The Sooner the Better by Debbie Macomber Read Free Book Online

Lorraine mentioned the name of the town. The clerk looked over her shoulder and said something in Spanish that Lorraine didn’t understand. Right away the first woman was joined by a second, who appeared to be the manager. They spoke in rapid Spanish, and while Lorraine recognized a few words, she couldn’t catch the gist of the conversation.
    When they finished, the girl with the toothpaste-ad smile turned serenely to face Lorraine once again. “I’m sorry, but my supervisor says we have no cars available at this time.”
    Lorraine didn’t believe it. “But you were perfectly willing to rent me one a minute ago.”
    â€œYes.” She didn’t deny that.
    â€œWhy won’t you now?”
    â€œEl Mirador has no roads.”
    â€œNo roads?”
    The clerk pulled out a rental agreement, silently read it over and underlined the appropriate section before handing it to Lorraine. People in the line behind her were becoming impatient, so Lorraine moved away and sat down to read the section the other woman had highlighted. With the aid of her dictionary, she discovered that rental cars were not allowed on anything but paved roads. In other words, El Mirador was well off the beaten path, and the roads leading in and out of it were either dirt or gravel. Getting there, it seemed, would be no easy task.
    â€œOkay, then. Plan C.” Except she hadn’t yet figured out what that would be. There had to be another way to reach El Mirador. A bus. If she couldn’t get a rental car, she’d take a bus. Which meant she had to find the bus station first.
    That decided, she wheeled her suitcase out of the air-conditioned airport. The blast of heat made her stagger. She felt as if someone had thrown a hot towel over her head. Almost immediately her linen pantsuit became damp and clung to her like a second skin. Summers in Louisville could be stifling, but she’d never experienced anything like this—and it was only May. She looked down at her limp wrinkled trousers and sweat-stained jacket; this was what she got for wanting to make a goodimpression on her father. If she’d been meeting anyone else, she would’ve dressed less formally.
    Joining the long line for a colectivo —cab—she patiently waited her turn. Unfortunately the taxi driver spoke little English, but with her pocket dictionary and traveler’s phrase book, she was able to get her message across. The driver nodded repeatedly at every question, then loaded her suitcase into his trunk, which he tied shut with a frayed rope.
    Lorraine climbed into the backseat and searched for a seat belt. There wasn’t one. The instant he got behind the wheel, her meek and mild-mannered driver turned into a road warrior. Lorraine was tossed about the backseat like a sack of oranges, flung from one side of the vehicle to the other as he wove in and out of traffic. He switched from lane to lane, sometimes racing toward oncoming traffic at a death-defying rate. It would have helped had she found something to hang on to, but all she had were her wits, and those had scattered long ago. The one compensation was that she was too terrified to notice how miserably hot it was.
    By the time she arrived at the bus station, she was grateful to have survived the trip. Her shoulder ached from being slammed against the side of the car and her jaws hurt from being clenched. She paid the fare with no argument but without any tip, either, and lugged her suitcase into the depot.
    One thing was for sure: her presence certainly attracted a lot of attention. Every eye in the dilapidated place was focused on her. With what she hoped was grace and style, she squared her shoulders and made her way up to the window as if she’d done this every day of her life.
    â€œI’d like a ticket to El Mirador,” she said in English, forgetting to use Spanish.
    The man stared at her blankly.
    Lorraine reached for her phrase book and flipped