by Peggy Webb
“What?” Bea turned around to face him.
“I said, I’ll take you home.”
“I heard what you said.” Her voice softened. “I just don’t know why you said it.”
“You need to get home and I need an odd job.”
“It would be odd, all right. The two of us traveling together in your pickup truck.”
“The Odd Couple?”
“Worse. Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”
“I don’t recall a Virginia Woolf in these parts,” Hal interrupted, scratching his head and looking at the two of them as if they had lost their minds. “Is she any kin to the Woolfs up around Heber Springs?”
“I don’t think so.” Bea held back her smile. “Did you think of anyone who could drive me into Hot Springs?”
“Like I was saying, I might be able to take you over that way myself, but it’d be sometime this afternoon ‘fore I could get loose here.”
Bea considered her options. If she waited for Hal, she’d lose almost an entire day. And she’d already lost one. Uncle Mack and Aunt Rachel would arrive in Florence tomorrow. The rest of her relatives would be there the day after—and she didn’t want to miss a single thing.
“I accept your offer, Russ Hammond. You can drive me home, and I’ll pay you a fair price. It will be business straight down the line. Deal?” She held out her hand.
“Deal,” he said.
Her hand had a soft, boneless feel that was unexpectedly feminine, though why it was unexpected, he couldn’t say. He held it longer than he meant to and longer than he should have. The slight flush that came into her cheeks told him so.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” he added.
He transferred her suitcase to the back of his pickup while she made arrangements to return for her car. Then he escorted her to his truck, opened the door and admired an up-close-and-personal view of her legs.
“That’s not much of an outfit for traveling,” he said. “Don’t you want to change into something more comfortable?”
“This is comfortable.” Bea settled onto the seat. “There’s no sense in taking on sloppy habits just because I’m traveling.”
“I guess one man’s sloppiness is another man’s comfort. I call these comfortable.”
Russ ran a hand absently down the thigh of his faded blue jeans. Bea tried not to notice, but couldn’t help herself. He had such a fine body. Wait till she told the Dixie Virgins. Joanna would drool.
If he’d been deliberately flaunting it, Bea could have handled him with disdain. But the sensuous movement had been entirely unconscious.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and turned to stare out the windshield.
“Don’t you think we should be leaving? It’s going to be a long drive, and I’d like to get home tonight if we can.”
Russ came around and climbed behind the wheel. “You can forget tonight. This old baby won’t make the time your Jag did, and there’s no sense driving into the night. If everything goes well, I’d say you’ll be home sometime tomorrow morning.”
“What about tonight?”
The loud rattling of the truck almost drowned out her question. Russ idled the engine, letting it warm up before he answered.
“I usually camp out when I’m on the road.”
“I hate camping.”
“That’s fine with me. I have only one sleeping bag anyhow.”
He revved the engine and reached for the radio at the same time. Twangy country music filled the truck. Bea’s stomach lurched, and for a minute she thought she was going to lose her breakfast. Already she was regretting her decision to let this drifter take her home. But she was determined to make the best of it.
“Since I’m footing the bill, I suggest we stop for the night in a motel.”
“Whatever you say.” He pursed his lips to whistle along with the music, then changed his mind and winked at her. “We’ll find another Paradise.”
“I sincerely hope not.”
They left the garage with a loud fanfare. The truck backfired and rattled with a vengeance. Bea held her peace.
Soon the little town of Pearcy was behind them. They rode in silence. Without saying so, both of them understood that silence was the best way for them to get along.
Bea’s toe began to twinge, and she thought about slipping her boots off to give the pain some room; but she quickly rejected that notion. Pulling off her boots would be a comfortable, even intimate gesture. She didn’t want Russ getting the idea that she was comfortable around him, and she certainly didn’t want him to entertain the idea that she harbored feelings of intimacy. She’d just keep her boots on and suffer.
Glancing down at her watch, she saw that it was already eleven o’clock.
“It seems to me we should be off these winding mountain back roads by now,” she said.
“I prefer traveling the back roads. It’s more scenic.”
“I’m not interested in the scenery. I want to get home.”
“Maybe you should try clicking your ruby-red slippers, Dorothy.”
“Don’t you ever take anything seriously?”
He glanced her way. If he hadn’t, she would never have seen his eyes. For an instant she saw pain peering from the depths of all that deep blue innocence. The look vanished quickly, though, and he was once more the careless maverick.
“Not anymore.” He turned his face back to the road. “However, since you’re footing the bill, I don’t want you worried that you aren’t getting your money’s worth. I’ll meander toward a super highway with generic scenery as soon as we get down out of these mountains.”
There was a loud grinding sound and then ominous silence. The engine stopped, the radio went dead, and even the whistling quit.
“Just like a dead fish in the water,” Russ said, settling back in his seat.
“I would have said a dead whale, but to each his own.”
Bea checked her watch again. Five after eleven. Russ was sitting on his side of the truck with his head leaned back and his eyes closed.
“You’re napping? At a time like this?”
He opened one eye and glanced her way. “This happens occasionally. The truck shuts down and takes a little rest.” He folded his arms across his chest and shut his eyes again. “I suggest you do the same.”
“I’m not a truck,” she said, and he chuckled. “I fail to see the humor in this situation.” She tapped her fingers against the dashboard. “Aren’t you going to even see what’s the matter?”
“Vapor lock, so I’ve been told. There’s nothing to do but wait for the truck to cool off.”
“At this rate, I’ll probably get to Florence in time to help truss the Thanksgiving turkey.”
“You don’t relax much, do you?” Russ didn’t even look her way. If he hadn’t been talking, she might have thought he was asleep. Or dead.
Bea didn’t even bother to reply. If anything was going to be done to remedy the situation, she’d have to do it herself. She got out and hobbled around the truck, looking for signs of a breakdown. Her toe was hurting in earnest now. The way her luck was running, she figured her mind would go next.
A suspicious puff of smoke wafted from under the hood. Aha. A visible sign of trouble. If she could get under there and take a look, she might be able to fix it. It was an old truck. She thought she could lift the hood by releasing some kind of latch underneath it. She rounded the front of the truck and reached toward the hood.
“Don’t.” Strong hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her back.
She twisted her head and looked over her shoulder at Russ’s face. He was furious.
“What in the hell kind of fool trick are you trying to pull? Don’t you know you can get burned?” He still had her in a tight grip.
“Let go of me. I’m not some spoiled, silly child.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
He turned her around so that they were face to face. His hands bit into the tender flesh at the top of her a
rms and a tight muscle jumped in the side of his jaw.
Why in the world was he so angry? If he expected her to feel chastised or foolish, he was completely mistaken. She lifted her chin and stared straight into his eyes. Something moved there. A flame of recognition.
Suddenly Bea was aware of the way his body touched hers, of the feel of hard thighs against her skirt and solid muscle against her blouse. She felt a little light-headed. It was pure animal attraction, the very worst kind. Her Virginia was doing a fandango while her mind was off vacationing in Hawaii.
“I thought you were asleep.” She could think of no sane reason why she sounded one of those sappy heroines on a late-night movie. “I didn’t see you get out.”
He didn’t answer her immediately. He couldn’t. He hadn’t been with a woman since Lurlene. How long had that been? Two years? Two and a half? All that deprivation was making him soft in the head.
“Why aren’t you still in the truck sleeping?” she said.
“I would be if you hadn’t decided to play mechanic.”
“Well, one of us had to something, and it obviously wasn’t going to be you.”
There’s nothing you can do out here, Bea. The truck will take twenty or thirty minutes to cool off, and then we’ll be on our way again.”
It was the first time he’d ever called her anything except toots or tiger lady or boopsy or sweetheart. For some reason, his use of her name made her feel friendlier toward him.
“Why didn’t you tell me so in the first place?”
“I guess it’s because I like to see your stinger.”
“I thought you didn’t like vinegar.”
“Sometimes it’s refreshing. Let’s get back in the truck before somebody comes along and runs over you.”
“Who’s going to come along on these back roads? A jack rabbit?” She hobbled back to the truck, favoring her sore toe.
“You’re limping.” He stopped and looked down at her as if she had committed a major crime.
“It’s just a sore toe. I cut it last night on the bathroom tile.”
“Did you clean the wound? Did you use an antibiotic salve?”
“Good grief. What are you? A doctor?”
A man who has lost too much. The thought floated across his mind like a ghost. He saw all the people in his life, drifting away from him one by one, dissolving in a mist at the precise moment he reached out to them. His mother and daddy, sitting in a swing under a grape arbor, laughing at the frog house he’d built in the sand-pile nearby, laughing, laughing and suddenly vanishing from his life when he was five years old. Killed, he’d found out later, in a senseless car accident. And the foster families—Sarah and Clem Robbins, Martha and James Lotharp, Robbie Sue and Michael Lansky. The list went on and on. Even the dog he’d had once, Old Rex, dead and bloated from snake bite after only two weeks of playing catch in the pasture at twilight. And finally, Lurlene.
“Russ?” Bea said. He didn’t seem to hear her. She put her hand on his cheek. “Russ? Are you all right?”
He mentally shook himself. Because he was still holding her hand against his face, and because he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea—or any ideas at all—he put on a performance. Bending at the waist like a British fop, he planted an exaggerated kiss in her palm. Then he gave her a broad wink.
“The thought of harm coming to even one hair on your head fills me with woe. Let one drop of blood ooze from your lily white skin, and I tremble with fear.”
“I deserve every bit of your undying devotion.”
He straightened up and grinned at her.
“You do?”
“Certainly I do. I’m paying for it.”
He started laughing, and she joined him.
“What did I tell you?” he said. “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.”
“I’m the one who said that.”
“At least you got something right.” Without thinking about his actions or their consequences, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the truck. She allowed that, too.
“Tell me if this is going to be a ravishment. I need to powder my nose.”
“It’s not your nose I’m worried about. It’s your foot.” He plumped her inside the truck and sat down beside her.
“You’re worried?”
“If anything happens to you, I won’t get paid.”
“You’re mercenary right down to the cockles of your cold heart.”
“Guilty. Now take off that boot.”
“I thought ravishments usually started with the blouse.”
She gave him a look that would have melted a suit of armor. It was deliciously sexy and totally uncontrived. He was certain of that. He was equally certain she was unaware of what she had done.
Suddenly all the repartee between them took on new dimensions. He was amazed to realize that on that deserted mountain road in the tight confines of his pickup truck, the idea of making love to her didn’t seem so absurd.
He must be losing his mind.
Without a word, he reached for her leg, and was surprised out of his socks that she didn’t kick him in the face. What other surprises did Bea Adams have in store?
Russ peeled off her boot and put her foot in his lap. It was slim and small, much smaller than he would have expected for such a tall woman.
“Why are you doing this, Russ? I’ve done nothing but sling insults your way.”
“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Life’s more interesting when you’re around.”
Chapter Four
With her foot resting in his lap, Bea could no longer dismiss Russ as a lazy rambling man. He was witty, intelligent, complex and extraordinarily appealing.
The appealing part was almost her undoing.
“It’s just a small cut,” she said. “I don’t think it’s fatal.”
“The skin is broken and there’s swelling.”
“It’s only a toe.”
“A toe is part of the body. Don’t you know infection can spread?”
The heat of his hands on her leg was spreading all the way to Virginia. Oh, help. If she could get a signal on her iPhone, she’d be sending up distress signals to her friends, right and left. Janet would set her straight, Clemmie would make her feel better and Cat would take her mind off Russ. Of course, Molly and Joanna and Belinda would encourage her to dive right in, to chase this delicious looking man till he caught her.
“Bea? Did you hear what I said?”
Dang, he was going to see right through her. She swatted his hand off her leg.
“I’ll take care of it tomorrow, when I get home.”
“Bea, if you think this is a ploy to see your legs, you’re wrong.” His face was fierce and his eyes were intensely blue as he leaned closer to her. “I’m not interested in your legs or any other part of your beautiful body. We made a business deal, and this is business. I plan to deliver you to Florence in one piece.” He released her leg and stepped out of the truck. Before he shut the door, he gave her one last order. “Don’t move, and don’t you dare put on your boots.”
He slammed the door shut for emphasis and stalked to his tool box where he kept everything that mattered, his tackle box, his first aid kit, a spare set of keys. Except for that slip about her body being beautiful, he’d maintained the aloofness he’d wanted. Of course, he shouldn’t have carried her, either, but that didn’t count. Nothing counted till he put his hand on her leg and saw how dangerously close he was to running it up that short little skirt of hers.
He jerked the first aid kit out of his toolbox and stalked back to the truck. No way in heaven or hell was he going to rub salve all over her foot. It was too damned dangerous.
When he opened the door, she jumped as if she’d been shot.
“Here.” He thrust the antibiotic and a box of Band-Aids at her. “Apply the salve generously, then cover it.”
She made quick work of the chore. He wanted not to notice, but he couldn’t help himself. He had always loved a woman’s bare
feet. Bea had a tiny blue vein in the arch of her foot that made her look fragile and vulnerable. He focused on that small patch of blue.
Doggone the luck, she turned and caught him looking.
“All set?” His voice betrayed nothing.
“Yes.”
“Then I think we can get going. The truck should be cool by now.” He turned the key, and the truck came to life. With the sky darkening and Bea sitting in silence with her bare feet tucked under her, they continued down the mountain.
The radio had started playing as soon as Russ had turned the key. He turned it off.
“Thank you.” Bea gave him a small smile.
“You’re welcome.”
The first drop of rain spattered against the windshield. Bea watched it with a sort of detachment. She was aware of only two things: the soothing feel of the salve on her toe and the tremendous sexual magnetism of the man sitting beside her.
“It’s raining,” she commented, still not really paying much attention to the weather.
“The sky is dark.”
“Hmm.”
They drove in silence. The rain fell in a fine sprinkle. Then without warning, the sky opened and rain beat so hard against the windshield, Russ could barely see.
Bea leaned forward, hugging herself and trying to see through the downpour. Lord, don’t let it thunder, she said to herself. Don’t let lightning streak the sky. She was scared to death of thunderstorms. Had been since she was born, she guessed. It was a foolish weakness that she wasn’t proud of, and she certainly didn’t want to display any more weaknesses before Russ Hammond.
Russ braked the truck, catching Bea’s attention.
“My clothes!” Bea said suddenly, looking out the back window. Her suitcase was only a shadow seen darkly through the curtain of rain.
“What?” Russ leaned forward, straining to see.
“My clothes will be soaked. You have to stop.”
“They’re already wet.”
“You don’t know that. I have a good, tight suitcase.”
“This is a good, hard rain. You don’t need to be out in it.”
“I want you to stop this truck.”
“You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. You’ll get soaked.”
