Short Cut to Santa Fe by Medora Sale Read Free Book Online Page B

Stuart. “Hey—what’s the bus doing now?” he asked.
    â€œI think it’s probably turned north,” said Harriet. “Toward Taos. Not a very good road.”
    Karen Johnson was in a quandary. Her instructions were to start serving drinks and snack trays—cheese, crackers, nuts, veggies, and two very small sandwich quarters—as soon as the driver was well on his way. She had somehow imagined that they would be gliding smoothly along a broad, well-tended road surface, instead of bucketing down a series of desperately bad secondary roads. Perhaps she should start with the food. It, at least, couldn’t spill. She extracted herself from the history of Rose Green’s late husband’s unhappy business ventures, to which she had been devoting perhaps a tenth of her attention, and headed unsteadily along the aisle to the galley. Coffee and tea were imprisoned in urns; there was a tiny sink and a burner, although she couldn’t imagine trying to cook anything under these conditions. She unlatched the door above the sink and discovered a refrigerated compartment with trays neatly stacked on wire shelving, close together. She counted them. Twelve. Eight passengers, two drivers, one guide. Eleven people on the bus. A wave of relief passed over her. If they had been expecting more passengers, they would have loaded more trays. She wedged herself into the corner, grabbed a tray, unwrapped it, and gave it to Diana Morris. “It’s a bit bumpy for drinks,” said Karen. “But there are things in cans that probably won’t spill.”
    â€œI think I’ll risk a soda,” said Diana. “Anything cold and wet.”
    The Nichollses declined both food and drink, and Karen’s spirits lifted. She was starving. Food had been in short supply in her life lately and she felt faint from hunger. She took the few steps back to the galley, put down the two trays she was carrying, ripped the plastic film off one, scooped up the two little sandwiches, and consumed them with the rapidity of a starving dog. They were astonishingly good. Smoked salmon on whole wheat bread, and some kind of exceptionally tasty pâté on thin rye. She was impressed. Perhaps this tour really was worth its exorbitant price. She grabbed a carrot, looked hungrily at the sandwiches on the second tray sitting in front of her, then, with heroic resolution, picked it up intact, added another tray for the other hand out of the refrigerated compartment, and headed back down the aisle.
    The Kellehers turned out to have notions about food. Suellen loathed fish of any kind, she explained to Karen, although she might eat the pâté if it weren’t too rich or too spicy. Karen suggested leaving the smoked salmon; Rick thought he might be able to eat it, although he didn’t particularly like the idea of hors d’oeuvres an hour or so before dinner. Suellen offered to share a tray instead of taking two; Rick pointed out that they had paid for two trays and might as well get them. Suellen countered with a proposal to take one now, and another a little later, if they were still hungry. Never had so much brainpower, thought Karen, been expended on such a useless topic. After all, in an hour or two, everyone was going to be sitting down to a huge meal. Prepaid. Taking matters into her own hands, she set a tray in front of each Kelleher, very firmly.
    The relief driver had been crouched over his tool kit, fiddling with something, with his back to the aisle. But the interminable discussion over the Kellehers’ snack trays had finally aroused his curiosity, and when Karen looked up, he was peering down the aisle to see what was going on. It was evident that something other than the snack tray imbroglio had captured his complete attention. He seemed to be staring past her, through the back window; then with a muttered word that Karen didn’t quite catch, he heaved himself out of his seat, grabbed onto