I asked, “Do I want to know how they knew my account numbers?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Because the housekeeper had finished the laundry, my traveling clothes were already clean and neatly folded. I stuffed them into my battered bag and slipped into jeans and one of Collin’s shirts. He would get it back … eventually.
I tromped down the stairs and could hear Mom tittering about the romance of a spontaneous weekend trip and how she and Daddy used to do that all the time together. I’m not sure which marriage she’s remembering, but I certainly didn’t recall Daddy whisking Mom anywhere that didn’t involve a deposition.
Collin was shooting a pleading look at the stairs just as Mom said, “I’m so sorry Lyle wasn’t home tonight to meet you. He’d planned to be here, but he got held up at work, which is typical. But I suppose Miranda won’t have to worry about that with you, will she? She mentioned that you work from home. How fortunate for her …”
Was I mistaken, or was my mother sort of flirting with my vampire almost-boyfriend?
“Ready?” I asked, snickering.
“Yes, please.”
“Be careful, sweetheart. Do let Collin drive every once in a while.”
“Actually, Mrs. Puckett, we tend to fare better when Miranda is driving.”
“Really?” Mom lifted her brows. She rubbed her sternum, just over her heart. “I think I just stopped worrying, just the tiniest bit. What a refreshing change of pace.”
“She’s hallucinating,” I told Collin. “Run for it.”
I trotted out to the rented SUV, which looked like the Batmobile’s clone. I patted the boobless hood fondly. “I dub thee the Batmobile Two. I would crack champagne over your grille, but I think we all know how that would turn out.”
“A busted headlight?” Collin guessed. I nodded. “Well, she’s been christened in spirit, if not in spirits.”
“If that’s the quality of humor I can anticipate on this trip, it’s going to be a long drive,” I told him, climbing into the driver’s seat.
“Can we discuss your damaged knuckles?” he asked as I handed him the atlas. He bent his head over my hand to inspect the bruises. “Does this new injury have anything to do with your fiancé’s poor taste in jewelry?”
“I think it’s best to leave you wondering.”
“I would expect nothing less of my girl.”
I chuckled. “Memphis is only going to take a couple of hours. Did you want to swing around on our way back and visit somewhere else? I’m thinking Branson. It’s the Las Vegas of the Midwest.”
He frowned. “I was thinking something closer for our first stop. Someplace like your bedroom.”
“I haven’t had time to get an apartment. I was staying with my parents. I just woke up. Did you think I normally looked like that in the evening?”
He ignored that verbal land mine and chirped, “Branson it is, then.”
“It was just a suggestion. We don’t even have to go to Memphis if you don’t want to. We can just drive until we find a nice little bed-and-breakfast … or the closest available flat surface …”
“I like that last option.”
I angled my chin toward the atlas. “So which way do we go?”
He tossed the map into the backseat, where it landed in a heap. He leaned over the console, catching my mouth in a hot, sweet kiss. “You decide.”