Look, But Don't Touch. Sandra Chastain
feeling intensified. Hell, he must have hit his head, too.
“No thanks.”
“Fine.” She dropped her hands and started to turn away, then stopped. “Since you don’t want my help, I’ll just go.”
“Where are you heading?” His question stopped her. He’d surprised himself by asking. Asking made the connection stronger. As the rumble of thunder in the distance grew louder, the physical responses in his body seemed to intensify, fed by the wind and the rain.
“I’m headed for San Antonio. If I read the last road sign right, it’s just ahead.”
“You’re about twenty miles out,” Jesse agreed, switching to ranger mode. “It is none of my business, but you shouldn’t give out information. In fact, you shouldn’t have stopped to help me. Suppose I’m an ax murderer?”
He told himself his voice wasn’t tight because of the overwhelming tension that arced between them—he was simply reprimanding her. A smart woman would get out of here. He’d bet she was smart. And gutsy. Whatever she was feeling, she certainly wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, he sensed what might be called cynical amusement.
She stood her ground. “I’m just curious. Are you an ax murderer or do you club your victims with rearview mirrors?”
He glanced down. He was holding the broken mirror with no recollection of picking it up. “I improvise. What about you?” The words came out as though someone else was speaking. Maybe he really had hit his head.
“Normally, I’d already be gone, but since I did contribute to your accident, I felt compelled to help. It’s your call, Motorcycle Man. We can put your bike in the back of the El Camino and get out of the elements or I’ll send someone from the next open garage.” She jutted her chin forward and waited.
He shook his head. “If I thought the two of us could lift a five-hundred-pound machine into the bed of your truck, I might agree.” He didn’t have a choice. He’d have to take his chances and let her help. “Just send a wrecker when you get to the next garage.”
“Well, I could, but it happens that I have ramps, a tarp and a tool chest in the back. I travel alone so I’m always prepared. By the way, I believe your motorcycle is a Road King and they weigh closer to seven hundred and twenty-five pounds.”
Jesse was amazed. She was right about the bike. It was a Harley Road King and it weighed seven hundred and twenty-three pounds. Before he realized what he was doing, he heard himself saying, “I accept your offer. You carry ramps around?”
“They’re useful in moving things in and out of the truck. Never know what I’ll need when I start a new assignment.”
Because of her tool chest, getting the bike into the truckbed wasn’t easy. By the time they’d done it and picked up the broken pieces of metal along the roadside, both were soaking wet. He was still curious about the ramps as he watched the woman pull off her jacket and wet cap, open the passenger side door and lean inside the cab. Moments later she straightened again. “Okay, get in, unless you’d rather ride in the back with the bike. Be careful of my gear on the floor.”
Jesse crawled in, carefully planting his feet around the bulky backpacks and wondering how he’d gotten himself into such a situation. The seat shifted as she got in on her side. He turned to thank her and heard a sharp intake of breath, not certain whether it had come from him or her. At this close proximity, they had their first clear view of each other. If tension could be measured by a thermometer, it would have hit the top of the gauge.
With the moonlight behind her, he’d only gotten a general impression of his angel of mercy. Up close, she was straight out of a fantasy comic book. Blond hair streaming in wet ropes and a T-shirt plastered against full breasts, she could have ridden a wild stallion with Zena or been an agent in the next episode of “Silk Stalkings.” If she stepped on a stage with Madonna or Brittany Spears, they’d fade away.
As they continued to eye each other, he took a deep breath and let it out. “Something wrong?” Wrong? If he asked himself that question, he’d have to answer yes. Something was wrong. The woman. The night. The storm.
She simply stared at him, the silence heavy between them. Her voice was tight when she answered. “Maybe. Maybe not. I think I’m just a little shaky. The accident was a shock.”
“That surprises me. I’d expect the average woman to be shaken up, but the average woman doesn’t drive a truck carrying tools and equipment.”
“Women have toys. They just aren’t always what you expect,” she said, and closed her door. Mercifully, the light went out. Moments later the engine came to life and she pulled back onto the highway. “It isn’t the accident that bothered me. It’s you.”
“I bother you? Why is that?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Men are my business. I’ve seen all kinds and I’ve learned to read them. Everything about you says danger.”
He didn’t know which comment bothered him the most, her reference to danger or that men were her business. He shifted his feet, wondering what she carried in her cases. With a taste for classic vehicles and motorcycles, she had to have money. Or maybe she was the ax murderer and she carried her weapons in her cases. Either way, this woman was trouble and trouble was something he didn’t need. He was going to find enough of that in the morning at the meeting scheduled with his boss.
“You’re very direct for a woman,” he finally said. “Or a man, for that matter.”
“I believe in confronting a situation head-on, yes.” She glanced at him. “I’m curious. You don’t seem to be the kind of man who would willingly ask for help, especially from a woman. And I’m definitely not myself around you, either. Can you say there isn’t something strange happening here?”
“No, I guess I can’t,” he admitted. He’d accused her of being direct and he liked that about her. Although if anyone had asked, he would have said it was what he’d always thought he’d wanted in a woman. But now he wasn’t so sure. “I don’t understand this, either,” he said. “Let’s just say, there was an accident and it shook us up, and leave it at that.”
The windows had fogged, giving the illusion of a gauzy cocoon isolating them from the rest of the world. The air felt warm and unstable.
“Whatever you say.” She reached for the windshield defroster. He was right. They were tuned into each other in a way she hadn’t experienced before. She attributed her reaction to the fact that he was absolutely perfect for her catalog, but this personal…connection was volatile and disturbing. She felt like the woman who knew there was an ax murderer in the basement. Everything about her said, Don’t go down there. And she was heading for the basement as fast as she could.
Cat shrugged her shoulders, trying to break out of what felt like a physical force field. “I prefer to think we’re two ships that pass in the night. From the looks of this weather, we could use a ship.”
Rain was blowing everywhere now, making it difficult to see. In addition to the weather, her windshield wipers were behaving erratically. Her passenger leaned back, not speaking. If he was worried about her ability to drive in the storm, he didn’t say it. Either he was the rare man who could relax with a woman at the wheel or he was scared speechless. She took a quick look. He didn’t look scared.
“You can just drop me off anywhere,” he finally said.
“If I’d been going to drop you off anywhere, you might just as well have stayed where you were. You’re soaking wet. I’m soaking wet. And your bike is wrecked. I’ll take you home. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you live on the River Walk.”
“You live on the River Walk?” he asked.
She laughed. “Live? Not likely. Home for me is wherever my work is. For the next few weeks, home is the Palace Hotel, compliments of my employer—that is, if he’s satisfied with my work when we meet.”
Satisfied?