Happy Ever After
Page 7
But the oncoming car fishtailed again, straight at her.
Once again her heart flipped. With no choice, she cut the wheel hard to avoid the collision. Her car skidded, bucked onto the shoulder of the road. Her rear end shimmied around while the car jolted side to side.The oncoming car nipped by her.
And just kept going.
She sat, her hands glued to the wheel, her knees shaking, and her heart a drumbeat in her ears.
“Okay,” she breathed. “I’m okay. Not hurt. I’m not hurt.”
Since she wanted to stay that way, she ordered herself to steer the car fully onto the shoulder until the shaking stopped. Someone else could come along and broadside her.
The best she could manage was a thumping limp.
Flat tire, she thought and closed her eyes. Perfect.
Grabbing her fold-up umbrella from the glove box, she got out to survey the damage.
“Oh, not a flat,” she muttered. “A flat’s just not good enough. Two. Two goddamn shredded tires.” She rolled her eyes to the heavens, which, she noted bitterly, were already clearing.
She found the faint shimmer of a rainbow arching in a miserly glint of sun personally insulting under the circumstances.
She would, almost certainly, be late for the consult, but she wouldn’t arrive soaking wet.
Bright side.
She climbed back in, called for roadside assistance. Because her hands still shook, she opted to wait another few minutes before calling home.
She’d just say she had a flat, she decided, and was waiting for the guy to come change it. She could damn well have changed a flat tire if she’d had to, she mused. But she only had one spare.
Pressing a hand on her jumpy belly, she thumbed a Tums out of the roll in her purse.
Probably thirty minutes for the tow truck, if she was lucky, then she’d have to ask the driver to take her home, or call a cab. She wasn’t going to call home and ask one of her partners to come get her and let them see the car.
Not before a consult.
A cab, she decided. If she called a cab it would be on its way here along with the tow truck. More efficient that way. If she’d just stop shaking, she could get everything in order again. Deal with the situation.
She heard the roar of an engine, and her gaze flew to the rear-view mirror. Already slowing down, she realized as she let air out again.A motorcycle, which certainly had more than enough room to get around her.
Instead, it pulled up behind.
Good Samaritan, she thought. Not everyone was a negligent ass like the other driver had been. She pushed her door open to tell the biker she’d already called for help, and stepped out.
And saw Malcolm Kavanaugh pull off the black helmet.
It just got better and better, she thought. Now she was being “rescued” by her brother’s friend, their current mechanic, a man who irritated her more often than not.
She watched him survey the situation while the thinning rain dampened his black, unkempt hair. His jeans were ripped at the knee, stained with oil on the thighs. The black shirt and leather jacket added to the image of sexy bad boy with a build for sin.
And eyes, she thought as they met hers, that challenged a woman to commit one. More than one.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He gave her a long look as if deciding for himself.“Your airbag didn’t deploy.”
“I wasn’t going that fast. I didn’t hit anything. I avoided getting hit by a moron who swerved to avoid a dog, then kept coming at me. I had to cut toward the shoulder and—”
“Where is he? The other driver?”
“He just kept going. Who does that? How can anyone do that?”
Saying nothing, he reached by her, pulled her bottle of water out of the cup holder. “Sit down. Drink some water.”
“I’m okay. I’m just angry. I’m really, really angry.”
He gave her a little poke, and she sat sideways on the front seat. “How’s your spare?”
“It’s never been used. It’s new. I got all new tires last winter. Damn it.”
“You’re going to need a couple new ones now.” He crouched for a moment so those sharp green eyes were level with hers.
It took her a moment to realize the movement, and the matter-of-fact tone of his voice, were probably designed to keep her calm. Since it seemed to be working, she had to appreciate it.
“We’ll match them with what you’ve got,” he continued. “I want to check the car out while I’m at it.”
“Yes, fine, okay.” She drank, realizing her throat was raw. “Thanks. I’m just—”
“Really, really angry,” he finished as he straightened. “I don’t blame you.”
“And I’m going to be late. I hate being late. I’ve got a consult at home in, oh hell, twenty minutes. I need to call a cab.”
“No, you don’t.” He looked back down the road at the approaching tow truck.
“That was fast, you were fast. I didn’t expect . . .” She paused as her brain started to function again. “Were you out this way, on your bike?”
“I am out this way, on my bike,” he corrected. “Since you called in for service due to being run off the road.You didn’t call the cops?”
“I didn’t get the plate, or even the kind of car.” And that galled her. Just galled. “It happened so fast, and it was raining, and—”
“And it would be a waste of time. Still, Bill’s going to take pictures and report it for you.”
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Okay. Thanks. Really, thank you. I guess I’m a little rattled.”
“First time I’ve seen you that way. Hold on.”
He walked to the truck, and while he spoke with his driver she sipped the water and ordered herself to settle down. Everything was fine, just fine.The driver would give her a ride home, and she wouldn’t even be late.Ten minutes home, five minutes to freshen up. She’d give the simple flat tire story after the consult.
Everything was just fine.
She looked up as Malcolm walked back and handed her a fire-engine red helmet. “You’ll need this.”
“Why?”
“Safety first, Legs.” He put it on her head himself and his grin edged ever so slightly toward smirk. “Cute.”
“What?” Her eyes popped wide. “If you think I’m getting on that motorcycle—”
Once again her heart flipped. With no choice, she cut the wheel hard to avoid the collision. Her car skidded, bucked onto the shoulder of the road. Her rear end shimmied around while the car jolted side to side.The oncoming car nipped by her.
And just kept going.
She sat, her hands glued to the wheel, her knees shaking, and her heart a drumbeat in her ears.
“Okay,” she breathed. “I’m okay. Not hurt. I’m not hurt.”
Since she wanted to stay that way, she ordered herself to steer the car fully onto the shoulder until the shaking stopped. Someone else could come along and broadside her.
The best she could manage was a thumping limp.
Flat tire, she thought and closed her eyes. Perfect.
Grabbing her fold-up umbrella from the glove box, she got out to survey the damage.
“Oh, not a flat,” she muttered. “A flat’s just not good enough. Two. Two goddamn shredded tires.” She rolled her eyes to the heavens, which, she noted bitterly, were already clearing.
She found the faint shimmer of a rainbow arching in a miserly glint of sun personally insulting under the circumstances.
She would, almost certainly, be late for the consult, but she wouldn’t arrive soaking wet.
Bright side.
She climbed back in, called for roadside assistance. Because her hands still shook, she opted to wait another few minutes before calling home.
She’d just say she had a flat, she decided, and was waiting for the guy to come change it. She could damn well have changed a flat tire if she’d had to, she mused. But she only had one spare.
Pressing a hand on her jumpy belly, she thumbed a Tums out of the roll in her purse.
Probably thirty minutes for the tow truck, if she was lucky, then she’d have to ask the driver to take her home, or call a cab. She wasn’t going to call home and ask one of her partners to come get her and let them see the car.
Not before a consult.
A cab, she decided. If she called a cab it would be on its way here along with the tow truck. More efficient that way. If she’d just stop shaking, she could get everything in order again. Deal with the situation.
She heard the roar of an engine, and her gaze flew to the rear-view mirror. Already slowing down, she realized as she let air out again.A motorcycle, which certainly had more than enough room to get around her.
Instead, it pulled up behind.
Good Samaritan, she thought. Not everyone was a negligent ass like the other driver had been. She pushed her door open to tell the biker she’d already called for help, and stepped out.
And saw Malcolm Kavanaugh pull off the black helmet.
It just got better and better, she thought. Now she was being “rescued” by her brother’s friend, their current mechanic, a man who irritated her more often than not.
She watched him survey the situation while the thinning rain dampened his black, unkempt hair. His jeans were ripped at the knee, stained with oil on the thighs. The black shirt and leather jacket added to the image of sexy bad boy with a build for sin.
And eyes, she thought as they met hers, that challenged a woman to commit one. More than one.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He gave her a long look as if deciding for himself.“Your airbag didn’t deploy.”
“I wasn’t going that fast. I didn’t hit anything. I avoided getting hit by a moron who swerved to avoid a dog, then kept coming at me. I had to cut toward the shoulder and—”
“Where is he? The other driver?”
“He just kept going. Who does that? How can anyone do that?”
Saying nothing, he reached by her, pulled her bottle of water out of the cup holder. “Sit down. Drink some water.”
“I’m okay. I’m just angry. I’m really, really angry.”
He gave her a little poke, and she sat sideways on the front seat. “How’s your spare?”
“It’s never been used. It’s new. I got all new tires last winter. Damn it.”
“You’re going to need a couple new ones now.” He crouched for a moment so those sharp green eyes were level with hers.
It took her a moment to realize the movement, and the matter-of-fact tone of his voice, were probably designed to keep her calm. Since it seemed to be working, she had to appreciate it.
“We’ll match them with what you’ve got,” he continued. “I want to check the car out while I’m at it.”
“Yes, fine, okay.” She drank, realizing her throat was raw. “Thanks. I’m just—”
“Really, really angry,” he finished as he straightened. “I don’t blame you.”
“And I’m going to be late. I hate being late. I’ve got a consult at home in, oh hell, twenty minutes. I need to call a cab.”
“No, you don’t.” He looked back down the road at the approaching tow truck.
“That was fast, you were fast. I didn’t expect . . .” She paused as her brain started to function again. “Were you out this way, on your bike?”
“I am out this way, on my bike,” he corrected. “Since you called in for service due to being run off the road.You didn’t call the cops?”
“I didn’t get the plate, or even the kind of car.” And that galled her. Just galled. “It happened so fast, and it was raining, and—”
“And it would be a waste of time. Still, Bill’s going to take pictures and report it for you.”
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Okay. Thanks. Really, thank you. I guess I’m a little rattled.”
“First time I’ve seen you that way. Hold on.”
He walked to the truck, and while he spoke with his driver she sipped the water and ordered herself to settle down. Everything was fine, just fine.The driver would give her a ride home, and she wouldn’t even be late.Ten minutes home, five minutes to freshen up. She’d give the simple flat tire story after the consult.
Everything was just fine.
She looked up as Malcolm walked back and handed her a fire-engine red helmet. “You’ll need this.”
“Why?”
“Safety first, Legs.” He put it on her head himself and his grin edged ever so slightly toward smirk. “Cute.”
“What?” Her eyes popped wide. “If you think I’m getting on that motorcycle—”
