In Roared Flint. Jan Hudson
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was the only one in the family who thought her marriage to Rob was a mistake. Perhaps because Rob was a teetotaler.
Although, by the end of April, the azaleas and the early spring bulbs were long past their season, Patricia Spalding Travis, Julie’s mother, in conference with God and three gardeners for the past two months, had seen to it that the garden resembled a fairyland of flowers, and the gazebo fairly dripped greenery and blossoms.
With the elderly Millicent Wall on the harp and her older sister, Eugenia, on the flute, magnificent wedding music rippled and trilled over the shaded grounds. The Methodist minister stood on the top step of the gazebo. Rob and his cousin stood two steps down, waiting.
Julie’s palms were decidedly damp. She clutched her bouquet and her father’s arm tightly.
George Travis smiled and parted Julie’s hand. “Nervous?”
“Extremely.”
Her father smiled again. “Rob is a fine man. Your mother and I couldn’t have picked a better husband for you or a father for the twins. There’s nothing for you to be nervous about.”
Julie knew that her father wouldn’t be so calm if he’d known about Flint’s visit earlier. Thankfully, her parents had been away from the house on last-minute errands. Just hearing Flint’s name was enough to dispatch her mother to bed with a migraine and launch her father into a tirade that sent his blood pressure soaring.
She took a deep breath and focused her attention on the ceremony. Her wedding day should be a joyous occasion. She was determined not to let anything taint it.
Megan and Jason led the procession. Jason carried a pillow with gold wedding rings tied securely atop it. An oddly shaped lump protruded from the back pocket of his navy suit, distorting the lines of the tailored jacket. As he had been instructed a score of times, he walked very slowly and carefully, the tip of his tongue at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on his task. Only once did he swipe his nose with his sleeve.
Megan, wearing ruffled socks and with sash slightly askew, carried a small basket and exuberantly scattered petals from her grandmother’s prize Peace roses along the newly laid flagstone path to the gazebo. Distressed that she misjudged and had run out of petals before she reached her destination, she back-tracked and grabbed a few handfuls from the pathway to replenish her basket. These she dispensed sparingly until she reached the gazebo.
Watching her children, Julie smiled and her chest swelled with pride and love for the pair. Megan and Jason were the light of her life and worth every ounce of heartache she had endured.
When Melissa reached the gazebo, the music changed subtly. The crowd rose and turned.
“That’s our cue, sweetheart.” George Travis kissed his daughter’s cheek.
Julie took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her shaky lips and they started the walk down the flagstone path. Every muscle in her body seemed to quiver, and once she almost stumbled. Her father patted her hand and held his over it.
Why was she so nervous?
She looked at Rob, who waited for her at the gazebo, an adoring expression on his face, his eyes shining brightly as he watched her approach. He was such a dear, sweet man. How could anybody not love him?
They stopped and the minister began. His words echoed vaguely in the buzzing inside her head.
“Her mother and I do,” her father said, then stepped back to take his place on the front row.
The minister began again, and the buzzing in her head grew louder and louder until it was a roar. Was she about to faint?
The roar grew louder. Distracted, the minister stopped and looked up from his prayer book. The guests fidgeted and murmured. Rob glanced over his shoulder and frowned. Julie glanced over her shoulder and almost had a heart attack.
Flint Durham, astride his Harley, vroommed through the side yard, cut a swath across Patricia Spalding Travis’s bed of lavender petunias, and was headed down the flagstone path straight for the gazebo.
He screeched to a stop mere inches from the bride and groom, set one black-booted foot on the ground and scowled. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled at Julie.
The guests gasped.
“Getting married,” she enunciated distinctly.
Flint’s black eyes swept over Rob, then he sneered. “To him? Like hell you are!”
“Flint, would you go away! You’re making a spectacle of yourself and ruining my wedding!”
“Damned right. You’re coming with me. Get on the bike.”
“I will not!”
“Now see here,” Rob said, stepping forward.
Flint reached beneath his leather vest, whipped out a gun and shoved it against Rob’s nose.
Rob froze.
The guests gasped louder.
A woman shrieked.
A man’s voice boomed.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Panic rose up in Julie’s throat. He’d gone mad, absolutely mad. Dangerously mad.
“Get on the bike,” Flint said gruffly, ordering Julie with a quick gesture of his head.
“Flint, please, can’t we—”
“On the bike.” He gestured with his head again. The gun under Rob’s nose lifted him until he was tiptoeing in his patent leather shoes and sweating profusely.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
She hesitated only a millisecond. Her babies. She had to protect her babies. She tossed Melissa her bouquet, hitched up the short train of her dress and climbed on behind him.
Flint flashed Rob a wolfish grin. “So long, sucker.” He shot the groom with two good squirts from the water pistol he held, then revved up the bike and took off across the marigold bed.
With Julie cursing and beating her fists on his back and pandemonium breaking loose behind them, he threw back his head and laughed.
“Damn you, Flint Durham!” Julie shrieked, beating against his back with her fist. “Stop and let me off this thing.”
“No way,” Flint shouted over his shoulder.
“If you don’t let me off, I’ll jump!”
“You’ll break your beautiful neck. Hang on,” he said, rounding a corner at a high speed.
She clutched his waist and leaned into the turn, instinctively recalling the technique even though she hadn’t been on a motorcycle in more than six years—not since Flint left. His long hair fluttered against her face and she automatically moved closer to him to avoid it, pressing her cheek against his broad back. It felt excruciatingly, maddeningly familiar. She stiffened.
She would not be drawn into his spell. Not today. Not ever again.
She began beating his back with her fists once more. “Stop! Stop! Let me off.”
“No!”
Julie couldn’t recall feeling so helpless. The feeling infuriated her. Sooner or later he had to stop—for a light, a stop sign, or something—and she would jump off this infernal contraption and call the police. Flint would never see daylight again. He would rot in jail.
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. Like one blessed, he hit every light perfectly as they roared out of town, her wedding dress hitched up to her thighs and billowing behind her. She frantically tried to signal other cars, people at a road-side fruit stand; they all smiled