clothes to replace the ones he’d just dumped in the hamper. Thankfully his maid had taken care of the laundry in his absence. Neatly laundered jeans and crisply ironed cotton polo shirts hung in his closest. Barely taking the time to fold them, he shoved them into the suitcase. A quick check to see that he had his wallet, and he was ready. He practically sprinted down the stairs of his Seattle, Washington, home and out the door, only to climb back into the car he had recently vacated.
After a tiresome drive back from California he’d had visions of unwinding for the day before getting back to work. Now he was going to have to make a marathon drive across the country to where his incredibly naive sister was about to make the biggest mistake of his life. Her life, he corrected himself.
At least she had given him six days. It could have been worse. Daniel figured he could make it to Philadelphia in three if he really pushed it. That would give him plenty of time to scare off the would-be husband and to lock Sarah in a convent. In that order.
Armed with a plan, he secured his seat belt and checked his rearview mirror. He spotted a beige Ford sedan parked too close to his driveway. The driver was still in the car. Daniel hit his horn to let the man know he was about to leave the driveway. As Daniel backed up, he shot the man a look to let him know he didn’t appreciate him blocking his driveway. The man in the car averted his eyes.
“Damn tourist,” Daniel muttered under his breath. Was there anyone on the planet who knew how to drive other than him? He doubted it.
Just stick to the plan, Daniel told himself, and this nightmare would soon be over.
2
“WILL THIS NIGHTMARE ever be over?” Daniel asked himself after being forced to put his foot on the brake yet again. It was only day two of his trip, but at this rate he would never reach his sister’s wedding in time. Not when the vehicles in front of him insisted on driving as slow as his late great-grandmother. A Volkswagen Bug and a semi both conspired against him by only driving sixty miles per hour each in their own lane. For a brief moment Daniel considered passing the truck on the shoulder of the road, but it would be just his luck to get caught in a rut and end up with a flat tire. What he needed to do was to get the attention of the woman in the car in front of him.
He knew it was a woman because it was hard to miss the mass of red hair that spilled over the headrest of her seat. However, she clearly wasn’t aware of his presence behind her. Daniel hunched forward over the steering wheel in the hope that by bringing his body inches closer to the lady in front of him she might sense his desire to pass. Since she remained at a constant speed, he had to assume she hadn’t picked up on his mental vibe.
He tried another ploy and flipped on his headlights. A reflection of bright light bounced off her silver bumper. He could see his high beams clearly. No such luck from Red.
The woman was obviously too distracted to check her rearview mirror. The curls that he’d noticed before were bouncing around her head. She was bobbing and weaving and thrusting an occasional finger at the passenger in the seat next to her. If Daniel had to guess, she was either having a seizure or singing to a very short companion. It must have been his imagination that conjured up the image of pointy ears peeking around the front seat. She wasn’t actually singing to a cat?
“HOW WAS I?” Baily asked, slightly out of breath from sining along with the radio. Baily was no Aretha Franklin, but Miss Roosevelt didn’t seem to mind. Madam President had soul.
Baily waited anxiously for the next song. In the interim she took stock of where she was. A glance in her rearview mirror revealed an ominous black Mercedes practically sitting on her back bumper.
“Jeesh. Sorry, buddy,” Baily muttered a little sheepishly. “I didn’t realize you were back there.” After all, Aretha demanded full concentration. She hit the gas and attempted to accelerate enough so that she could pull ahead of the semi next to her. Her Bug had other ideas.
The car sputtered a bit and sped up a mere five miles per hour on the decline. Since the truck was also picking up speed, there was no way Baily would be able to pass it let alone pull in front of it. Poor car, she thought. She’d pushed it too hard, and it let her know that it didn’t appreciate it. Her only recourse was to slow down and pull in behind the semi.
SHE WAS SLOWING DOWN! There was only one option left. Daniel laid his hand on the horn and left it there out of sheer frustration. Frustration at the woman in front of him for driving too slow. Frustration at his sister for marrying the wrong man. Frustration at having to walk away from his business at a crucial time. It was undignified to shout at the top of his lungs, but there was nothing in the rule books about using a car horn to let off a little steam. The noise was an awful wonderful sound that made his ears ache joyously. The blare filled the car, zoomed out around him, and echoed against the vast Montana landscape.
MISS ROOSEVELT SHRIEKED and dove for cover under the seat. “Oh!” Baily shouted with indignation. The big bully. She’d been trying to move over to do him a favor and he had gone and scared her baby. The semi passed, and she immediately swung into the lane behind it. The truck picked up speed and was soon out of sight. Baily, meanwhile, couldn’t help but stare at the man in the Mercedes as he pulled even with her.
WITH ONE LAST FINAL PUSH, Daniel released his horn. A dreamy sort of peace invaded him. Damn that had felt good. If he smoked he would have had a cigarette. Nothing like a good blow of the horn to relieve a little stress. Heck, now that the car in front of him had moved, Daniel no longer felt the sudden rush to get ahead. He pulled up slowly alongside the yellow Volkswagen Bug. Belatedly he turned to get a better look at the driver, wondering if she was as pretty as her hair.
“BIG…JERK!” Baily shouted, rolling down her window in an effort to make herself heard. Unfortunately it was doubtful that he heard her because his car window was still rolled up. Not that he would be overly offended by such a comment. Baily really needed to work on the whole swearing thing. She had lived too long with her mother’s words ringing in her head. A lady simply doesn’t swear. Obviously her mother never had to put up with jerks that drove Mercedes.
WHAT WAS HER PROBLEM? Daniel thought. He hadn’t heard her, but it didn’t take a genius to understand that she was furious. After all, she was the one who wouldn’t pull