Part 11 (1/2)

Am I in love, or am I in l.u.s.t?

I'd asked myself that question before. I was still waiting for the answer.

Townsend's words echoed in my head.

I have something to give you.

Oh, G.o.d. Was I ready?

I was about to say, ”Yes! Yes! h.e.l.l, yes!” when the sound of an engine snared my attention. I started across the barnyard, catching sight of a mammoth-sized vehicle pulling into the driveway.

What in the world?

I blinked once, twice, when I saw the huge lettering on the side of a bus that had to be a city block long.

”Keelie and Company,” I read.

”What the h.e.l.l is that?” Townsend asked when I joined him at the gate.

I shook my head. ”I have no idea.”

The bus stopped. Gravel rose in white swirls around it.

”Keelie and Company? As in Keelie Keller?” Townsend asked.

I shrugged. ”Search me.”

”What would Keelie Keller's bus be doing in your driveway?”

”Search me,” I repeated.

The air brakes sounded and the engine stopped.

I reached out and pulled myself over the top of the gate. Townsend copied my move, and we walked toward the bus.

”That's one big ol' bus,” Townsend observed.

I nodded.

A big, fancy bus with dark windows and ”a celeb sleeps here” written all over it.

The seconds ticked by.

I was just about to bang on the door and demand to know what the h.e.l.l was going on when the sound of a microphone being pegged over a loudspeaker stopped me in my tracks.

I looked at Townsend and frowned, waiting. A voice came over a loudspeaker on the bus.

”Biker Barbie need a lift? Your chariot awaits.”

I stared at the bus, stared at Townsend, who stared at the bus and then stared at me.

”Is that Manny DeMarco?” Townsend said. ”What the h.e.l.l is he doing here, and what the h.e.l.l is he doing driving that thing?” He pointed to the vehicle filling my driveway.

I winced. Then lifted one shoulder and bit my lip.

Giving Cinder-Tressa her very own pumpkin coach transport to TribRide was my guess.

Who said chivalry was dead?

CHAPTER TEN.

”Barbie getting bus sick?” Manny sent a quick glance over at me in the oh-so-comfy co-pilot's seat-having rejected outright my request to take a turn behind the wheel. Surprise. Surprise.

”Why? Do I look sick?”

”Barbie looks...pensive.”

I raised an eyebrow. Pensive? Not a word I expected to hear Manny DeMarco utter. I shrugged. ”I'm good.”

”Barbie like the ride?” Manny asked.

I nodded. ”Barbie likes. Barbie likes a lot.” In fact, my inspection of Keelie Keller's top of the line custom motor coach left little to criticize other than the fact that it had me hankering for more than a nibble of how the ”other half” lived.

Hey, tell me you wouldn't crave a go at the good life.

”So. Manny. You're the bus driver? I said, starting to flip open various overhead compartments to explore the contents, nosing into all the nooks and crannies within arm reach. Okay. Listen. I'm a journalist. I look into things. It's what I do.

”Manny's no bus driver.”

I raised an eyebrow.

”Ookay. Not a bus driver. Got it.” Jeesch. People can be so touchy. ”So, you're just delivering the vehicle.”

Manny shot me a look. ”Manny's not a deliveryman.”

Hmmm. Maybe I'd have to learn what Manny was by eliminating what he wasn't.

”Okay. Procurer then,” I said.

He shook his head.

”Transportation chief? Chauffeur? Event planner?”

Manny grunted. ”Facilitator,” he finally said.

I made a face. ”Facilitator? What does that mean exactly?”