Her Texas Lawman. Stella Bagwell
She felt around on her head for the source of the gooey substance and yelped when her fingers pushed onto a lump and an open gash.
“Oww!” Lifting her hand in front of her face, she could see blood smeared on her fingers. “I must have cut myself.”
“Let me take a look.”
Stepping forward, he directed the light toward the side of her head. Lucita stood rigidly still while he parted her long hair to examine the wound. Once again she was assaulted with the pleasant smell of his shirt, the masculine strength of his warm body.
“Yeah, that’s a pretty nasty gash. It was hidden by your hair and I didn’t see it before,” he murmured. “I’d better call in an ambulance, after all. You might need to be checked for a concussion.”
She deliberately moved back from him. “Forget it. I’m not comfortable with hospitals. Besides, my cousin and her husband are both doctors. They’ll come to the ranch and check me out if need be.”
“I’m concerned about more than a concussion,” he said in a brusque, businesslike voice. “You’re probably going to need stitches, too.”
Before she could guess his intention, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, gathered one corner together and pressed the fabric to the wound.
His big hand inadvertently brushed against her cheek and she closed her eyes as she tried to steel herself against the odd emotions rushing through her. How long had it been since a man who wasn’t related to her had been this close? Three years. Three long, lonely years.
“I’ll make sure I get the wound cared for, Deputy. Thank you.”
Sensing that he was making her uncomfortable, he handed the handkerchief to her and stepped back.
“Be sure that you do.” Curling his fingers around her upper arm, he asked, “Can you make it over to my truck? I need to write up the accident and you’ll be more comfortable there.”
Sitting down would be a relief. At the moment it was an effort for her to remain upright. Her head must have taken a harder whack than she’d thought. The dizziness and nausea she’d felt the moment she’d stood on her feet was still coming and going in great waves. “I think so,” she told him.
With his hand on her arm, he supported most of her weight as the two of them waded through the tall grass and weeds. Just as they reached his truck, another patrol car braked to a jarring halt at the side of the highway.
An officer climbed out of the vehicle and Deputy McCleod called over to him.
“If you haven’t already called for a tow truck, do that now, then deal with the fence.”
The other man lifted a hand in acknowledgment.
The deputy led Lucita around to the passenger door of his truck, which he’d left idling, and helped her into the seat. Once she was inside and he’d shut the door behind her, she began to shiver, but whether her reaction was from the air-conditioning blowing from the dash or anticipation of a grilling, she wasn’t sure. She just knew she wanted this whole ordeal over with so that she could go home to her family.
Lights of all shapes and colors illuminated knobs and meters on the dashboard in front of her. A two-way radio crackled as voices intermittently sent information across the airwaves. Behind her head, against the back windshield, long, high-powered rifles rested in a gun rack. She wondered if the lawman had ever been forced to use any of his weapons.
Seconds later, the deputy was sliding into the seat next to her. He switched on the interior cab light and the small space was filled with a dim, yellowish glow. She studied his profile as he silently reached for a clipboard and began to copy information from her driver’s license.
The man was somewhere in his mid to late thirties, Lucita decided. A strong, square jaw was covered with a faint stubble of dark whiskers. Coffee-brown sideburns ended at the lobes of his ears while his hair was just long enough to curl against his nape. His nose was on the large side and surprisingly straight for a man who’d undoubtedly been involved in a fair share of physical scuffles. Faint creases bracketed a roughly hewn set of lips, which at the moment were pressed together in a grim line. No doubt he was very unhappy with her careless driving.
Head still bent, he continued to write. “I don’t think I need to point out how lucky you were tonight. I think you already realize you could have been killed.”
Lucita drew in a deep breath. She wished she could see his eyes. They might give her a clue as to what he was actually thinking. But they were totally shadowed by the brim of his hat. Her gaze fell to his left hand. The ring finger was blank. But what did that matter? Why was she even wondering if the man was married?
She tried to focus on the real reason for sitting next to this lanky deputy. He seemed like a strong, capable man and something about his presence gave her a sense of security. She needed to tell him what actually happened on the highway. She needed his help. Otherwise, she might not survive. “Looking at it that way, I suppose you’re right. But at the moment I don’t especially feel lucky. I—you see, only moments before my encounter with the hog, there was a car tailgating me. It got so close that it bumped me.”
Turning his head, he looked directly at her. The full view of his face was almost as jolting as hitting the power pole, she decided.
“Bumped you?”
Even though he’d only spoken two words, she could hear disbelief in his voice. Looking at it from his view, she could see how ridiculous it sounded. This was a rural area where most people lived at a slow pace. Neighbor knew neighbor and they definitely didn’t try to run one another off the road.
“Yes. At first the lights were so bright and close I was practically blinded. I sped up to try to get ahead of them, but the car wouldn’t back off. Finally it got so close, it rammed my bumper—hard enough to nearly wrench the steering wheel from my hands. I was trying to decide whether to try to outrun it or simply pull over and stop when the hog ran in front of me. I swerved to miss it, and my car began to spin. The next thing I knew, the front end was wrapped around the power pole.”
His gaze dropped back to the clipboard. “Are you sure the vehicle actually bumped you? This particular highway has a few potholes. Hitting one at a high rate of speed can cause serious jolts and even accidents.”
Feeling more blood trickling through her hair, she pressed his handkerchief more firmly to the wound on her head. “I understand that this all sounds unbelievable. But it wasn’t a pothole. The car really did bash into me.”
As though he needed a closer inspection of her, he turned toward her as his thumb pushed the brim of his hat a fraction higher on his forehead. “Did you have any sort of altercation with this vehicle before the accident? Maybe you forgot to dim your lights and the driver got angry and wanted payback? Or you cut them off from a prime parking space? Unfortunately, road rage can get out of hand.”
Shaking her head, she said firmly, “No. Nothing like that happened today, yesterday or any time.”
A faint dimple grooved his cheek as he smiled. “You must be a very courteous driver, Ms. Sanchez.”
Looking away from him, she reminded herself that she’d never been attracted to lawmen, that they were too cocky for her taste. This one was no exception. Still, there was something about him that affected her in the most sensual sort of way.
“Most Texans are courteous drivers,” she replied. “Except for the idiot chasing me.”
He glanced thoughtfully out the windshield. “If this wasn’t a case of road rage, then why would someone be chasing you? Have you had a personal dispute with anyone?”
His questions made her squirm uncomfortably. She realized the more she tried to explain the accident tonight, the stranger she sounded. “I realize I must seem paranoid to you, or worse, a woman suffering from histrionics. But I’ve been—I believe that someone has been following me around. Stalking me.”
She glanced over to