In my stories, people travel. A lot. The Realm of Silence is a road trip story, and so is Gingerbread Bride. In almost everything I’ve written, the characters need to get from one place to another by whatever means of transport was available. In the latest novella for the Bluestocking Belles, Paradise Regained, I’m just writing a camel train, a caravan. Did you know that the largest could have thousands of camels? Wow. House of Thorns meant researching the earliest steam ferries on the Mersey. For Never Kiss a Toad, which is early Victorian, my co-author and I have spent a lot of time calculating journey times on ships and trains.  I’ve gifted the heroine of my latest contemporary novella, Beached, with a dual fuel (gas and electricity) car, and the hero has what New Zealanders call a utility vehicle, or ute.

So transport is this week’s theme. Comments with your excerpts are very welcome! Here’s mine, from Beached.

They went in Zee’s ute—his pickup he called it—leaving after breakfast. Nikki had offered her car, but Zee said he had some stuff to pick up for Dave, and needed the pickup’s bed.

Nikki decided not to call him on being a typical male, hating to be driven. Besides, she enjoyed watching his competent hands on the wheel and not driving meant she could enjoy the scenery—both inside and outside the car.

“We’ve gone as far as we can with the demolition,” Zee explained, as the truck skirted the foreshore. “I’ve got the crew tidying up today, and I’ve a few jobs lined up for next week that don’t need permits, but we’ll run out pretty quick. No problem if the council sticks to their ten-day timeline, but if anything is holding them up, I want to know about it ahead of time. If I let Dave take the team off your house and get involved in another job, who knows when we’ll get them back?”

“I thought you worked for Dave?” Nikki teased, prompting a broad smile and a sideways glance.

“Believe me, Nikki, I’m working for you on this one.” No misinterpreting that, although all week he’d been blowing hot and cold. She’d manufactured several opportunities for them to be alone, and any other man would have made a move by now. Showing an interest had always been enough and she’d done that, surely? Perhaps he was shy. Or she hadn’t been obvious enough.

They had the whole day together today; time enough for things to develop.

The road made its turn from the coast, running beside the estuary before turning to climb into the hills.

“Is this anything like where you grew up?” Nikki asked.

Zee laughed. “Not much! Me and my mom lived with her dad up on a mountain in Wyoming. They call it off the grid these days. To me, it was just the way you lived. Fishing in the lake for lunch. Hunting to put meat on the table. School was lessons with mom or grandpop, not just out of books but in our everyday lives. I learnt design hands-on, making things with grandpop.”

“It sounds idyllic,” Nikki commented.

“I remember it as idyllic. At least until…” He trailed off, his hands on the wheel clenching then releasing.