by Janet Dailey
Five foot six in socks, Jacquie wasn’t short by normal standards, but the man was a lot taller than she was, easily over six foot with broad shoulders, taut abs and not an ounce of spare flesh. His hands rested on a concho belt slung through the fraying loops of well-worn jeans. She moved her gaze to the stern face.
“You didn’t even look when you pulled out,” the man accused her. His low voice reminded her of thunder rolling to a crescendo. “Of all the empty-headed, featherbrained—”
The rest was bit off in midsentence as a barely perceptible movement of his head indicated a shift in his attention. Jacquie glanced hesitantly over her shoulder. The little blond boy she’d glimpsed in the jeep was hobbling toward them on crutches, his right leg in a bright blue fiberglass cast decorated with stickers.
Her heart sank, until she realized that he didn’t seem at all fazed. His rounded eyes were riveted on her.
“Are you really all right?” the boy asked anxiously.
Her voice returned in a sighing laugh as her mouth curved into a tremulous smile. “Yes, thank you. I mean, I’m scared out of my wits,” she admitted, “but I’m not hurt.”
“I thought I told you to stay in the jeep, Robbie.”
The boy’s eyes flickered to the man beside Jacquie, then skittered to the rocky ground near his feet, his chin tucked against his chest. “Yessir,” he said.
The boy’s concern was genuine and Jacquie couldn’t stop herself from trying to soften his father’s rather harsh attitude. The return of her voice brought a return of her poise and strength. Ignoring the man beside her, she walked the few steps to Robbie.
“How about you?” she asked gently, pushing her sunglasses on top of her silver blond head and bending toward him. “Are you okay?”
He peered at her through stubby brown lashes, his gaze locking with fascination on the long hair that swung forward over her cheeks. “Yes ma’am.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Jacquie smiled.
“Your hair is pretty,” he said absently.
Her eyes darted to his tousled head. “Yours is almost the same color,” she pointed out.
The small, thin fingers of his right hand, the arm resting on the crook of his crutch, moved forward as if to touch the spun silver gold of her hair, but the man’s voice put a stop to that.
“Wait for me at the station with the attendant, Robbie,” the man ordered crisply.
The small chin lowered again. “Yessir,” the boy mumbled. His hands tightened on the crutches to propel himself forward, offering a tentative smile to Jacquie. “I’m happy you didn’t get hurt.”
“So am I.” Jacquie straightened and watched his awkward progress toward the service station.
The man’s broad shoulders blocked her vision after the boy had gone farther. Oh well. She supposed the time had come to trade insurance information and contact numbers and get that hassle out of the way.
The set line of his mouth told her that he wasn’t looking forward to it either. He didn’t say his name or reach into the jeep for the necessary papers. She would take the initiative. Recovering some of her usual aplomb, Jacquie smiled warmly.
“I know an apology isn’t enough, but I really am sorry about the accident. I’m not usually so careless,” she offered.
The mirroring sunglasses prevented her from seeing his eyes, yet she couldn’t shake the sensation that his gaze had just raked her curving figure, taking note of the snug fit of her jeans and the bare skin of her middle revealed by a crop top of clinging knit. Not exactly the right weather, now that she was out of her car, for such revealing clothes, but so what. She didn’t care and he didn’t seem to either. Not one flicker of admiration appeared on the man’s carved features.
Even under the circumstances, Jacquie’s female instincts kicked in and summed him up. Verdict: he was all man, the traditional type, although he probably wasn’t more than ten years older than she was. Strong and silent. Evidently her apology wasn’t going to be enough. He stood his ground, as though he was waiting for her to say something else. She found it vaguely irritating that he didn’t seem to respond to the warmness of her smile.
“At least you recognize you were careless,” he muttered, a faint curl to his upper lip.
Counting to ten, Jacquie turned away from him. It was never wise to lose your temper when you were in the wrong. “How much damage did I do to your jeep?” she asked instead.
“A dented bumper, no worse than that,” the man answered, a mocking inflection in his tone. “It’s made to take punishment. Can’t say the same for yours.”
A glance at the banged-up bumper of the jeep affirmed his words a second before he mentioned her car. Jacquie pivoted around, dismay pulling down the corners of her mouth when she saw the crumpled front end of her little car.
“The engine block could be cracked,” the man muttered.
“Oh gosh. I hope not.”
He gave a shrug, indicating that it wasn’t his problem. His tone didn’t soften when he added, “The police will be here shortly to write up a report. There were witnesses.”
She looked around. The people she’d noticed on the streets were keeping their distance and trying not to stare, but it was obvious that the sound of crunching metal had gotten everyone’s attention. The fender bender was probably the most excitement the town had seen for days, she thought ruefully.
The man nodded the crown of his Stetson toward the service station. “Brad’s in today. He can give you some idea of the extent of the repair work.”
“Um, what were you saying about the police?” Jacquie asked weakly, thinking with dread of the two speeding tickets she’d already received, and the citation she was about to get as the erring driver in this accident.
What with fines and the repairs to the car, her supply of cash wasn’t going to be as large as she thought by the time she reached Los Angeles. And it wasn’t like her father had handed over his platinum card for her to have fun with—she had a debit card for an account that he refilled to a set amount each month and that was it.
“I said they’d be here shortly,” he spoke the words again with biting conciseness.
“There . . . there really isn’t any need to involve them in this,” she began hopefully, blinking her eyes at him and getting no outward reaction to her appeal. “I mean, after all, the damage was mostly to my car. No one was hurt, so why bother them?”
“There was an accident, the damage wasn’t minor. It has to be reported.” His commanding voice left no room for argument.
“I see.” Jacquie nodded, pretending her previous request had been made in ignorance of the law.
At that moment, a patrol car pulled into the service station behind them. It was just as well that Jacquie hadn’t argued the point.
The officer greeted Robbie’s father with easy friendliness, but not by name. It bothered her that she still didn’t know it. The actual questioning period was brief, due mainly to the straightforward account the tall man provided. The officer took one look at Jacquie, who could practically hear his mental assessment of her. Clueless tourist and blond to boot. He surveyed the damage and looked down at her dangling license plate.
“Texas, huh? You’re a long way from home. Gotta run the number. It’ll be a few minutes.”
Jacquie nodded.
Her bad luck that Mr. Stetson had been involved in the accident and not some other man who might be more susceptible to her charms—Jacquie believed she could have avoided the citation for reckless driving if so. But the man’s presence seemed to demand that she get what was coming to her.
Within seconds after the police form was in her hand, another was thrust at her by sun-browned fingers. Before she got a chance to read the writing scrawled on the plain paper, the man finally informed her that it was the name and address of his insurance company and asked for hers— a command phrased in a politely worded request that somehow still grated.
Rummaging through her oversized purse, Jacquie found a slip of paper and a
pencil and quickly wrote down her information. He shoved it into his shirt pocket after a verifying glance at what she’d written.
“Good enough,” the man said coldly, more to the officer than to Jacquie.
Without a backward glance, he strode toward the jeep where he climbed in, sliding his long legs under the wheel. She watched with simmering anger while he pulled into the nearby service station to collect Robbie, wishing that she’d given in to the sarcastic impulse to tell him it’d been nice to run into him.
From the passenger seat of the open-sided jeep, a small hand waved good-bye. Jacquie returned the gesture with a determined flourish of her arm, wondering how such a sensitive little boy could have such an insensitive father. In another second, she squelched the thought, reminding herself that her momentary carelessness had put a child, already injured, at risk. His father had every right to be angry.
With the assistance of the officer and the service station attendant, her car, no longer able to move under its own power, was towed the few yards to the garage. She heaved a sigh, trying not to think about the size of the repair bill. Or the time involved.
“How long do you think it will take?” Bracelets jingled as she tucked silken hair behind her ear, anxiously studying the mechanic’s face after his initial inspection of the damage. That had taken a good half hour and he hadn’t said a word during it, leaving her to fret in silence.
“Can’t tell,” he shrugged. “A while, I expect. Providing I can get the parts I need. That’s a foreign-made car you got.”
Jacquie feared the worst.
“You want me to give you an estimate before I get started fixin’ it, right?” He tilted a cap back on his receding hairline and wiped the grease from his hands with a rag.
“Of course.” She nodded, but she knew it was only a business formality. She really had no choice but to let him fix it, regardless of how badly it depleted her cash reserve. Glancing down at her hands, she saw the piece of paper she held and unfolded it. For a moment or two, she studied the precise handwriting and spoke the name out loud.
“Choya Barnett.” A frown creased her forehead. “What kind of a name is that?”
The mechanic looked at her blankly. “What?”
“Choya.” Jacquie tried again. “The man in the jeep—that’s his name.”
A chuckle of understanding broke through the confusion as the mechanic spoke.
“It’s a cactus that grows around here. Cholla cactus. Prickly as all get out,” the mechanic explained with a smile. “You don’t want to mess with it.”
“I got that feeling,” she said with a sigh. “Is it his nickname?” She tilted her head to one side.
“No, it’s his real name,” he told her. “Choya Barnett got called that because old man Barnett found him in a bed of cholla when he was a baby. Barnett spelled it the way it sounded.”
She wanted to laugh. Jacquie bit hard on her lower lip, reducing the impulse to a silent giggle. So he had been named for a thorny cactus—it described his attitude perfectly. Then she collected herself, taking in the interesting detail of his being abandoned as a baby. That seemed odd, more like a tall tale than anything, but the mechanic had mentioned it as though it was a plain fact. She nodded at him, not about to ask for more information. Choya Barnett wasn’t someone she was going to get to know.
“If you want to go eat, miss, while I get an estimate written up, feel free,” the mechanic suggested. “I’m going to have to do an online search for a few parts I need.”
“Yes, I think I will,” Jacquie agreed. Food would do her good—she was still a bit jumpy and probably not thinking straight.
She moved the sunglasses resting on top of her head back down onto her nose as she gathered up her purse and walked out the station door.
Crossing the highway as fast as she safely could, Jacquie paused for a moment on the opposite side, where she decided to walk in the shade, seeking relief from the blazing sun overhead. Its brilliance made her eyes hurt but it really wasn’t all that warm. On Allen Street, she quickly sought the nearest restaurant, hoping it had muted lighting. It did but the place wasn’t exactly quiet. A busboy was tacking foil garlands to the wall with a staple gun. Bang. Bang. The sound made her jump, but no one else seemed bothered by it. Welcome to the wild west, she thought wryly.
The lunch hour crowd had pretty much filled the available seats, and there was only one remaining booth and one table in the place. She decided on the booth and slid into it, accepting the menu that the busy waitress offered before walking away. Studying the specials, she paid no attention to the opening of the restaurant door until she heard the clumping sound of crutches.
A glance in the general direction of the door and she saw Robbie Barnett, a shy smile on his face. He made his way determinedly through the crowded room, heading for the empty table diagonally across from her.
“Hello,” the boy said cheerfully.
“Hello again,” Jacquie responded. Her wide smile made his brown eyes glow with pleasure. The look she darted behind the boy told her that Choya Barnett had been detained near the door by another customer who looked like a regular, just as he did. The hostess seemed to know both of them. She was relieved that Choya didn’t seem to have noticed her. “Are you here to have lunch?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Robbie looked with longing at the vacant booth seat opposite Jacquie. It was on the tip of her tongue to invite him to sit with her, but she knew it would probably infuriate his father if she did.
In silence, she let him continue on his way to the empty table. Yet her gaze remained on the small, blondhaired boy, irresistibly drawn to him. She felt renewed guilt over the accident and something else she couldn’t quite define. Misplaced maternal instinct, maybe. But why? This sweet kid had to have a loving mother and undoubtedly took after her. He wasn’t at all like his dad in terms of personality.
This isn’t all about you, Jacquie. You slammed into the man’s jeep. You spoke to him for less than a minute. Don’t judge him so harshly. The little voice in her head sounded like her own mother. Jacquie told herself to give Choya Barnett the benefit of the doubt.
Balanced on his crutches, Robbie pulled out a chair and maneuvered himself and the unwieldy cast on his right leg in front of it. The boy was small and the chair was large. He sat on the edge of the chair seat, legs dangling, looking awkward as he wriggled back.
“Wearing a cast is no fun,” she said sympathetically. “But I like the bright blue.”
“The doctor let me pick the color. I put the stickers on.”
She looked more closely. The stickers were mostly of animals and superheroes, but someone had added Get Well Soon and Big Hugs ones in several places. Probably his mother.
Absently, he tried to cross his legs and couldn’t do it. He gave Jacquie a sheepish look and let the casted leg hang again. Rising to her feet, she crossed the short space to the table. Her fingers closed over the back of the chair next to Robbie Barnett and slid it closer to him.
“I think you would be more comfortable if we rested your leg on the seat of this chair,” she suggested brightly. Maybe she shouldn’t get involved, but she was concerned for him.
Helping him to slide back, she positioned the second chair to serve as a leg rest and lifted his cast onto it.
“How’s that, Robbie?” she asked.
“Fine.” A shy smile curved his mouth as he again peered up at her through his spiky lashes.
“My name is Jacquie,” she said, bending a little to offer her hand as she introduced herself.
“That’s a boy’s name.” He frowned while he very seriously shook her hand.
“It’s short for Jacqueline,” she explained.
“Like mine is long for Rob, I guess.” He nodded with understanding. “I’m seven, almost.”
“Oh, I’m a lot older than that. I’m twenty-one.” Jacquie smiled, remaining in a slightly bent position.
“That’s nothing. My dad is thirty-three,” Robbie replied with a faint s
hrug of his small shoulders, as if that was practically ancient.
“Excuse me,” a cool voice said behind Jacquie. Its low, controlled tone left her in no doubt that Choya Barnett was speaking, even before she turned. “I didn’t give my son permission to eat with you.”
Jacquie turned her head and straightened, bringing the full brilliance of her blue-green eyes to bear on him. He wasn’t wearing the dusty Stetson and mirrored sunglasses. His dark brown hair was thick and well-groomed, framing a wide, tanned forehead.
But his eyes were a surprise. They were a strange, tawny shade with gold flecks that reminded her of a predatory animal—a big cat like a mountain lion. They were watching her now with the suggestion of coiled alertness, as if he were ready to spring without warning. An antagonistic feeling stirred within Jacquie and her chin came up as she spoke.
“We were just chatting,” she said in an icily composed tone. “I was over here in the booth.” She indicated it with a curt gesture.
The strong male mouth quirked at her statement. His eyes flicked downward to his son, who got busy unrolling the fork in a paper napkin on his placemat, obviously aware of his father’s displeasure.
And too intimidated to talk back, Jacquie thought angrily.
“I asked Robbie to wait for me at this table by himself,” he replied, his gaze holding hers. “I didn’t realize you were in the booth next to it.”
He was being deliberately insulting. Her blood heated to a slow boil. Jacquie sensed that he resented her inadvertent intrusion into his life and was determined that she should be aware of it. She was grateful for the country music that started up over the sound system, loud enough for Robbie not to hear her reply to his father.
“Well, I am,” she murmured. “Do you mind? I don’t think you own this place.”
“Right on both counts,” he said smoothly. “I do mind, because I intended to have a quiet lunch with my son. However, I don’t own it and I guess you get to sit wherever you want.” He stepped around her, dismissing her as effectively as if he had told her to get lost.
