"Okay," I said, when Daphne was in position. "Give me just a little bit of gas. Just a little." There was a pause as we listened to the engine hum. I tried to ease the clutch up. "Maybe a little more ..."

To my astonishment, we set off so smoothly I don't think Daphne even knew we were moving until I began to turn the steering wheel to direct us back on to the interstate.

"Off!" I demanded, and then geared up. "On!" Daphne pressed the gas pedal again. The engine whirred briefly but settled down. "Off! .... On! ... Off! ... On! ON! More more more!"

I didn't look at the speedometer, as I didn't want to know how fast we were travelling at that moment. I *did* know that Daphne was beginning to make this straining noise, like she was about to pop a hernia, and that if her muscles gave, the only thing to fall on would be the accelerator. She shuffled determinedly as I tried to keep us moving in a straight line, working my bad leg out of the way in order to sit more comfortably.

And all the while, the police car was following. "It's okay!" I suddenly cheered, watching in the wing mirror. "He's overtaken us and I think he's leaving at the next exit!"

"Great," Daphne groused, less than enthusiastically, into my thigh.

I directed my words at the comedian in the uniform. "Go on, go on, off you go, run along and hone that razor-sharp wit on some other unsuspecting traveller. Off you go. Oh, indicate, you meathead! Damn, he's staying with ... no, no! It's okay. He's apparently driving one of those cars where neither of the indicators work. He's on the slip road!" A beat, then I announced, "He's gone!"

I let out a sigh of relief and slumped slightly in the seat. Daphne said, "Mmmph!" and I realised I had inadvertantly provided her with a mouthful of denim. I sat back up again, rather quickly.

I was about to ask how we might manage the changeover whilst driving at speed along the road, when my words were arrested by a startled voice which gasped, "Daphne!"

"Hmm?" Daphne turned her head and peered over the top of my thigh, presumably to see Maggie looking down at her. You may be surprised to note that I hadn't given thought to the compromising nature of our mutual position before that moment. Trying to prevent the Winnebago turning into a steel-encased fireball had been uppermost in my thoughts.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" Maggie demanded. I decided that it would be prudent not to get involved in this conversation, and stared out of the windscreen. Navigating along the interstate lane was task enough for me.

"I'm trying not to get us arrested," Daphne growled, and her mouth moved against my leg. I stared even harder out of the windscreen and started to read the license plates of the vehicles overtaking us with some degree of fascination.

"By playing hide the sausage when we're driving along the interstate?!!"

"Maggie! Behave yourself, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I'm sitting like this."

"Oh, I don't want to know," Daphne's friend replied with feigned long-sufferance. "But honestly, Daph, I did that when I was sixteen!"

And she flounced away, back into the rear of the motor home.

I sighed, hoping Daphne wasn't about to lose her temper with me. "There's a diner coming up in a mile," I told her, noting the roadside sign. "Can we manage until then?"

"We can try," she grumbled.

"Daphne?"

"What?"

"I seem to be petering. Could I trouble you for a little more gas?"

Daphne obliged me. We speeded up again, and with that, I prepared to guide us into the parking lot ahead. Daphne was still muttering, and the tips of her ears were red. I figured that while we were in motion, she'd probably view headbutting me in the unmentionables as a risky prospect. It was a comforting thought, second only to the less comforting one which advised me to get out of her way as soon as possible, once we stopped.

Which we did, with admirable control. Yes, we actually made it in one piece. I waited until Daphne had crawled out from beneath the steering wheel, then I hopped away to the sarcophagus while Daphne moved the vehicle into a parking slot. Maggie came through as I closed the door, and raised a suggestive eyebrow at me before I sequestered myself.

There was a warm, moist patch on my trousers, where Daphne had been breathing.

Oh momma.

Maggie had gone to procure provisions when I emerged. Daphne was scrutinising the road map again. I settled with some relief back into the passenger seat and waited for her to finish her review. When she folded the map away, she turned to look at me with a raised eyebrow.

"How's the ankle?" she asked congenially, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place.

"It's okay," I reassured her, despite the pain I was still in. I thought that it might be a good time to avoid making a fuss.

"You can have some more painkillers in an hour or so. Can you manage until then?"

"I'll be fine."

She smiled, and the tension I'd been feeling eased.

"Daphne, how do you think those robbers managed to hijack a motor home with a tube of toothpaste?" I asked. The thought had been itching at the back of my mind since the conversation we'd had with the police officer.

She barked a quick laugh, then said, "I'd imagine they pointed it at the driver through a coat pocket."

"Oh. Right."

"What, did you think they made novelty gun-shaped toothpaste?"

She was laughing at me in that sparkling way of hers. For an instant I didn't know whether to feel tickled or cross. "Well, they make cigarette lighters like that!"

"So they do," agreed Daphne. Her smile said, 'I love you, you daft sod', so I chose tickled.

"You know," I offered, my confidence returning, "I seem to remember asking you to dinner, last night."

"Hmm. I bet the restaurant will be impressed, when I carry you in there in a fireman's lift."

"Well, that's not *exactly* what I was thinking, but it's a very good point."

"Don't worry about it, Niles. I'm not going anywhere. You can take me out when you're feeling better."

"I'd like that. But I still promised you dinner."

"What did you have in mind?" That was asked in the seductive voice. I'd climb mountains to hear the seductive voice.

I opened my mouth to tell Daphne about my less-than-original plans for take-out and a movie or several, but Maggie interrupted yet again, forcing the door open and staggering up the steps with laden arms.

"I got hot-dogs!" she announced with a smirk. *Not* the culinary provisions of which I'd been thinking. I frowned into the distance, not wanting to meet Daphne's eyes as she was presented with her soda and snack. On top of everything else, I was less than enamoured about having to look at my share.

Maggie hovered until we turned to her. She returned our looks challengingly.

"Thank you," I said curtly.

Maggie chomped enthusiastically on her hot-dog, chuckled with her mouth full, then left us to it.