She frowned. “That sounds dangerous. Doesn’t your mama worry you’ll get hurt when you ride your pony?”
Jake leaned forward slightly, watching his son’s face in the rearview mirror.
Frankie replied matter-of-factly. “No. She in heben.”
“Heaven,” Jake corrected gently, relaxing into his seat again.
“Oh,” Kathryn said, sobering. “I’m sorry.”
“She like it,” Frankie said, sounding unconcerned.
“That’s nice.” Turning to Jake, she asked, “He’s only three?”
“About three and a half.”
“He seems big for his age,” she commented, as if that were a worrisome thing.
“Smiths are big men,” Jake muttered defensively.
At the same time, Frankie asked, “S’wat her name?” He often got his contractions backward, substituting s’wat for what’s and s’that for that’s.
“It’s Miss Stepp.” Or so Jake assumed. Surely if she had a husband, she’d have called him for help. On the other hand, maybe the man was out of town. Glancing at her, he asked, “Or is it missus?”
She bit her lips before answering coolly, “Miss.”
Couldn’t say he was surprised. She didn’t seem to trust men. Or was it that she just didn’t like or trust him?
She was a pretty woman, though, with that long, long neck and those intense green eyes and rosy lips. Obviously, she didn’t take much stock in her appearance, given her mismatched garb, straggly hair and utter lack of cosmetics. Even Jolene had known how to get dressed up.
His late wife had been the perfect soldier, but once the uniform had come off, she’d tended toward sparkles and slinky fabrics. He’d often wondered if that had been her way of making up for her dedication to all things military. This quiet, nervous female hardly seemed of the same species. If Jolene’s transportation had broken down beside the road, she’d have commandeered the first vehicle to cross her path.
He supposed that most women would be more cautious. Few had Jolene’s training and confidence, and too many men were willing to take advantage of a woman alone, especially a timid one. Glad that he’d stopped, even if this unexpected passenger was prickly, Jake smiled at her. Instantly, she leaned away from him, her eyes going wide.
So much for chivalry.
* * *
Kathryn had never known how to behave around men, especially the good-looking ones, and Jake Smith definitely fit into that category. With his rumpled black-coffee-colored hair, chiseled features and straight white teeth, he was movie-star handsome, and that dark, prickly shadow practically shouted masculinity. It was the way he moved that made her so nervous, however. Every motion proclaimed him a confident, capable man who had never met an obstacle he couldn’t overcome.
Before getting into the vehicle with him, she’d reasoned that no man with a three-year-old in tow would truly present a threat, but old habits died hard. Since the age of seventeen, Kathryn had been virtually on her own, apart from the wider world, tied to her mom’s bedside by that woman’s debilitating physical condition. Always shy, Kathryn had never been very brave or confident, and from the time of her mother’s accident, she had diligently taken every precaution, especially after her father had abandoned them.
As usual, thoughts of Mitchel Stepp brought a world of worry down on Kathryn. How was she to keep him from forcing the sale of her home when she couldn’t come up with the money to buy him out? And now her car was broken down. If only she could find her mother’s insurance policy. It wouldn’t pay much, but it might be enough to satisfy her father for at least a while. Her salary as a home care provider covered her bills and allowed her to put aside a bit every month to cover the property taxes that would come due at the end of the year, but Mitchel expected thousands, half the value of her house.
As Jake pulled the metallic olive-green truck to a stop in front of Sandy Cabbot’s lonely little farmhouse, he glanced around. “Can someone here give you a ride back to town when you’re finished? I don’t see a car anywhere.”
Shaking her head, she opened the door. “I’ll manage. Thanks for your help.”
“It’s no problem,” he said. “If you want me to look at your car—”
She cut that off right away. “I can’t afford to pay you, Mr. Smith.”
He balanced a forearm against the top of the steering wheel. “Jake. I didn’t ask for payment. And the fact is you can’t go walking far in this heat.”
Stepping out onto the running board, she replied, “We do what we must.” That was one lesson she’d learned early and well.
“What time are you through here?” he asked.
She reached the ground and turned to face him. “Why?”
He pulled off his mirrored shades and tossed them onto the dash, fixing her with a hard stare. His eyes were such a dark brown they were almost black. “What time?”
“Six.” The reply was out before she could stop it.
“Then I’ll be back at six.”
Kathryn bit her lips. She knew she shouldn’t get in that truck with him again. He made her feel...well, not frightened really, but completely inadequate, and she did not need help with that. She cleared her throat anxiously. “That’s not—”
He reached across and pulled the cab door shut.
“—necessary,” she muttered, watching as he backed the truck around and drove away in a cloud of red dust.
Confident, capable, commanding—and apparently not used to taking no for an answer—he was exactly the last sort of man she should find attractive, and that she did find him attractive, wildly so, was reason enough to avoid him. She didn’t know how to deal with a man like him, but then he wouldn’t be interested in a plain, shy, unsophisticated woman like her, anyway. At least she wouldn’t have to walk back to town tonight. How she’d manage tomorrow, she couldn’t imagine, but she’d worry about that, and everything else, later. Moving toward the house, she thought of the boy and smiled.
Hey, lady.
Frankie certainly wasn’t shy. She didn’t know anything about children, but despite losing his mother at such a tender age, he seemed to be happy and well-adjusted, if a bit loud. Nevertheless, with her own mother’s death still fresh in her memory, her heart went out to him.
She wondered what had happened to the late Mrs. Smith. Illness or accident? Mia Stepp’s death had been a combination of the two, her illness a direct result of the automobile accident that had battered her body and left her paralyzed and brain damaged. Kathryn missed her dreadfully, but Frankie’s confident, carefree words concerning his own mother came back to her.
She in heben. She like it.
Kathryn prayed that was so. For both his mother and hers.
As she greeted Sandy, her elderly client, and began checking his vital signs before starting his lunch, she couldn’t help wondering how long ago Mrs. Jake Smith had passed on. And how many women were already lined up to take her place.
It made no difference. She would never see Jake Smith again after this evening.
She certainly would not think of him as her rescuer.
Even if he was.
Despite Frankie’s many questions, Jake couldn’t get Kathryn Stepp off