“Shouldn’t take more ’n half an hour for someone to get here this time of night,” he reassured, breaking into her thoughts. “Best stay put in that car of yours ’til then.”
At her nod, he touched two fingers to his temple and was gone as instantly as he’d appeared.
“A guardian angel.” She chuckled at her musings, then sobered as silence enfolded her, deafening in its intensity. Resting her head on the steering wheel, she closed her eyes only to pop them open a second later.
Someone pounded on the windshield. Had the man returned? It seemed like he’d just left moments ago. She glimpsed the back of a much taller, heavier man who bent down to inspect the front of her car, his tow truck a few feet behind him.
“Lady,” the driver said, pulling his red cap low over his forehead before straightening. “Put it in neutral and come on out.”
He drew closer, and she glimpsed the company logo on the breast pocket of his oil-smeared overalls. The glare of the truck’s lights had her shielding her eyes with her hand, and she couldn’t decipher the name nor see the man’s face clearly. She rubbed her eyes, thinking it must be about midnight. The man shifted sideways and pulled up the collar of his shirt against rising wind.
He smelled of gas and grease, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. What a difference from her Good Samaritan. She shrugged and opened the door, thankful for the help. At a time like this, she couldn’t be choosy.
Reaching inside the car, he snapped the knob beneath the dashboard that opened the hood. The motion had him nearly touching her, and although she shrank back against the seat, her nerve endings went on alert. Must be the chill in the air, she thought. He whipped out, moved to the front of the Chevy, and raised the hood. A flick of a flashlight, and he poked his head in the machinery.
“Not the battery.” He tinkered for a few minutes more. “Alternator belt is loose.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Afraid not, ma’am.” With his face hidden under the hood, his words were barely audible. “I’ll have to tow you in.” He flicked off the flashlight, slammed the hood down and bent to hook the chain beneath the front fender. “Come on out.”
She hesitated.
“Lady,” the man said, his words muffled. “I’ve had a long day and I’m tired as a toad doin’ laps in quicksand.”
She didn’t move.
“If you don’t mind, I want to get home and bunk down for the night.”
While he was busy adjusting the chain between her Chevy Impala and his tow truck, she pushed the door wider. She started to slide out, but got stuck behind the steering wheel. An embarrassed moan, and she placed her hand protectively across her abdomen, shuffling an inch or two.
“You all right, lady?” He peered at her from the shadow of his cap and pulling a rag from his back pocket, wiped his hands. “Let me help you.”
Touched by his concern, she took his grease-stained hand and he closed his fingers over hers. His grip was firm, yet gentle, and somehow familiar. Heat traversed up her arm, shooting sparks into her and singeing her heart. A breathless moment, and he helped her out, his hand warm around her fingers, protective. A tremulous smile brushed her mouth, and she bit it away. But she couldn’t control her pulse as easily; it bopped off beat so much, she nearly imagined the man was—
“This way,” he said, voice gruff, relinquishing her hand.
Night chill zapped through her light jacket, and she hid her hands inside her sleeves. He led the way to the truck, his gait marred by a slight limp. Sam slowed her pace, realizing he couldn’t be whom she wished him to be. His stilted walk had just blown her imaginings to smithereens. By the time she stepped up to the vehicle, he’d already opened the passenger door.
“Watch your step.” He shifted and placed his other hand on her upper arm to assist her.
A current rife with sensation coursed through her, and she stiffened. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He brushed a hand across his mouth and walked around, climbing onto the driver’s seat. “Buckle up.”
She fiddled with the belt, and he leaned over to help her, his cap skimming her chin. She smelled him. Although nearly smothered by the automotive odor on his clothes, an underlying scent knocked at her memory. Her heart skidded, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Odd that this stranger should have this effect on her. Must be the anxiety of the situation.
The seatbelt clicked in place. “That should do it.” He averted his gaze, fastened his own seatbelt and turned on the ignition. Then he reached up, flicked on the cab light and stared her in the face.
“Oh, you!” The words bumped in her throat, reflecting her ire.
“Yep.” He winked, and stroked her arm with his hand.
She flinched away, unsure of whether to be glad or no.
He tilted his lips in a rakish grin. “Where to Mrs. Belen” –-the grin faded from his craggy features— “or would that be the ex Mrs. Belen?”
“What’re you doing, here?”
“You think I’d bail with you six months pregnant with my child?”
“You followed me.”
“I did.”
“Oh!” She grabbed the seatbelt strap and squeezed. “If I wasn’t pregnant, then you wouldn’t be here?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to, Belen.”
He flashed her a closed look. Women … er … woman, he thought, and revving up the motor, floored it. Were all women so unreasonable or just the pregnant ones.
She twisted around and glanced out the window. It was black as pitch…cold and empty, so he doubted she saw anything. She shivered.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
He turned on the heat, cast her a cursory glance and concentrated on the road ahead. Now he’d found her, words froze on his tongue and he didn’t quite know how to break the barrier between them. A smile tilted the corner of his mouth. Music. That should create a softer mood. He clicked on the radio and strains of ‘You’ve lost that loving feeling’ filled the cab. Man, what a choice. Quickly, he flipped the knobs for another station.
“Must you insist on that insufferable noise?”
“Thought you liked music.”
“It’s giving me headache. Turn it off.”
He shrugged. “Yes, ma’am.” He twisted the knob and accidentally turned it the wrong way, sound blaring like a siren in the confines of the cab. Next second, he silenced it with a flick of his fingers.
“Ohh,” she said, her eyes blazing with indignation. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not. Scout’s honor.”
“When were you ever in Boy Scouts?”
He grinned. A little mystery maybe would turn the tide in his favor. “You don’t know everything about me, yet, Mrs. Belen.”
“I suppose not.” She sent him a surreptitious glance and concentrated on the black abyss they were sailing through.
But, then again, it could backfire. Seemed like that’s what happened just now,