I belong to a group blog, and last week we gave ourselves a writing challenge. Here is out topic and the way I answered.
Topic:
She'd known from the time she opened her eyes that it was going to be a bad day
She’d known from the time she opened her eyes that it was going to be a bad day. Yesterday she’d had a flat tire, eaten a dinner that made her throw up, and been assigned a dirty room at the motel. Now her car had broken down.
“Gah!” Marnie yelled as she stumbled on the rough dirt road. She squinted against the sun that had broiled her for the last house. “I’ll look like a lobster before this is over,” she cried.
She blew a breath of air through her mouth toward her forehead. It briefly lifted her blonde bangs which had totally plastered themselves to her head. Sweat poured from ever pore on her body. Each step she took stirred up little dust devils that threatened to choke her.
Rounding a sharp curve, she saw a white house at the end of the road. Finally a way out of this grassy wilderness! A door slammed, and a man came out of a neatly painted white barn.
The man hadn’t seen her yet. She watched as he stripped off his tee shirt and wiped his face and upper back. Muscles rippled in his chest and arms, and as he swept off his hat the sun gleamed on his dark hair, turning it as shiny as a blackbird’s wing.
He looked around and saw her, and she raised her hand in greeting. “Hello,” she called.
He put his hat on and came to meet her. At five nine she towered over lots of women, but this guy made her seem petite. He had to be six four at least. Oh. My. Goodness. Her nostrils flared; he smelled of sweat, hay, and motor oil, not an unpleasing combination. She liked his eyes too. They reminded her of the sky right before darkness fell, full of depth and mystery, hinting of the unknown and making a girl long to plumb those depths. “Can I help you?” he asked.
Nice voice. It sounded smooth and rich in her ears. “I was hoping to use your phone. My car broke down up on the main road, and my cell phone’s dead. I waited for awhile, but nobody drove by so I started walking.”
“Sure, my phone in the house.Marnie hesitated. In the movies the heroine always met some psycho who lured her into his house and terrorized her before he killed her.
The man swept his hat off. “Clay Whitmore at your service, ma’am, and I promise you’ll be safe if you come in the house.”
“Oh, well…. Uh, my name is Marnie Wood.”
He held out a calloused, sun-bronzed hand. “Nice to meet you, Marnie.”
She followed him into his house and hoped those little tingles where he touched her hand would soon go away. For a moment the cool darkness blinded her before her eyes had a chance to adjust.
“Have a seat, and I’ll get you something to drink. What’ll you have? I’ve got water or a soft drink.”
“Water please.”
She liked his living room. It had an old-fashioned feel to it, maybe because of the liberal use of floral upholstery, maybe because of the floor coverings which looked slightly out of date. Still though, it was a pleasant room. She especially liked the big picture window. From her seat she could see several horses grazing in a green pasture where a small colt frisked and bucked and drummed his heels on his mother’s side.
Clay came back into the living room with a heavy, frosted glass filled with crushed ice and water. “Here you go.”
Marnie took a big swallow and sighed. “That is so good.”
“Nothing like good cold water on a scorcher like today.” He sat down across the room in a nice rocker. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m in Beaver Creek on vacation. I live in New York city.”
“Better you than me.”
Marnie laughed. “I don’t know so much about that. Things have been hectic since I got here.”
She watched as Clay took a long drink of water. “What’s a city girl like you doing in a little place like Beaver Creek?”
“I’m visiting my mother’s old college friend. She and Mom were roommates who always kept in touch. She, the roommate I mean, invited me to spend a few weeks with her.”
“Didn’t your mom want to come too?”
Marnie bit her lip. “Mom died two months ago.”
“So you’re making the trip for her since she couldn’t do it herself.”
Marnie nodded. At the moment she couldn’t speak.
“I’m sure she knows and is pleased,” Clay ventured.
“I hope so.”
If you’ll tell me her name I’ll be glad to take you to her house.”
“Mary Whitmore is her name.”
Clay started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
Eyes sparkling, Clay leaned forward. “Mary Whitmore is my mother. I was trying to get up the nerve to ask you out, and now… Uh, I mean would you go to the rodeo with me on July fourth?”
“And here I was trying to figure out how to get you to ask me out,” Marnie teased. She smiled at him. “Think we’ll like each other as much as our mothers liked each other?”
“Time will tell,” Clay replied.
Mmm, it sure would, and unless she missed her guess, Marnie thought that just maybe they would.
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