The Road To Glory Read online

  THE ROAD TO GLORY

  By

  Advocate (Blayne Cooper)

  and T. Novan

  Ebook by

  PDAFiction.com

  Copyright ã 2001

  by Blayne Cooper and T. Novan.

  All Rights Reserved.

  DISCLAIMERS

  THESE CHARACTERS ORIGINATED in the deep dark recesses of Advocate’s (Blayne Cooper) and T. Novan’s minds, and thus belong to no one but us.

  Sexual Content: Oh, yeah. It’s in there. This is for all the folks who moaned about the lack of graphic sex in Madam President. Feel free to send cash. If you’re under 18, please move along. But everyone else is welcome to pull up a chair and enjoy. This story is intended for an adult audience only.

  Violence: Not too much.

  Language: Yes, there is some profanity. But don’t tell our moms, okay? Last time my mom bought that soap mechanics use with bits of stuff in it. I can still feel that grit between my teeth. And yes, I did brush.

  Special Notice:There once was a tale by Advocate called The Story of Me. In it, a woman named Randi poured her heart out about her stalker, Mac, to a pair of avidly listening squirrels in a city park. Is this a sequel? Nope. Do you have to read The Story of Me to enjoy and understand this one? Absolutely not. But you might get a little more out of this one if you go there first. Trust us, it’s mostly painless.

  Acknowledgements:To our beta readers, Midgit, R.S. Corliss, and Medora MacD — your assistance was invaluable. To the friends who read parts of this story and offered sage advice and compliments — we love you. We stick our tongues out in the general direction of the rest of you. And, of course, TN and I had a blast working together. After a break we will be starting the sequel to Madam President. But this was screaming at us first.

  Comments/Feedback to:

  [email protected]

  and [email protected]

  * * *

  THE ROAD TO GLORY

  * * *

  CHAPTER I

  THE STARS TWINKLED overhead as Leigh Matthews barreled down I-90 at a constant speed of seventy miles per hour. Despite the fact that it was nearly summer, the cool evening air had forced her to flip on her heater at the last mile marker. It had been a long day of driving and worst of all, it would start all over again — she glanced at her dashboard board clock — in less than six hours.

  "What the –?" Leigh mumbled as an unexpected Day-Glo detour sign directed her off the interstate and onto a lonely county road. It was paved and well-marked but wasn’t as straight as the highway had been. Leigh reduced her speed to fifty-five. What little traffic there had been moments before thinned out to nothing, leaving the young woman alone with only the night and her radio for company.

  As her truck’s cab grew warmer and warmer Leigh’s eyelids grew heavier and her breathing slower and deeper. She pushed shaggy blonde bangs off her forehead and leaned forward to fiddle with the radio.

  "Sinners, repent!"

  Leigh jumped.

  "Let Jeeeeeesus into your heart!" the speakers blared.

  "Aw, Christ. Is it really necessary to take all the fun out of being a sinner?" Leigh rolled her eyes, carefully steered around an enormous unidentified hunk of roadkill, and changed the radio station — somehow managing to do all three things at the same time. She hated A.M. radio, especially in the middle of the night and most especially in the middle of nowhere. Leigh had listened to all her books on tape, and her much-loved CDs held no allure at this late hour. She stifled a yawn and made a slow turn onto another road as another detour sign directed.

  Why hadn’t anyone mentioned this detour? Leigh blearily glanced down at her silent CB radio. Disgusted, she’d flipped it off earlier when she couldn’t stomach another second of hearing how Big Bubby Bumboski had conned his portly, and clearly stupid, wife into believing he had an emergency run that would take him the better part of a week. Half the state knew he was going to meet his girl friend and their two sons. Bubby had gone on and on about how proud of the oldest boy he was. It seems Little Big Bubby had made parole just in time for the visit.

  This second turn had sent her into an area even more desolate than the first, and Leigh began to wonder fuzzily if she’d somehow gotten lost. Her breaths began to lengthen again, and her head began to droop. Her eyes fluttered closed … just for a second.

  Leigh’s head snapped up. Her eyes popped open at the sound of gravel under her wheels. Instinctively, she slammed on her brakes, kicking up a cloud of dust as the massive truck skidded to a halt along the side of the road. Good thing I’m riding bobtail. It would have taken three times the distance to stop with a full rig. Shakily, she clicked off the ignition and was surrounded by stony silence.

  Leigh blinked dazedly, her heart pounding a mile a minute, adrenaline coursing through her veins. "Damn." I fell asleep on the road? I haven’t done that since I started driving! She gazed out the large window at her surroundings. It was pitch black … almost. Leigh squinted bloodshot, baby blues as she peered down the road. Off in the distance she could see the faint glow of lights on a sign. "Thank you, God! A motel. I’m going to get a shower after all," she said to no one. Sure, talking to yourself was a clear sign of insanity. But then again, Leigh was pretty certain a truly insane person wouldn’t give a shit. So why should she?

  Leigh had grown up on the road with her dad and knew that no matter how desolate an area seemed you usually weren’t too far from one of the thousands of mom-and-pop motels that lined America’s highways. They catered to truckers like herself and other weary, or just plain lost, travelers.

  The young woman started up the engine again, and her cherry-red big rig rumbled to life, its high beams cutting through the darkness. Slowly, she pulled back onto the road, hearing the familiar sound of crunching gravel die away as her wheels found the pavement. By the time Leigh shifted from third to fourth gear it was already time to slow down again. She snorted at the flickering sign that read ‘ritz’s’. "Looks like I found the Ritz in the middle of the boonies. Who knew?"

  Leigh pulled alongside the small building and pushed open the cab door. She was immediately greeted by a loud chorus of chirping crickets and the smell of slightly damp prairie grass. The wind tossed her hair as she jumped down onto the dirt parking lot. With every footstep she could feel her dreams of a hot shower and a big bed going up in smoke.

  She wanted to stamp her foot in disappointment but somehow resisted the urge. A fit where no one could see it, after all, didn’t serve much purpose. Instead, she hung her head and scrubbed her face tiredly as she approached the building. This was no hotel. It was a diner. And — from the darkened windows and the dim outline of chairs propped up on the tables — a very closed diner.

  With a slight growl, Leigh stalked back to the truck and climbed inside. She locked her door and then the passenger’s side door. Behind the two front seats was the thin curtain that separated Leigh’s workplace from her home. She kicked off her shoes, not caring where they ended up, and tugged off her lightweight denim shirt and bra.

  A small but comfortable bed folded down from the back wall of the truck, and the tired woman flopped down gracelessly, not bothering to remove her blue jeans.

  She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  * * *

  Leigh’s eyes fluttered open and she moaned softly. "Noooo, it can’t be morning yet. Go away," she petulantly ordered the sun. But for some reason, the sunshine streaming through the windows rudely refused to obey her command. She slid on a clean shirt and grabbed the backpack that contained her toiletries.

  Yawning, she rifled her fingers through her short, fair hair in a half-hearted attempt to make herself semi-presentable. But to be honest, right now she was more inte
rested in finding a bathroom than looking pretty. Blonde or no, it wasn’t like she was going to be confused with that insane Martha Stewart anyway. Nature was calling. Loudly. Using her hand to block the sun from her eyes, Leigh stared up at the large sign on top of the diner. The place was called ‘Fitz’s’ not ‘ritz’s’; the top half of the ‘F’ being burnt out.

  When Leigh’s gaze dropped from the slightly dilapidated sign, it landed squarely on a figure leaning back in a wooden chair, sitting in shadows outside the diner door. Her eyes widened slightly. The body was long and lean, dressed in beige cargo pants and a blue cotton shirt, its two booted feet propped up on a barrel. Holy hot damn. She tried not to stare but gave up on that idea immediately since she really did want a good look at whoever this was.

  Please be a woman, please be a woman, Leigh chanted inwardly. Another two strides and even through the light cloud of smoke that swirled around the body, a head of thick, short auburn hair came clearly into view. Leigh’s eyes dropped to the pale blue shirt, which was, she could see now, unbuttoned, with a crisp, white t-shirt underneath. Then … cha-ching! Bells that sounded remarkably like a cash register opening went off in her mind as she took in the vision of two well-shaped breasts and a slender neck. A tiny growl escaped her throat, and she strained to more clearly make out the features of the woman’s face.

  Leigh stopped abruptly when a harried-looking father, holding the hands of two small boys, scurried past her and into the diner. "Potty emergency" was all the man said by way of an apology.

  The woman in the chair took another long drag off her cigarette before tossing the stub into a butt can that sat alongside her. Then she brought a frosty, glass Coke bottle to her mouth and took a healthy swig. "Ahhh …" she hummed, smacking her lips with almost sensual pleasure. Nothin’ like a little carbonation to burn away the mornin’ fuzzies. Her green eyes tracked Leigh with idle curiosity as the short woman approached. She snorted and dropped one foot from the barrel, using the toe of her boot to scratch the belly of the cat that sat at the porch below her feet. Lordy, it seems they’re letting runts truck nowadays.

  Flea, a coal-black cat, groaned, causing the woman to chuckle. "Thirsty? You’ve had a hard morning of doing absolutely nothing. I’m sure you’ve worked up a powerful thirst."

  From her position sprawled out on her back, Flea merely opened her mouth. The green-eyed woman finally tore her eyes from the blonde and casually leaned over to pour her Coke directly into Flea’s waiting mouth.

  As Leigh stepped onto the diner’s porch, her jaw sagged at the spectacle. She was so engrossed at the sight of the beautiful woman, not to mention the feline lapping up a continuous stream of Coca Cola, that she didn’t even see the door in front of her swing open. Until it hit her right in the face.

  "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" The woman in the chair jumped to her feet just as Leigh was knocked backwards, landing on her bottom with a resounding thud. A cloud of fine dust kicked up around her, and she coughed weakly as her world spun.

  A short, heavyset man, who looked to be pushing sixty, came barreling out of the diner and immediately dropped to Leigh’s side. He swallowed nervously, patting her back gently as she coughed again and tried to fan away the dust with erratic hand movements. "Are you okay, miss?"

  Leigh had one hand cupped over the eye that was throbbing with her every heartbeat. She could already feel it swelling shut. "I um … I think so." She looked intently at the man, her brow furrowing. "And do I need to tell it to your twin, too?"

  He glanced at the empty space next to him where Leigh was pointing. "Oh, boy. I’m so sorry." The man offered her his hand, helping her stand. "I’m Pete."

  "Hi, Pete. I’m –" she momentarily faltered as the diner, not ten feet in front of her, began to blur. I’m going to pass out?

  "Whoa there, miss." Pete, who was dressed in white pants, a blindingly white t-shirt and a green apron with ‘Fitz’s’ emblazoned across the chest, wrapped a supportive arm around Leigh. "We’d better go inside and get some ice on that eye. Breakfast is on the house." His gaze flickered over to the tall woman. "Fitz, were you just going to leave her here in the dirt?" he asked grumpily.

  "Bu –"

  "And I thought you were going to fix that burned out sign." Joe shook his head. "I should fire your –"

  "I’m fine," Leigh cut in, trying to get a better look at this Fitz woman, but now her good eye was tearing so much she couldn’t see much of anything. "Really. I was just really to take …" She paused and her mind worked silently as she tried to rephrase what she was going to say. "Umm …"

  Pete grunted knowingly and offered, "There’s a washroom inside. C’mon." He pulled open the door, and Leigh was immediately assaulted by the delicious smell of sizzling bacon and coffee.

  "Oh, damn, that smells good. But first things first." She made a beeline for the bathroom, automatically heading for the rear of the diner where she knew it would be, saying a small prayer of thanks that the door wasn’t locked.

  Just before leaving, she scrubbed her face with icy water and brushed her teeth with the toothbrush she kept in her backpack. Leigh glanced in the mirror and sighed ruefully. "Not great." Once again she ran her fingers through her hair. This was as good as she was going to look without a shower and a full night’s sleep and while sporting what was already promising to become a black eye Muhammad Ali would be proud of.

  Oh, man, the guys at Rosie’s are never gonna let me live this down. I’d better come up with a hell of a story to go with it. Getting banged in the face by the door while checking out the local eye candy and some bizarro cat is definitely one they’d believe. It’s just not one I’m going to give them the satisfaction of laughing at. She cringed at the sliver of bloodshot blue barely visible between her puffy eyelids. And to think I thought that saying about things only being fun until someone loses an eye was a crock of shit. Wrong!

  Leigh rinsed her toothbrush again, put it back in its case, and tossed it in her backpack. "Breakfast and coffee. That’s the ticket."

  Her stomach rumbled as she bellied up to the counter and perched on a padded stool that swiveled as she turned.

  Pete chuckled. "Coffee. Over hard, side of hash browns, bagel, and two meats?"

  Leigh could only nod and groan — the man was a mind reader. She was afraid if she spoke that the drool that had been pooling in her mouth at the aroma of a hot breakfast would spill out onto the floor. She swallowed and looked around, taking in the retro 1930s or 1940s décor — she wasn’t sure which. "Where is this place?" It was charming in a weird sort of way.

  "Heaven, of course," a waitress from behind the counter answered sassily. "Couldn’t you tell by the parking lot? We fixed all the pot holes."

  Pete made a face. "Very funny, Mavis." With a stubby finger, he pointed to a booth that had just gone empty. "Don’t you have dishes to bus?"

  "Yeah, yeah," Mavis waved him off and poured a man at the counter another cup of coffee.

  Pete turned to Leigh. "Welcome to Fitz’s. The woman out front was RJ Fitzgerald, but despite the place’s name, it’s my diner."

  "He lost a bet and she made him change the name," Mavis piped up helpfully.

  Pete narrowed his hazel eyes, his gaze burning a hole through the waitress. "Thank you so much, Mavis," he said through clenched teeth. "By the way, I have a feeling the grease trap is going to need cleaning today. And tomorrow."

  Mavis blanched and scooted her skinny body toward the dirty booth. At least there she’d only be able to get into a little trouble.

  Leigh watched Pete and Mavis with mild amusement. "I saw the sign with the name on it out front. I meant — where exactly is the diner? I hit an unexpected detour last night."

  "Ah." Pete nodded. "We’ve been getting you folks all morning." He poured Leigh a cup of coffee and set down a small pitcher of fresh cream and a bowl of sugar. "The nearest town is about twenty miles due north."

  Leigh didn’t comment. She’d check the map in her truck later. She poured cream
into her coffee until it was a pale beige, not bothering to stir the cloudy mixture.

  She waited while Pete waved goodbye at the man who’d run in moments before with the two little boys in tow. When the screen door slammed, he glanced down, seeing Leigh’s expectant eyes. "Oh, sorry." Pete grinned. "You are sitting exactly twenty miles from Glory, South Dakota. Population –"

  "Who cares!" a group of old men playing dominos at a center table sang out.

  "The lady asked, you grumpy old goats!" Pete reprimanded, shaking his dishtowel at the crusty men.

  Leigh chuckled behind the rim of her coffee cup. Too many years of being on the road with her father had brought her into a million of these places. Now that she was inside, it only took a second for her seasoned gaze to assure her that this was more than a just a place for travelers to eat. This was, to a precious few, a second home. Regulars were family, if not by blood then by friendship and caring.

  Pete winced at the bright purple shiner that Leigh was now sprouting. "Let me get you something cold for that eye. Be right back," he mumbled as he headed into the kitchen.

  Leigh turned around slightly when the creaking of the screen door announced someone’s arrival.

  RJ Fitzgerald strolled into the diner, the empty Coke bottle held loosely by her fingertips, the bottle swaying back and forth in time with her long stride. She slid behind the opposite end of the counter Leigh was sitting at and put the bottle away in a crate of others just like it. The sound of glass hitting glass was barely audible over the constant clatter of clinking silverware. She picked up a thick, white ceramic coffee cup. Unconsciously twirling it on her index finger, she crossed to a hotplate holding several silver pots of fresh-brewed java. RJ glanced over her shoulder at Leigh and flashed her a sympathetic grin. That eye’s gonna be swelled shut tighter than a Scotsman’s wallet in no time. Poor lass.