A Dream of His Own. Gail Gaymer Martin
sunlight through the rear window. He had to admit she was attractive with skin like cream, not one blemish, and intense hazel eyes. He liked her independence. She didn’t jump at his offer to help. She’d considered it first, eyeing him with suspicion. She’d been smart to question his motives and probably questioned why a stranger would offer to help.
She’d given evidence of being a single mom. The burden of decisions about her son’s driving, the cost of insurance and even a trip to the hardware seemed to rest on her shoulders. He tried to picture her doing her own plumbing. Her feminine frame looked sturdy enough to handle a wrench, but her manicured nails and slender arms didn’t fit any plumber he’d seen. Then again, not wearing a wedding band didn’t negate being married. But why not call a plumber? That’s what he did.
Quinn’s thoughts snapped back to the situation at hand. He concentrated so much on her trunk lid he’d forgotten the damage to his own vehicle. He needed an estimate, too. The who-was-at-fault issue dug deep in his mind, but seeing her financial concern and the difficulty of being without a car, he wondered if he should take the blame. It was an accident.
Without warning, the word cut to his heart. Accidents should never happen. Everyone knew that. They were excuses for carelessness and for…
Quinn grappled with his frustration, Frustration meant defeat, and he was done with that. He clamped his jaw, his grip tight on the steering wheel as if the action could control his indecision.
A red light caught him unaware, and he jammed his foot on the brake, thanking the Lord he didn’t hit the back of the woman’s car again. The woman? He cringed. They hadn’t even exchanged names or information. His preoccupation had gotten the best of him.
The light turned green, and he drove through the intersection. Ahead, he could see the B & B Collision sign. She saw it, too, since she hit her right signal. He slowed and stopped behind the sedan, waiting for traffic to clear.
* * *
Ava could see the man through her rearview mirror. His mouth was locked tight. He would be a prime example of why she’d hesitated to add fathers to the Mothers of Special Kids support group, but the women had voted to let them join anyway.
At the newly named Parents of Special Kids organization, she’d branded herself the inquisitor. She wanted to view all sides of an issue, and often she served as the devil’s advocate. Not everyone liked that, she knew. And now that men were part of POSK, she’d realized she’d been wrong about most men’s unwillingness to talk about their problems, but not incorrect about this man. She’d never met one so closed off.
Something in his introspective eyes had ignited her inquisitive nature, yet she didn’t know him well enough to pry. Didn’t know him at all, in fact. They hadn’t introduced themselves, and she should have asked for insurance information. The accident was his fault she was certain. Or quite certain. She’d checked her mirrors.
Ava wondered if the man realized he didn’t know her name. Maybe she could be as closed-mouthed as he was and remain a nameless woman. He apparently liked to be in control, but he’d met his match today. Ava Darnell wasn’t easy to push around. She sighed, dismissing her ridiculous thoughts.
His knowing Lexie and Ethan had eased her mind, but she’d been distracted by his good looks. The streaks of gray contrasting with his wavy dark hair had raised an age question, but studying his features, she suspected he wasn’t too far from her almost thirty-nine years. And he’d looked at her with those eyes—gorgeous eyes, blue ones that seemed to search her soul. Or was he searching his own? She may never learn a thing about him. But two could play the silent game.
Traffic cleared and Ava veered into the parking lot with the SUV following behind her. A body shop made her miserable. She didn’t have the money to deal with a damaged car. Making ends meet was enough of a challenge, especially with her steep mortgage. With the mention of her house payment, her thoughts flew to the financial mess Tom had left behind.
She gazed at the shop door and cringed. What did she know about cars and repairs? Yet seeing the nameless man slip from his SUV, her confidence lifted as he approached her. She spun around with false assurance and headed for the entrance.
Before she reached the door, he dashed ahead of her and held it open. She headed for the counter. So did he.
From the garage, the sound of a static-filled radio station was punctuated with clanks of metal and intermittent thuds. A man glanced in from the garage and held up his index finger, and in moments, he charged through the doorway, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. “Quinn, what are you doing here?”
Quinn. She gave a sidelong look at the man beside her. Irish name. He looked Irish—the dark Irish with the amazing blue eyes and raven hair. He reached forward and grasped the man’s hand with a shake, and then nodded toward her. She wanted to give her own nod toward him. He’d caused the accident.
Quinn preceded to tell the story, chuckling as he called it a fender-denter, directing another nod her way.
Finally she gave her own nod. “He backed out of the parking spot into me.” She put a little emphasis on the he and me, hoping the man Quinn had called Randy got the point.
Randy gave him a flickering grin before looking at her with an unsuccessful attempt to appear serious. “So you both need an estimate.”
She pushed her way closer to the counter. “Yes, it’s my trunk lid. It has a dent and now the lid won’t lock.”
He pulled out a form and grabbed a pencil. “Name?”
So much for being nameless. “Ava Darnell.” As she spoke, she dug into her bag and pulled her driver’s license from her wallet, then slid it on the counter.
He glanced at it. “Phone number?”
She eyed Quinn, but he was looking at her license. She wanted to cover it with her hand. “You won’t need my number. We’re going to wait.”
“You’re welcome to wait.” He tilted his head, his pencil poised. “But I still need your phone number.”
She drew up her shoulders and gave him her number.
He pulled out another form and jotted Quinn’s name at the top. She couldn’t read the last name, and Quinn spieled off his telephone number. The area code was local, but she expected that.
“I know you have insurance, Quinn.” He turned to her. “How about you, Ms. Darnell?
She reached for her wallet again. “I have insurance.” Her stomach churned knowing she’d still have a deductible. Where would she get the money?
“No.” Quinn’s voice startled her.
Randy scowled, his eyes shifting from her to Quinn. “Which is it?”
“I have insurance.” She delved into her bag.
“The accident was my fault.”
Quinn’s admission stopped her cold. “You admit it?”
Quinn ignored her and looked at Randy. “I’d prefer to pay for whatever she needs. Pretend she doesn’t have insurance.”
His meddling heightened her irritation. She attempted to save money, but she wasn’t a pauper if that’s what he thought. “Please, I have—”
His eyes captured hers. “I know, but allow me to do this.”
Addled, she slipped the strap of her bag onto her shoulder and studied him.
Randy dropped the pencil on the counter. “Whatever you say.” He pointed to the garage. “I have a job to finish. It’ll take another twenty minutes or so. You can wait here if you want. I’ll get to your cars as soon as I can.” He motioned to the chairs in the waiting area.
Ava strode across the room, sank into a seat and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Quinn stood beside her. She scrutinized him a moment. “What’s wrong with you?”