“Well, yes, but—”
“That's okay,” he interrupted, the corners of his mouth lifting in genuine amusement. “I've thought the same thing many times. We're planning to redecorate soon.”
Micah smiled, too, a smile of relief.
“Go ahead. Take a look.” Rob nodded toward the glass and leaned back in his chair.
She rose from her seat and approached the window where she scanned the scenery below. It was a beautiful spring day the view encompassed—a view of the capital city in which she had lived for the past two winters, gray and icy, and two pleasant springs, summers and autumns. Surveying the variety of structures on the other side of the glass, she commented, “This would make a great painting.”
“Are you an artist?”
“Yes,” Micah said, “but it's my substitute teaching that pays the bills.” She paused. “I've been in high-rise buildings in downtown Columbus, but I've never seen a lovelier view than this.”
“Neither have I,” came Rob's response, low and disturbing.
Micah turned, her green eyes colliding with a warm, interested blue gaze that had not been focused on the Ohio skyline. Clearing her throat nervously, she returned to her chair. “I guess we have an accident to discuss.”
“There's no hurry,” Rob replied, studying the faintly freckled face of the woman seated across from him. “You're my last appointment for the day.”
“I really don't think I'll be much help to you,” Micah began. “I'm sure you'd like to have a good witness for a P.I. case like this, but—”
“You said ‘P.I.’ You're familiar with personal injury cases?”
“A little.” Micah hesitated. Two blunders in five minutes. Maybe she could break her own foolish record. All she longed for now was the conclusion of this interview and an open door. “I told Mrs. Winslow when she took my name and number the night of the accident that I wouldn't be a good witness.”
Turning a pen over and over in his hands, Rob asked, ‘What makes you less than a good witness?” Then he smiled. Almost.
“A witness has to actually see something to be called a witness, and I didn't see anything.” Micah looked down at her off-white cotton slacks and the multicolored striped shirt of neutral shades. Carole was right, she realized. This outfit was all wrong. With this guy she needed sweats and a good pair of running shoes.
“Mrs. Winslow seems to think you saw everything.”
“You see, I was pulling out of the supermarket parking lot when I saw that big yellow car of Mrs. Winslow's going west on the street in front of the store. There was another car coming—”
“Going east?”
“Yes, and just as they approached each other, I sneezed.” Micah shrugged. “Of course, my eyes shut for a moment, and when I looked up, the two cars had already crashed.”
Rob's mouth curved into that smile Micah liked far more than she wanted to admit. He scribbled something on the legal pad in front of him. “Sneezing would have closed your eyes for only a second. Surely you saw something that—”
“But it happened several times. I'd purchased a mixed bouquet in the store's floral shop that night, and I guess I was allergic to some of the flowers.”
“What kind?”
“Carnations, daisies…I don't recall exactly.” Micah frowned. “Why?”
“Just curious,” Rob responded quietly. “You did speak with Mrs. Winslow that night. Did you explain any of this to her?”
“I tried to tell her. I usually shop for groceries on Thursday evenings and so does Mrs. Winslow. I didn't even know her name until the night of the wreck, but I would recognize her big yellow car anywhere. I always get out of her way.”
Rob leaned back in his chair. “Get out of her way?” The humor vanished.
“Yes,” Micah replied. “She drives like a maniac. That's why I wanted to come in for this appoint ment, to tell you how dangerous her driving is.”
Rob folded his bands together. “I'm beginning to see why you are less than a good witness.”
“I'm sorry, Mr. Granston. It would highly surprise me to find out that the accident was not Mrs. Winslow's fault. Anyone who drives as badly as she does should have their license revoked. Maybe you could do something about—”
“Miss Shepherd,” Rob said, “my client is in the hospital with back injuries that may prove to be serious. We're not here to discuss the revocation of her driver's license.”
But Micah persisted. Mrs. Winslow's driving ability, or the lack thereof, was mainly what had prompted her to make this appointment today. That, and her own curiosity. What made this stranger the perfect man for her, as her friend had proclaimed at least a dozen times? “But you're in a position to do something about this,” she insisted. “Trying to win a case against the other driver, undoubtedly the victim here, isn't fair. Now that you know how badly Mrs. Winslow drives, maybe you could talk to her.”
Rob stood up, bringing Micah's plea to an abrupt end. She was being dismissed, and she knew it.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Shepherd. I do appreciate your time and your honesty.”
“I am being honest. Mrs. Winslow is dangerous behind the wheel of a car, and you'd be doing the public a great service by keeping her off the road.”
“I'll take your comments into consideration,” he said calmly.
Micah did not like attorneys. None of them. And she wondered now why she had ever agreed to meet with this one. The clock on the wall behind her chimed, and Micah glanced down at her watch.
“My bus,” she said. “I must go or I'll miss it.”
Rob opened the door for her, and ushered her out of the office and down the hallway. An uncomfortable silence loomed between them as Micah rummaged through her purse in search of change while walking toward the exit.
“Do you ride the bus often?” he asked.
“Only when I'm having car trouble,” she replied and paused, looking up at his serious expression. “So I guess the answer is yes.”
“If you're too late for your bus, I could call a taxi--”
“No, thank you,” she said quickly, a little too quickly. Micah did not have money for cab fare, and she was not going to let this irritating young attorney offer to pay.
“It's too bad Mrs. Winslow isn't here. Perhaps she would have offered you a ride home,” he suggested with the mischievous slant of his mouth brightening his otherwise dark features.
“I'd rather walk,” Micah responded. The tone she had intended to be sharp somehow softened as she stared into his eyes.
“Yes, I suspect you would,” Rob remarked with a quiet laugh. “I'll be leaving soon. If you'd care to take a chance on my driving, Spring Blossom Avenue is not far out of my way.”
Spring Blossom Avenue. Her street. “How—”
“It's in your file,” he answered. “I dictated the letter to ‘Michael.’ Remember?”
“Thanks, anyway, but I can catch the bus.” She started to leave. Part of her wanted to rush away from this situation, but her feet seemed firmly planted in the doorway, reluctant to move. “I'm sorry I couldn't help with your case.”
Rob shrugged as if it was of no consequence. “You were honest,” he commented as that smile slowly faded. “I have a feeling that's all you ever could be.”
Honest. That's all she dared to be. The past had been difficult enough to put to rest. Micah had no