This was not going to end well. By the time she’d driven to the end of the street they’d either be dead or she’d be fired. It would be the shortest employment in history, which was a shame because she was starting to love Kathleen and so far this trip had been more exciting than she could possibly have imagined. She’d never had the chance to travel and she had to stop herself from pointing at everything and saying, Look at that!

She was trying to appear like a sophisticated woman of the world, which wasn’t easy.

And now they’d reached the moment of reckoning.

“Ford Mustang, right?” The tall, lanky guy with bad skin who had introduced himself as Cade handed her the keys. “You’re lucky. They’re in demand and we don’t always have one. You’re sure this is what you want? You could have had a Corvette or a Camaro. Or an SUV. You’d have more room.”

What I want, Martha thought, is something older and slower.

But Kathleen shook her head. “One of the advantages of being challenged in the height department, is that we don’t need legroom. I want the Mustang.”

Two days in Kathleen’s company had taught Martha that what Kathleen wanted Kathleen got.

She thought back over the whirlwind of the past forty-eight hours.

After they’d landed in Chicago, they’d checked in to a smart hotel, where Kathleen had reserved a suite with two bedrooms. Martha’s bathroom had been bigger than her bedroom back home.

Kathleen had flung open the doors to the balcony and breathed deeply, as if she was inhaling oxygen for the first time in years. She’d stood there, gazing at the view of Chicago and then said yes, in a voice that suggested she was more than satisfied.

The whole trip was getting a big yes from Martha too.

Apart from the driving part, she was living the dream. Luxury! A room big enough to dance in without the risk of smacking your limbs on the walls. No family pointing out all her faults. Best of all, no chance of Steven turning up on the doorstep.

The suite was incredible, but how on earth could Kathleen afford it? Had she robbed a bank in her youth? The wicked twinkle in her eye made Martha think that anything was possible.

And what exactly were the rules of this trip? Was she supposed to stay out of the way or join Kathleen?

This job hadn’t come with any instructions, apart from the fact that she was expected to drive. She was looking forward to spending a quiet evening with a large burger, and her tattered copy of The Grapes of Wrath to get herself in the mood, although she hoped there would be considerably less drama and hardship in her version of the journey across America.