by Irene Hannon
“Oh, Brad, I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’ve done this drive alone a hundred times.”
“I know. I just wish…” His voice trailed off, and he sighed. “I worry about you being by yourself,” he admitted quietly.
Rebecca swallowed past the lump in her throat and forced herself to smile brightly. “Worry should not be on your agenda today, dear brother,” she chided him gently, striving for a light tone. “You have too much to be thankful for. Anyway, save your worry for someone who needs it. I’m busy and happy. Honestly.”
He seemed about to say something else, but refrained, bending down instead to kiss her forehead. “Okay. But promise you’ll be careful.”
“I always am. Besides, you know I could make this drive with my eyes closed,” she kidded him with a smile.
And that’s about what she was doing, she thought grimly as she peered through the dense, swirling mist, brought on by a combination of damp ground and unseasonably warm weather. So much for her plan to just switch on autopilot for the familiar route from St. Louis to St. Genevieve. For the past twenty miles the weather had conspired against her, requiring every ounce of what little energy and concentration she had left just to stay on the road. And unfortunately tomorrow’s schedule wouldn’t bend to accommodate her late-night arrival home. She’d still have to be up no later than six to prepare for the Friday lunch and dinner crowd at her restaurant.
Still, the trip had been worth it, she consoled herself. When Brad called earlier in the day to say they were at the hospital, she’d whipped off her apron and left the restaurant in the capable hands of Rose and Frances. That was twelve hours ago. But if it had been a long day for Rebecca, it had been an even longer one for her sister-in-law, Samantha, who had endured a drawn-out, difficult labor, Rebecca thought sympathetically. And poor Brad had been a wreck. But at seven thirty-five, when Emily Matthews had at last deigned to make her entrance, her parents’ pain and concern had quickly been supplanted by joy.
Rebecca was happy for Sam and Brad. The tragic death of Brad’s first wife seven years before had left him bereft for months, despite his deep, abiding faith and his vocation as a minister. Not only had he lost his closest companion and friend, but Rachel’s death had seemingly destroyed his dreams for a family, as well.
Then Sam had come along, unexpectedly infusing his life with love and laughter and hope. And now they had a child. Tonight, as he’d held Emily tenderly in his arms, Brad had referred to her as “our miracle baby,” and they clearly regarded this new addition to their life as a gift from the Lord. Rebecca didn’t know the story behind that “miracle” reference, but there obviously was one. So it seemed especially appropriate that Emily had been born today, on Valentine’s Day. She truly was a product of Brad and Sam’s mutual devotion, and she would bring a new dimension to the love they shared as a couple and the love they would create as a family.
Rebecca sighed. Love—at least the romantic variety—wasn’t something she knew much about personally, she reflected sadly. And she probably never would. Regrettably, Valentine’s Day had never been a holiday she celebrated. Since opening the restaurant three years ago, she’d had little time to indulge in self-pity or dwell on her loneliness, but Valentine’s Day always made her sad. And especially so today, when she’d viewed at such close proximity the circle of love shared by Brad, Sam and their new daughter. It had been very hard to hold back her tears as she cradled the tiny new life in her arms, knowing that it was unlikely she would ever repeat the experience with her own child as a loving husband stood by her side.
At thirty-three, Rebecca was still young enough to have the children she’d always wanted. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was finding a husband with enough patience to deal with her problem. But patience was a virtue that seemed to be in short supply these days. And any man who was remotely interested in her would have to possess an incredible amount of patience.
Rebecca sighed again. She hadn’t met a man yet who was willing to date her more than a couple of times without expecting some physical closeness. While Rebecca didn’t believe in casual intimacy, she realized that at some stage in a developing relationship kissing and touching were appropriate. And expected.
But Rebecca couldn’t handle that. Even if she liked a man, her only emotion when faced with physical contact was fear, not desire. And no man she’d ever met could deal with that. In fact, she’d stopped trying to find one who could. It was easier this way. Less humiliating. Less stressful. But certainly more lonely.
Yet seeing Brad and Sam together these past few months, and now watching them with their new daughter, made Rebecca yearn for the same things for herself. Surely there must be a man out there somewhere who could help her find a way to express the love she’d held captive for so long in her heart, she thought with a brief surge of hope. A man who could dispel her fear, patiently teach her how to respond, fan into life the flame of desire buried deep in her heart.
With sudden resolve she promised herself that if a man came along who seemed worth the effort, she would make one more attempt to explore a relationship. It wouldn’t be easy, she knew. But maybe, with the Lord’s help, she could find a way to overcome her fear and create her own circle of love. And if nothing else, it was a wonderful fantasy for Valentine’s Day, she thought wistfully.
But right now she’d better focus on reality, not fantasy, she reminded herself firmly. The fog actually seemed to be growing denser—and more dangerous. It might be better to get off the interstate at the first St. Genevieve exit and take the back road into town, she reasoned. At least there would be minimal traffic, and therefore less chance of an accident. She could barely see ten feet in front of her, and the thought that a tractor-trailer truck could be barreling along only a few feet away, unable to clearly see the lane markings and oblivious to the presence of her older-model compact car, was not comforting.
The exit sign loomed out of the mist unexpectedly, and Rebecca automatically flicked on her blinker, realizing the futility of the gesture even as she did so. She took the exit ramp slowly, with a bizarre sense that the world as she knew it had ceased to exist. Carefully she turned onto the deserted secondary road, her headlights barely piercing the gloom as she crept along. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a car, and as she drove through the swirling mist, an eerie feeling swept over her. She didn’t spook easily, but the overwhelming sense of isolation was almost palpable. She knew there were homes scattered along the road, but they weren’t visible tonight. She had no points of reference with which to mark her progress, and she felt disoriented and vulnerable. Worriedly she glanced at her gas tank, reassuring herself that she had plenty of fuel for the last leg of the trip home. This was definitely not the place to get stuck.
Rebecca’s gaze flickered back to the road and she gasped as her headlights suddenly illuminated a figure walking slowly along the road, almost directly in front of her car. She swerved sharply to avoid it, then glanced in the rearview mirror in time to catch one final glimpse of the apparition before it was swallowed up in the gloom.
Good heavens, what had she seen? she wondered in alarm, her heart pounding as adrenaline raced through her veins. Surely not a ghost! Of course not, she admonished herself sharply, stifling her overactive imagination. She didn’t believe in such nonsense. She forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths and eased back on the accelerator, frowning as she mentally tried to recreate the image that had briefly flashed across her field of vision.
It was a man, she realized, wearing a white dress shirt and a tie, and carrying a suit jacket. Had he been weaving slightly? Or was that just a trick of the swirling fog? she wondered. And why would he be walking along the road at this hour of the night in this weather? Her frown deepened and she lifted her foot off the accelerator even further, slowing the car to a crawl.
There were only a few possible explanations for the man’s behavior. Either he was a lunatic, he was drunk or he was in trouble.
The first two possibilities frightened her. She wasn’t equipped to deal with them. Not alone on a deserted road. But if he was in trouble or hurt—she thought about the story of The Good Samaritan, who came to the assistance of the stranger on the road, and bit her lip thoughtfully. There was definitely a parallel here. She couldn’t turn her back on someone in trouble. If he needed assistance, she had to provide it. But she wasn’t going to take any chances, either. She’d just wait until he appeared and then use her best judgment to determine how to proceed.
Rebecca carefully pulled her car over to the side of the road, double-checked that all her doors were locked and that the windows were tightly rolled up, and waited.
As the minutes ticked slowly by and the man didn’t appear, Rebecca began to worry. Perhaps he had become disoriented in the fog and wandered off the pavement. Or maybe he’d fallen into the drainage ditch near the shoulder. Or collapsed in the middle of the road, in the path of oncoming cars. Should she back up and…
Suddenly the man materialized out of the mist immediately to her left, and Rebecca drew a startled breath. He was less than ten feet away, walking right down the center of the road. In the unlikely event that a car appeared, he would be a sitting duck, she realized. But he seemed oblivious to the danger. He also seemed oblivious to her car. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice anything. And he was definitely weaving, she realized. His gait was unsteady, and his head was bowed.
Rebecca lowered her window a mere two inches and called to him. “Excuse me…do you need help?”
The man’s step faltered momentarily, and he raised a hand to his forehead, but after a moment he continued to walk without even looking in her direction.
Rebecca frowned and quickly put the car in gear, following along slowly beside him. She lowered her window a little further and tried calling even more loudly. “Hey, mister!”
The man stopped again, and this time he glanced confusedly in her direction. Rebecca studied his face, and though it was mostly obscured by the billowing wisps of fog, she could tell that he was fairly young. Late thirties, maybe. He was also tall. Probably six feet. And he looked strong. Very strong. Which frightened her. She would be no match for someone of his size, and on this deserted road anything could happen, she thought fearfully.
But suddenly, as the opaque veil between them momentarily lifted, she realized that her fears were unfounded. The man was clearly injured. His face was gray, and there was a long, nasty-looking gash at his hairline. He was obviously in no condition to walk, let alone attack anyone. She’d be willing to bet that at the moment her strength far surpassed his.
Feeling a little less frightened, she lowered her window even more. “What happened?” she called.
“Accident,” he mumbled, gesturing vaguely behind him.
Rebecca hadn’t seen a car, and she looked at him suspiciously. “What kind of accident?”
“Deer,” he replied, his voice slurred. He didn’t appear to be able to manage answers of more than one word.
Suddenly he started to walk again, but after only two shaky steps his legs buckled and he fell heavily to his knees, palms flat on the pavement.
Without even stopping to consider her own safety, Rebecca unlocked her door and dashed toward him, stopping abruptly when she reached his side to stare down helplessly at his bowed head. What was she supposed to do now? Tentatively she reached down and touched his broad shoulder.
“Look, you can’t stay here,” she told him urgently. “You’re in the middle of the road.”
He ignored her, and in desperation she tugged on his muscular arm. “Please, try to get up. It’s dangerous here. You could be killed,” she pleaded.
Her words finally seemed to penetrate his consciousness, and he tilted his head to look up at her. His brown eyes were clouded and dazed, and he seemed to be having a difficult time focusing.
“Dizzy,” he mumbled.
“Look, I’ll help, okay?” she offered, tugging more forcefully on his arm.
This time he made an effort to stand. And as he struggled to his feet, she realized just how tall he was. At five-five she wasn’t exactly short, but he towered over her by at least six or seven inches. And he was well built. And obviously strong.
A wave of panic washed over her, and for a moment her resolve to help wavered. But when she loosened her grip, he swayed, and she was left with no choice but to guide his arm around her shoulders. Stay calm, she told herself sternly. Think logically. The man is hurt. He does not represent any danger.
She took a deep breath, repeating that mantra over and over again as she slowly guided him to the car. He leaned on her heavily, his breathing labored, and she stole a glance at his face. He looked awful, and she wondered if he might have other injuries besides the deep gash at his hairline. Please, Lord, help me get him to the hospital as quickly as possible, she prayed.
When they reached the car, she propped him against the front of the hood and backed up, eyeing him worriedly. “Stay put, okay?” she said slowly, enunciating every word. “I’m going to unlock the car door.”
Rebecca had no idea if he understood her words—or even if he heard them. In his zombielike state, she doubted whether very much was penetrating his consciousness. She’d just have to work quickly and hope he was able to remain upright until she returned.
She moved rapidly around the car to the driver’s side, and with one lithe movement climbed onto the seat and reached across to unlock the passenger door. She lowered the passenger seat to a semireclining position, then backed out of the car.
The whole maneuver took only a few seconds, but when she emerged, the stranger was trying unsteadily to navigate around the car on his own. Her heart pounding, she raced toward him, praying that he wouldn’t fall before she reached him. She didn’t know whether he’d have the strength to stand up again, and she couldn’t lift him.
Just as she reached his side he stumbled, wildly flinging out an arm as he tried to regain his balance. Unfortunately, Rebecca was right in the path of his knuckles.
The backhanded blow caught her on the chin, and she stumbled back, grabbing at his arm to keep from falling. But that only threw him more off balance, and before she knew what was happening he fell against her, pinning her to the hood of the car under his body.
Dazed from the blow, aware only that she was suddenly immobilized and at his mercy, Rebecca panicked as a wave of primitive fear swept over her. With a strangled sob, she struggled to get free, writhing beneath the man’s weight. But he was heavy. So heavy! She could hardly move. But she had to get free! She had to! Summoning up all her strength, she shoved him far enough away to tear her body from beneath his.
The stranger seemed stunned by her action, and he staggered back, his eyes glazed. He wavered, then dropped to one knee, groaning as he raised his hands to his bowed head.
Still reeling from his blow, Rebecca reached up and gingerly felt her tender chin. Her chest was heaving as she drew in one ragged breath after another, and she braced herself against the hood, not sure her trembling legs would hold her up. In fact, her whole body was shaking, she realized. As she struggled to control her irrational reaction, she watched the man touch the gash at his hairline, then stare in confusion at the blood dripping from his fingers.
With a sickening jolt, Rebecca realized that the impact of his fall must have opened the cut again, and a pang of guilt swept over her. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her? The man was hurt, for heaven’s sake! He was in no condition to attack her even if he wanted to, which was unlikely. He hadn’t hit her on purpose. She needed to get a grip.
Rebecca took several more deep breaths, then knelt beside the stranger and scanned his face. Blood was seeping from the gash, his pallor was alarming and his forehead felt clammy to her tentative touch. The man needed medical attention. Immediately. For the first time ever she regretted that she hadn’t invested in the cellular phone Brad was always badgering her to get. It would certainly come in handy tonight.
She drew a deep breath and lifted his limp arm, tucking her head underneath. As she draped his arm around her slender shoulders, his hand brushed her bruised chin and she winced. But the condition of her jaw was the least of her problems. She was more worried about getting the stranger upright. Since he probably outweighed her by a good seventy-five pounds, that wasn’t going to be easy. But she had to try. She needed to get him into her car before he passed out, which at the moment appeared to be an imminent possibility.
“Okay, can you try to get up?” she asked. “I’ll help. Just lean on me.”
Rebecca made an attempt to rise, but it was like tugging on a dead weight. He didn’t budge.
“Come on, mister, just try. Please!” she pleaded.
This time when she urged him upward he took the cue, struggling to stand as Rebecca tried to assist him. Once he was on his feet he swayed, and she planted her feet solidly, determined to maintain her own footing. She glanced up worriedly, noting the deep grooves of pain etched in his face and the thin, compressed line of his lips. Despite the chilly air there was a thin film of sweat on his brow, and his breathing was labored.
“We’re almost to the door,” she encouraged him, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “It’s just a few steps. You can make it.”
Half dragging, half pulling, she got him into the car, expelling a shaky breath as she shut the door. She retrieved his suit jacket from the middle of the road where he’d dropped it, tossed it into the back seat, and slid behind the wheel. As she put the car in gear, she glanced over at his semisupine form. She wasn’t even sure at this point if he was conscious. But at least he was still breathing, she thought with relief, noting the even rise and fall of his broad chest.
As she drove carefully through the swirling, silent fog, she stole an occasional glance at her unexpected passenger. Although his color was ashen, his clothes stained and rumpled and his hair disheveled, she could tell that he was handsome in a rugged sort of way. His dark brown hair was full and slightly longer than stylish, almost brushing his collar in the back but neatly trimmed. Her eyes traced his strong profile and firm jaw, which seemed to speak of character and integrity. Yet there was a worn look about his face—a sort of deep weariness that had nothing to do with his injuries. For some reason she had the impression that he was a man who had seen it all and now viewed the world with skepticism and cynicism. Despite his world-weary appearance, however, there was a feeling of leashed power about him. Even in his present condition he seemed to radiate energy and vitality and…sensuousness.
