“Hopalong Cassidy’s horse was Topper,” Rick’s voice hammered on, beating at her ears by now. “Dale Evans rode Buttermilk, the Cisco Kid was on Diablo, Gene Autry rode—”
I dared to dream, Rebecca thought with self-lacerating sarcasm that made her smile. Unfortunately she was looking right at Rick when she did it. His next remark proved he misread her ironic smile as some sort of romantic green light.
“I thought maybe after dinner,” he confided in a near whisper so others wouldn’t hear, “we might take a little ride out to Turk Road.”
He couldn’t be serious. Cold revulsion made her shudder. Turk Road used to be a local lovers’ lane until huge feed-lots were built on both sides of it. Either he hadn’t parked there in a long time or he didn’t care about the smell.
“You’re joking, right?” she blurted out. “That area smells like a leaking sewer.”
“Oh, not when the wind’s out of the north,” he assured her with a solemn face. “Like it is tonight. We can just keep the windows rolled up.”
They were seated, and immediately the wine steward hovered at Rick’s elbow while he ordered some white zinfandel she had no intention of drinking.
A brief image of Rick groping her in his almost-monster truck, windows steamed over, cows bellowing on all sides, had killed her earlier appetite.
“Take me home,” she blurted out suddenly. “I don’t feel well.”
“What? But we—”
“I really don’t feel well,” she insisted in a tone that quashed any further resistance from him. To underline her determination she stood up and gathered her purse and sweater.
“Man, oh, man!” he exclaimed in frustration. “Hazel didn’t tell me you were such a dingbat.”
Well at least he gets angry, she thought as the two of them walked quickly outside, scrutinized by curious eyes.
“The gold truck,” Rick snapped to the valet, and the latter trotted around to the side lot. The teen returned a minute later, shaking his head at them.
“Bad news, sir. Your right rear tire is completely flat. If you’ve got a jack that’s big enough, we’ll change it for you.”
Rebecca’s heart sank at this stroke of rotten luck, and Rick cursed. “No, it’ll have to be towed to a hoist. Or at least lifted by a tow-truck winch.”
He looked at Rebecca as if it were all her fault. “I’ll have to call a tow. Looks like it’ll be a while before you get home.”
The date from hell, she thought, as she watched him walk away with the valet to inspect the damage.
Four
Oh, great, Rebecca groaned inwardly while her date dug the phone number for his tow service out of his wallet. Mystery Valley had virtually no cab service, just a shuttle bus service for the airport at Helena, so she couldn’t get home that way.
Hazel…her place wasn’t all that far, or maybe Lois—
A low rumble of exhaust and a flash of bright-red paint pulled her attention to the street out front. John Saville, looking handsome and slightly windblown in a brown leather bomber jacket, parked his Gran Sport classic right out front and leaped athletically out without opening the door. He carried his leather medical kit and hurried toward the restaurant, ignoring the valets.
“Got it,” Rick muttered beside her, finally finding the number. He had already retrieved the wireless phone from his vehicle. “Shouldn’t be too long,” he told her, avoiding her eyes now. “It doesn’t make sense I’d have a flat, those are brand-new tires.”
She stood there on the sidewalk, her irritation at herself tinged with sudden curiosity. She wondered what emergency could possibly have called John Saville to the restaurant. The place had seemed calm enough when she and Rick came outside.
An inexplicable flat tire and the doctor’s sudden arrival—certainly it was odd timing.
Rick finished his call and pushed down the antenna of his phone. “Forty minutes to an hour,” he informed her.
She resisted the urge to snap at him in frustration. It wasn’t his fault, after all. “I think I’ll go inside and see if I can call a—”
“Rebecca!”
The voice cut into her thoughts. She turned around. John Saville went toward her, dressed in stone-washed jeans and a white pullover she could see under his open jacket.
He actually used my first name, she thought.
Evidently, however, he had not approached her to be friendly. His tight-lipped smile of greeting seemed to cost him great effort.
“Dr. Saville,” she greeted him. When he sent a quick glance at Rick she added with perfunctory politeness, “Rick Collins, this is my employer, Dr. John Saville.”
“Excuse me for butting in, both of you, but I wonder if you know anything about an elderly woman who had a dizzy spell inside the restaurant? I got the call a few minutes ago, but no one inside seems to know a thing about it.”
Rebecca thought once again, How odd. Her suspicions grew stronger. Everyone knew Hazel had matchmaking on her mind. But the town matriarch was tricky. It would be just like Hazel to pull a bait and switch. Accusation aimed squarely at Hazel niggled at her for a few seconds, but it passed as abruptly as it popped into her mind. She had too much to deal with right now to give it the consideration it deserved.
“I didn’t notice any trouble,” she replied. “Did you, Rick?”
He was still in a sullen mood since she had poured cold water on his hot plans for later.
“Maybe whoever it was left already,” he suggested without interest.
“Well…” John Saville’s gaze raked over Rebecca. He had never seen her with her hair unrestrained like this, framing her face.
“Well,” he repeated, starting to turn away, “I guess it was a false alarm.”
“Dr. Saville?”
Her voice brought him back around to face them. “Yes?”
Of all the people to request a favor from, why did it have to be him?
“I, that is, Rick’s truck has a flat tire, and he has to wait for someone to come fix it. Could you—would you mind giving me a lift home? If it’s not too far out of your way.”
“Hey, whoa, here,” Rick objected, sensing an invasion of his male territory. “This is still my date with you, not his.”
The totally unwarranted possessiveness made her flush—she hardly knew the guy. He sure had a lot of nerve.
Despite her horror at making a public scene, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “If I could remind you, Rick, I’m not exactly feeling well, remember?”
“Look,” the doctor said with diplomatic politeness, addressing himself to Rick, “there’s a service station a few blocks down the street. Why don’t I run the tire over there and get it patched?”
It irked her, suddenly, that her employer showed more consideration for this stranger than he did for her. He walks with kings, she thought scornfully, but never loses the common touch—until he comes to work.
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