Kathryn with a K - Chapter 1

Kathryn had never picked up a hitchhiker before. Maybe it was the thought of her turning thirty-five that year, when her baby sister was getting married the following week and just starting her new life, that made her think she’d already been there and done all that and had nothing to show for it. She didn’t really know. But it was impulse that made her pull over onto the dusty gravel curb. Alarm bells sounded inside her head. He was alone. “He” being the operative word. He could be a mass murderer or a rapist, or both. She pushed the thought away and smiled into the rear-view mirror as she watched his lanky gait in loose fitting blue jeans stride toward the car. He wore tired, brown western boots, which she thought for a start was a rarity in New Zealand. Maybe he was foreign. He seemed far too good looking to be a mass murderer, but then, so had Ted Bundy. A wave of regret swept over her but it was too late now. She wasn’t game enough to put the car in gear and speed away again, watching him sputter in a cloud of her dust. It wasn’t in her nature. She was more passive-aggressive than she would admit to.
She pressed the button to lower the passenger side window and his face came into view as he bent over, letting the large tramping pack he wore fall into the dust at his feet. His hair parted naturally off-centre, and a fringe that had been palmed back from his forehead curved to each side of his oval face.
“Hey.” The word rolled off his tongue, like it was a daily occurrence to approach a stranger’s car. But then, maybe it was. Kathryn wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or more of a worry.
“Hi,” Kathryn returned. “Where are you heading?”
He inclined his head left toward the stretch of highway where she had been driving just a moment before with thoughts of the days to come in her mind. “North.”
“Well, I’m heading up the coast if you want a ride.”
“That would be great. Thanks.” There was a twang in his voice but Kathryn couldn’t pick the accent yet.
She unlocked the door but he made no move to get into the vehicle.
“Where shall I put my pack?”
“Oh, sorry,” Kathryn gave a short, nervous laugh. “I’ll pop the boot, hang on.”
She pulled the handbrake on and climbed out of the car, meeting him at the rear of the vehicle. He towered over her in her flats, a pleasant surprise considering her own taller-than-average frame.
Pulling wire framed sunglasses from his face, he smiled, green eyes crinkling around the edges from too much sun, or smiling, or both. He had a well-defined mouth and white, straight teeth.
She pushed aside her own bags to make room for his. “Sorry, I don’t do this often.”
He swung the pack into the boot with minimal effort. “I don’t think you’re alone in that,” he said, straightening and wiping his palms on the legs of his jeans as he glanced back the way they’d come. He looked as though he’d either lost a lot of weight and not bothered to buy new clothes yet or had borrowed pants from a friend who was two sizes larger. “I’ve been walking a while with no takers. This country is not as friendly as I’d been led to believe.” He grinned and put his sunglasses back on. “Just when I was beginning to think I’d walk all the way to the Picton ferry, you came along.”
“That’s a long way.” Kathryn smiled.
“Then I’m glad you stopped.” He held out his hand, the sleeves of his chequered shirt rolled up to reveal tanned arms with a sprinkling of golden hair. “I’m Gabe.”
Kathryn took his hand, wondering as she bit her lip if she should offer her full name. Her father’s stern warning voice rang through her head and she thought better of it. “I’m Kay.”
“Pleased to meet you, Kay.”
As they walked back to opposite sides of the car, he smiled at her over the roof. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I think I’m supposed to ask you that.”
Stopping to take off his shirt before he got into the car, he tied it across the waist of his faded red T-shirt and grinned back at her. “I guess we’ll have to take each others’ word for that then, won’t we?”
Kathryn eased herself back into the driver’s seat and clicked her seatbelt into place. “I guess we will.” She indicated and pulled the vehicle back onto the road. When they were back up to open road speed, she gave him a sideways glance. “So, where are you from?”
He chuckled. “What makes you think I’m not from around here?”
She grinned but didn’t say anything.
“I’m over here from The States. Been living there the last ten years, but I’m originally from Auckland.”
“Oh, you’re a JAFA.”
“I am? What’s a JAFA?”
Kathryn blushed. Sometimes she cursed the fact that her mouth ran before her brain went into gear. She gave a nervous giggle. “You haven’t heard that before?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“It’s an acronym. Just another…” she trailed off, hoping he would get the meaning of the last two letters.
He seemed to think about it for a moment, but obviously came up blank. “Another…?” His rich voice rolled around the ‘r’.
“Just another ffff…” She let the consonant roll for a moment before she paused, “…Aucklander.”
She caught his wide grin despite not looking directly at him.
“That’s good. I like that. But you’re allowed to say ‘fuck’.”
“I was being polite.”
“Noted.” The corner of his mouth turned up with amusement.
“So, what made you come back through the South Island, rather than go directly to Auckland?”
“Got a bit of time up my sleeve, thought I’d see the country in style. I have friends dotted all over the place so I’m stopping in here and there to catch up as I make my way home.”
“Sounds interesting.” Kathryn thought about her own mundane routine and felt a wave of envy sweep over her. She’d travelled her current route between Christchurch and Blenheim, and vice versa, many times but hadn’t yet made it overseas. To be that carefree and without anchor would be bliss. Having said that, to give up her dogs, her cat, or her horses to roam wherever she pleased was a sacrifice she was loathed to make. Despite how regimented she thought her life was, it was by her doing and she wouldn’t have it any other way right now. “Where were you based in America?”
“Oh, I went out to California originally, but the last few years I’ve been travelling around the West—Wyoming, Colorado, Kansas.”
“That’s a bit of a contrast. What made you go out there?”
He shrugged. “A friend took me to her family home for a holiday once and I loved it out there. It was so completely different to what I was used to. I quit my studies and moved out to Wyoming.”
“Wow,” Kathryn sighed in awe. “Mary O’Hara country.” As a teenager she’d dreamed of seeing the green hills that Mary so passionately wrote about.
“What was that?” he asked.
Kathryn flicked her wrist dismissively. “Oh, The Green Grass of Wyoming. You know, My Friend Flicka.”
He grinned. “Ah, yeah, I saw that movie.”
“Which one?” Kathryn asked. “The nineteen-forty-three adaption with Roddy MacDowall or the more recent cop-out with Alison Lohman?”
His laughter filled the car. “I’m scared to say which one now. All I know is the one I saw had Tim McGraw in it. I didn’t realise the story was that old.”
“I didn’t either when I read the books years ago.”
Gabe grinned. “Well, I’m sure it’s much more romantic in your head than what it’s like in real life.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it is. Still, I bet it’s beautiful.”
“For sure. There’s some fantastic country out there. It’s nice to be back on home soil too though.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, Kathryn unsure of how to answer his statement. She didn’t want to ask too many questions of this man she’d just met, even though she enjoyed listening to him talk.
The road began to wind as they climbed to higher ground, and Kathryn navigated the vehicle with practised skill. She’d lost count of how many times she’d travelled this road. This was her favourite stretch to drive, where in autumn the trees turned the hills orange and red, although it had been her least favourite when she had been a child, as the winding road and the way her father threw the car around the corners had never failed to make her carsick.
As if he could sense her thoughts of going home, Gabe asked, “So, you’re going up the coast. Are you going home or going away?”
Kathryn could tell by the timbre of his voice and the way he seemed to choose his words carefully that he was trying to be non-invasive with his questions. Unlike she, who had just rushed in and asked whatever came to her mind at the time. Maybe he knew she hadn’t even given him her full name. It was, after all, in her nature to be guarded about her life. It probably shone through in the inflection of her voice. Since she had left her hometown five years ago she’d become a private person. Working eighty hours a week also ensured her social life was minimal.
“Technically, I’m going away,” she said, pulling the sun visor down into place inside the windscreen as they rounded a corner and the late morning sun streamed in.
From the corner of her eye she saw one eyebrow rise over his glasses in question to her statement.
She sighed. Maybe this had been a bad idea. What had she been thinking, inviting a complete stranger to share her private space for God knew how long? “I’m sorry. This is awkward. I know I just asked you twenty questions, but I’d rather not talk about anything personal.”
He grinned. “I understand. You really weren’t kidding when you said you hadn’t picked up a hitchhiker before, were you?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m really not sure why I even stopped. You know, a woman alone and all that crap.”
“Hey, rest assured, I might be a little strange but I’m not looking for any trouble.” He gave a lopsided, boyish smile. “I can respect why you’d want to keep to yourself, so I’m happy to sit here and enjoy the view. I’m just thankful for the ride.”
He gazed out the window, but Kathryn suspected he’d intended his remark about the view to have a double meaning. He was trying to butter her up with a compliment.
She tried not to let her amusement show. Something about his manner was effortlessly charming, like he had made it his life’s mission to find out how people ticked. He knew just what buttons to push to get the reaction he wanted, without the person suspecting he was doing so.
Silence prevailed once more and Kathryn mastered the vehicle around the various turns in the road as they traversed over the Hundalee Range, leaving the Conway River far behind. She recalled that when they got to the top, a glimpse of the ocean would greet them, and the winding downward stretch would lead them right to the ocean’s edge.
The silence she had imposed between them began to seem very loud, and finally she couldn’t stand it any longer. “You’re not offended?” she asked.
He seemed to come out of his own reverie as he shook his head. “Why would I be offended? You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. You didn’t pick me up to make friends, I can appreciate that. You’re doing me a favour and I’m not going to kick a gift horse in the mouth.”
Kathryn giggled, despite knowing he’d mixed up his metaphors on purpose just to garner a reaction.
“What?” he asked, but a teasing smile curved the edges of his mouth.
“It’s ‘look a gift horse in the mouth’.”
“Oh, is it?” He turned away again but she caught the smile in his voice.
She laughed, openly amused. “You knew that. You’re just poking fun at me now.”
He looked back at her and grinned. “Yeah, but it got you smiling again. See, we can have a perfectly pleasant conversation and talk about nothing. So, what can we talk about? You honestly don’t want me to sit here and twiddle my thumbs for however long you’re going to tolerate me, do you?”
Kathryn shrugged as she retrieved her sunglasses from the parcel tray between the seats and put them on with one hand. “What would you do if you were on the bus?”
She caught his dimpled grin in her peripheral vision.
“Talk the ear off the old lady sitting next to me.” He picked up her MP3 player from the consul she had fished her sunglasses from. “So, what kind of music do you listen to?”
“A little bit of everything,” Kathryn said, still smiling about his ‘old lady’ comment. She could just imagine how charming an elderly woman would find the bronzed, silver-tongued man she’d landed herself with. She imagined her own mother would be eating out of the palm of his hand by now, completely sucked in by his witty charm.
“You mind?” he asked, holding the player up in his hand.
“No, go for it.”
He twiddled with a few buttons. “Fleetwood Mac, no surprises there.”
She glanced sideways at him for a moment then focused back on the road. “What’s wrong with Fleetwood Mac?”
“Nothing,” he quipped. “Nothing at all. Very middle of the road.” He went back to his inspection. “Dire Straits, George Michael, Bruce Springsteen interesting collection of eighties music—no, hang on, Thirty Seconds to Mars?” He raised his eyebrows comically.
“I’m a little partial to a bit of Marilyn Manson every once in a while too.”
“No,” his voice rang with disbelief.
Kathryn knew he was teasing her again. She grinned. “No, you’re right, I’m not. What makes you think I’m such an easy read on music, though?” Kathryn thought her choice of music could be compared to her choice in men: non-committal and pretty abstract.
He smiled but kept his gaze on her music collection. “You seem conservative, that’s all. I’m a pretty good read on people.” He looked up, seemingly puzzled. “You have a large, interesting collection here, including some music I’ve never heard of. You obviously like your music, so why don’t you have any playing while you’re driving?”
“The stereo’s broken,” she said.
“Oh, well, that makes sense. It seemed strange that you’d be on a long trip and not have any music on. Or at least some talkback.”
She giggled. “Do I look like the talkback type?”
He cleared his throat in obvious avoidance of the question. “So, what’s wrong with the stereo?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he leaned forward, straining against the seatbelt, and began pressing buttons on the CD deck. She watched his long fingers, now uncomfortably close to her left leg. He had strong, weathered hands with short, manicured nails. Several plaited leather bands circled his wrist.
Kathryn mused over how comfortable this man seemed in his own skin, and with being in such close proximity to someone he had met not even thirty minutes ago.
“I’m really not sure,” she said. “One day it was working fine and the next it wasn’t. Doesn’t seem to be any power getting through to it. It’s just dead.”
“Pourquoi?” he stated comically.
She shook her head. “Je ne sais pas.”
He grinned. “I hope you’re not fluent in French.”
She smiled back. “Nope.”
“Good. Me neither.” He poked the power button again, and again.
She gave a chuff. “No matter how many times you poke it, it’s not going to do anything.”
He gave a wide grin as he sat back in his seat. “I’m leaving that one well alone.”
Kathryn felt heat rise in her cheeks at the innuendo. “Just as well.”