When Ian and Joanne cross paths, their connection feels as effortless as the open road. From their matching sleek cars to their shared love of witty pop culture banter, they seem like the perfect match. Their chemistry is undeniable, setting the stage for an unforgettable adventure. But as their whirlwind romance deepens, their differences begin to surface, revealing cracks in their seemingly perfect partnership. Set against a backdrop of thrilling road trips and exotic destinations, The Arrangement is a standout in travel romance novels, weaving a story of love, self-discovery, and the unexpected detours of life. For readers who savor high-octane drama and emotional depth, this is a tale of two people navigating the joys and pains of love while tackling the kind of relationship challenges that test even the strongest connections. When an old flame from Joanne’s past resurfaces, the stakes skyrocket. The rekindled spark threatens to upend everything Ian and Joanne have built, forcing them to confront the question: Are their differences too great to overcome, or is love worth fighting for? Perfect for fans of books about relationships, The Arrangement is more than just a love story—it’s an action packed novel that deals with the exploration of passion, trust, and the moments that define us. Wayne McFall masterfully combines the thrill of the road with the complexities of the heart, creating a must-read for those who love books for car enthusiasts or crave the adrenaline of car novels paired with romance. Reminiscent of romance books like Top Gun, this gripping, action-packed novel is a tribute to the speed, risk, and excitement of life’s most unpredictable journeys. Whether you’re drawn to the pulse-pounding excitement of the racetrack or the tender moments that define true love, The Arrangement delivers a story you won’t forget. Strap in and join Ian and Joanne as they race through love’s twists and turns. Will they find their way back to each other, or will the road ahead pull them apart? The Arrangement is the perfect read for car fans, romantics, and anyone who believes that love and adventure go hand in hand.
The Arrangement
By Wayne McFallAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Wayne McFall
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-8917-7Chapter One
The lone bare light bulb cast an eerie hue across the cobblestone floor of the old carriage house that had been converted into a four-car garage. The well-worn wooden door creaked open and a pair of red driving shoes padded past the boxy oil-embargo-era, crimson Lincoln Continental convertible to the first-generation scarlet Dodge Viper.
The morning was still cool so the man left the convertible top up as he opened the driver's side door and climbed into the car, setting his sack lunch and newspaper in the passenger side floorboard.
With a flick of the ignition the 10-cylinder engine throatily rumbled to life. The man's finger pressed the garage-door-opener button and the door opener hummed to itself as the door separated from the floor and climbed up out of the way over the man's head.
With a throbbing rumble the mighty Dodge eased out onto a 20-foot-diameter black-top plateau and rolled down the winding paved lane that led to the highway. At the bottom of the hill the man glanced at the gauges on the dash. Seeing that they had reached safe operating temperatures, he pointed the nose of the car onto the road and squeezed the accelerator. The car launched forward and was doing the posted speed limit of 70 MPH by the time the shifter was in fourth gear.
Between the growl of the wind battering the convertible top and the precision purring of the motor, along with the exhaust, he barely noticed a pair of headlights that appeared in his rear-view mirror until they were right on him. The lights flickered in his mirror, as he was about to downshift and punch the gas when the vehicle behind him eased out to pass, politely tapping the horn to make him aware.
A smirk crossed the man's face as the gearshift went down a gear, the RPM's on the tachometer jumped and the nose of his car dove into the still dark morning.
The man's smile froze after he shifted into fourth gear as the car, now beside him, did not disappear by the wayside. He glanced at the speedometer, and the needle stood at 100 MPH. The man pressed the gas and watched the needle approach 120 MPH. The other car stayed with him. He was prepared to shift when the other car boiled past him.
Shocked and surprised, the man shifted and stomped on the gas. The red missile hunkered down to the pavement and started to gain on the other car. At 135 MPH the man caught the other car and was about to return the polite horn-honk when, without any warning, the other car fell back behind the man in his lane. He shrugged and let off the accelerator, but it was too late.
Another set of headlights appeared from out of the dark, and on top of that car was a set of red and blue lights. A sick feeling, like he had just swallowed a rock, appeared in the man's chest and crashed to his tummy. He slammed his open hand on the leather-bound steering wheel in disgust as he applied the breaks and downshifted in preparation to pull over.
The first car coasted past him. He watched the taillights as they veered to the right and pulled into the gas station up ahead. The man came to a stop, and soon the Sheriff was standing at his door.
"Morning sir, where ya off to in such a hurry?"
"Work," the man answered. He handed the Sheriff his driver's license, insurance card, and a black leather folder. The Sheriff took everything and opened the folder. Inside there was a gold badge with the inscription "Honorary Deputy" and a badge number. The Sheriff nodded knowingly.
"How did you come about this sir?" he inquired politely.
"I provided bulletproof vests for Ellison County," the man explained.
"Now you understand these operate on a point basis?"
The man nodded. The Sheriff pulled out a hand-held computer and entered the amount of miles over the limit the man was driving, and the badge number. There was a pause, then he handed the man back the badge along with his license and insurance card.
"And you understand when your points are used up the badge is revoked?"
Again the man nodded.
"Thank you Mr. James, you have a nice day and drive careful," the Sheriff advised, as he turned and walked back to his cruiser.
Ian James smiled politely, nodded, and folded the leather booklet. He pressed his billfold into his back pocket. He glanced behind him, cranked the front wheels and pulled back out onto the road. Upon reaching the gas station he wheeled his car in, behind a familiar pair of taillights.
The other car, he discovered, was also red and sat at the forward pumps. The driver appeared to be sitting in the car, waiting as if it was a full-service island. Ian cut off the motor of the Viper, climbed out, and strolled up to the car. Under the well-lit canopy he could see the other car was a new Dodge Charger SRT-8. As he approached the driver's side, the power window eased down and a woman's hand reached out holding a credit card.
"Fill'er up," a smooth voice purred.
Trance-like, Ian took the card, which featured a vintage airplane, from the petite hand that had red fingernail polish and inserted it into the slot on the gas pump. He pulled the nozzle and squeezed the gallons into the tank until it was full. When he was finished he replaced the nozzle and stepped to the driver's door to return the card.
The window eased down and Ian found himself looking into the most beautiful doe-brown eyes he had ever seen, separated by a gentle round nose and flanked by straight brown hair. The woman's full red lips smiled easily at him.
"Thank you for taking the heat back there."
"How did you know?"
"Woman's intuition and a scanner wired into the radio, there's a whole other world out there," she explained, as she flicked her shoulder-length hair.
"Well, you owe me breakfast then," Ian informed her.
The woman glanced at the clock on the dashboard and spied the greasy spoon diner at the far end of the gas station lot.
"Alright," she answered good-naturedly and pointing at the diner, "it's a date."
She winked at him, rolled up the window, and pulled her car around to the diner, parking so it was facing the street. Ian, as was his practice, did likewise as he did not like backing into traffic. He had never seen a woman do that.
When he got out of the car, she was waiting for him. He walked up to her and they strode to the door. A neon sign proclaimed the diner's name was "Camille's". He pulled the door open for her and they stepped into a small lobby. A thin woman with bleached-blonde hair and crooked teeth approached them.
"This way," she ordered. Ian and the woman followed obediently to a small booth in the corner. The waitress slapped the dog-eared menus onto the worn smooth table, placed the two glasses of water from her tray onto napkins, and over her shoulder she said she would come back as she walked away.
Ian and the woman looked at each other and then at the retreating server. They each realized they did not know each other's names.
"My name is Ian, what's yours?" he asked, his hand extended as they were still standing at the table.
"Joanne," the woman answered, as she briefly squeezed his hand before they each made their way around the table; neither wanted to sit with their back to the door.
Silence.
She picked up the menu and scanned the selection. Ian did likewise, taking a swig of water as he surveyed the options.
"So, what'll it be?" the waitress boomed, startling the quiet couple.
Ian looked at Joanne and nodded for her to place her order.
"I'll take the sirloin breakfast platter," Joanne began.
"How do you want that cooked?" the waitress asked.
"Medium-well."
"Bacon or sausage?"
"Bacon."
"How do you want the eggs?"
"Scrambled."
"Toast or muffin?"
"Toast."
"White or wheat?"
"Wheat."
"And what do you want to drink with that?"
"Orange juice."
The waitress smiled politely then snapped up Joanne's menu.
"And you sir?" she inquired.
"The same please," Ian responded, as he folded the menu and handed it to the waitress. She hesitated for a moment, then took the menu, wrote a two next to Joanne's order, nodded and walked away.
Alone again with their waters, there was silence.
"So, where were you heading to in such a hurry?" Ian casually probed.
"To work, how about you?"
"Me too."
Silence.
"Where do you work?" Joanne asked, as she began to feel like she was on a blind date reality television show.
"I manage a distribution center," Ian explained, trying to make conversation. "It's a warehouse; there are 50 people working there I do payroll for."
Silence.
"Where do you work?" he asked.
"At the airport."
Silence.
"Like at a gate?"
"I'm a pilot."
"What do you fly?"
"Anything with wings."
Ian coughed unexpectedly.
"How long have you been flying?" he asked.
"Always," Joanne whispered, as she turned and looked at Ian. He had premature salt-and-pepper hair and full eyebrows. His hazel eyes flickered from the light cast from the lamp overhead. He had a Roman nose and thin lips that seemed to stay in a perpetual smirk, as if he was always ready to laugh.
The food arrived and they ate, talking little. Time had gotten away from them and they each had someplace where they needed to be. The check came and Ian paid the waitress before she could step away. The waitress thanked them, scooped up their empty plates, and was gone.
There was another awkward silence until Joanne pulled out her business card and slid it across the table. Ian picked it up and looked at the logo. There was a blue tail of an airplane, and on the tail was a gold "C" with a small lightning bolt inside. The name "Air Coryell" was printed on the center of the card, and "J. A. Brookfield" was at the bottom, along with a phone number and a website.
"Call me when you want to fly," Joanne said, as she stood up.
"What do you want me to call you?" he asked, smirking, as he too stood and looked evenly into her brown eyes.
"Anything but late for dinner," she stated.
"OK, how about dinner then, tomorrow?"
"What's on the menu?"
"Sirloin, medium-well, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, bacon, and orange juice."
"Oh, I drink grape juice for dinner," she chided him playfully.
"Grape juice it is then. Tomorrow night." He pulled out his business card and wrote his home phone number on the back and was about to provide directions to his home when she told him she had seen him pull out of his driveway, so she knew where he lived.
He nodded, remembering the strange circumstances that had brought them together. He waved to her and stepped into the bathroom to wash his hands. When he came out, she was gone.
He stepped out into the parking lot and the new red Dodge was not next to his red Dodge - a pang of loneliness crept over him as the sun began to rise. He climbed into the Viper and pointed it toward the Interstate. If he was going to get groceries after work, he had better get to work to get things done.
Chapter Two
Ian was laying out silverware on the table when he heard a knock on the screen door. A warm smile spread across his face and his heart skipped a beat as he saw her on the porch of the rustic farmhouse. He strode to the door, pushing it open for her and handing her a stone goblet of grape juice.
"Service with a smile," he offered, with a grin.
"Are you trying to get me liquored up to stay the night? And here I thought you were a good guy."
"It's just grape juice," Ian sputtered innocently.
"That's alright, my overnight bag is in the car, this is closer to the airport for me. Mind if I stay? Ya got an extra room for the night?"
Flustered, Ian glanced down the hall. His sports memorabilia room did not have a bed and the other room had his weight set.
"Uh," he stammered.
"It's OK, I can sleep on the couch tonight." She took a swig of the grape juice, swallowed and gave him a peck on the cheek, vibrating her lips as a person would do on a baby's tummy.
Ian stepped back with his mouth open in surprise.
"I'm hungry too, when do we eat?" she asked with a sweet smile. She stepped to the table and stood at the chair, waiting for Ian to pull it out for her, glancing at him twice before he realized his obligation. She thanked him and sat down.
He opened a cupboard door and eased out two tan plates that featured ducks walking across the center.
"Ahhh, a momma, a daddy, and a baby, quite a family don't you think?"
"Uh, yea," Ian stammered, wondering if she was for real or not.
He brought the steaks over on a tray and placed one on each plate with tongs.
"Do you have a food handlers permit?" she inquired, with a serious look on her face.
"Uh, I had one in high school if that is OK," he explained.
"Oh good, a guy that has worked with people and can cook, that's extra points," she said waving her pointer finger in the air like a Styrofoam #1 hand at a ballgame.
He chuckled. "She is crazy," he thought.
"Yeah I'm crazy, and I'm good at it," she offered, as he brought the rest of the meal to the table.
They ate and got to know each other.
"So you have always flown?" he asked.
"Yeah, cause of my dad," she answered.
"Oh, where is he?"
"Arlington."
"Texas?"
"Cemetery."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"It's OK, it's what he wanted."
"And your mom?"
"Retirement home in Minnesota, she's a mermaid so she likes to be by the water, the Land of 10,000 Lakes and all."
Ian looked up at her eyes. They were shiny and she was about to cry. He looked down at his plate as she dabbed a tear away with her napkin.
"She lost it when dad died, she can't take care of herself any more," Joanne whispered.
Silence.
"And you?" she asked.
"My parents are happily divorced and my mom plays Grandma for my sister's three children in the Ozarks," Ian shared.
"So it's just us then?" she asked, like a starlet in a disaster movie.
"Yep, just us," Ian responded as he sat up straight, "just us." After the meal they sat down on the couch. She set her purse down on the floor and a dog-eared book slipped out onto the carpet.
Ian loved books, as his vast collection in the cabinets along the wall would attest. He scooped up the book and held it in his hands.
"'What Speed Looks Like' by race car driver Bobby Isaac," he read the book cover aloud, "Wow."
He handed the book back to her.
"Can I ask you something?" he requested, his voice quivering.
She nodded slightly and a little smile curled around her lips.
"Were you born a dude?" Ian whispered.
Her smile broadened and she began unbuttoning her sweater.
"Would you like to see the results of modern medicine?" she asked, in a smooth, even husky voice.
Ian did not know whether to jump off the couch or sit there politely while the person in front of him appeared ready to disrobe.
She flipped off the sweater to reveal her well-toned arms, a flat tummy, and a black sports bra.
"Wanna flip for it?" she asked as she stood up in front of him.
He stood up also. She reached her arms toward him so he politely returned the gesture. Their arms touched momentarily when suddenly his feet were pulled out from under him.
Then he was gasping for air as his back slammed to the floor and she was sitting on his hips, pressing his hands above his head into the carpet with her right hand and stroking his face with her left hand, the smile curling her lip again.
"First look is free, second one will cost you," she whispered as she leaned down and gave him a peck on the forehead.
Now he smiled.
"The question you have to ask yourself is `Do you feel lucky?' Well do you?"
He hinged himself at the hips and lifted his leg up behind her.
With their eyes locked on each other, both with a smirk on their face Ian slipped his toe under her chin and suddenly pressed her back to the floor.
"I think what we have here is a failure to communicate," he quipped as he sat up and somewhat towered over her.
"We ain't fallin' for no banana in the tailpipe," she growled. She arched her back and rolled over, breaking his hold. They sat on the floor looking into each other's eyes and smiling. It was like they were looking at a gender mirror image of each other.
"You should not drink and bake," he breathed.
"Goodnight John Boy," she whispered as she gave him a peck on the cheek.
She got up from the floor and went outside to the car to get her overnight bag. He cleaned off the table and put the plates into the dishwasher as she slipped into the bathroom. When she came out he was back on the couch flipping through the book. It had many portions marked.
"Did you know him?" Ian asked.
"My dad did, they were pretty close." She gave him a peck on the cheek and snatched the book out of his hand. "Some people shoot and gamble," she whispered in his ear as she grasped his hand and pulled him up off the couch.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Arrangementby Wayne McFall Copyright © 2010 by Wayne McFall. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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