by Janet Dailey
'Oh, that's okay. I just thought I'd check.' Greg started to turn back toward the hall door.
'Greg?' The atmosphere had been tense between Susan and her brother since she had lost her temper two nights before after his disparaging reference to Warren. She guessed his offer of a ride was a conciliatory gesture. He stopped and pivoted toward her. 'I'm not sure—-' she began, only to come to a halt as the door to Warren's office opened.
'Susan—-' Warren walked in, an absent frown clouding his wide forehead. At the sight of her brother, he paused and nodded. 'Hello, Gregory. I didn't expect to see you here.'
Susan felt her brother's wince. He disliked the use of his full name. No matter how tactfully she mentioned it to Warren, he still persisted in using it.
'I stopped to see if Susan needed a ride home,' her brother explained tautly. His chin was thrust defiantly forward and there was a belligerent darkness in the brown gaze that met Warren's.
'Well, that's opportune,' he smiled coldly, and Susan despaired of the two ever becoming friends. Warren's obsidian dark eyes looked toward her. 'I was just coming in to suggest that it might be better if you left without me. My father and I have some business to go over, cases I might need to handle while he's in the hospital. It might take considerable time.'
'I understand,' she smiled. 'I'll go home with Greg.' She hesitated, disliking to mention dinner that evening since he hadn't. 'What about dinner tonight?'
'I'll phone you at home. I'm not certain how long I'll be,' he answered, not expressing any regret in words or his tone of voice that their plans for the evening might be canceled.
'Of course.' Susan turned away, a barely audible sigh of disappointment escaping with the words she spoke.
'Since Gregory is already here and it's nearly five, you might as well leave whenever you've straightened up,' Warren stated in dismissal.
'I've finished the Hoxworth proposal,' she said, picking up the document she had just stapled together. 'Did you want it now or in the morning?'
'I'll take it now.' He reached for the papers in her hands, briefly leafing through them as he turned again toward his office.
'I understand you met Mitch Braden the other night,' Greg spoke up unexpectedly.
Warren stopped short and glanced piercingly over his shoulder at Susan, condemnation in his look.
'I forgot to mention to you, Warren,' Susan hastened to explain how Greg had known about their meeting with Mitch Braden, 'why he looked so familiar to me. Mitch Braden is a racing car driver. He's in town for the Indianapolis 500 race.'
'A racing car driver?' There was a faintly contemptuous curl to Warren's mouth. 'I suppose that explains his behavior.'
When the door to his office had closed behind Warren, Susan could feel Greg's eyes watching her. 'What did he mean by that?' he asked finally.
She didn't look up but continued clearing her desk in preparation to leave. 'Let's just say that your idol Mr. Braden behaved a little rudely the other night and leave it at that.'
'With a snob like your boyfriend, I wouldn't blame him,' her brother retorted.
Susan counted slowly to ten. 'You don't know what you're talking about, and Warren is not a snob,' she replied patiently. 'And I have no intention of arguing about it or discussing it any further. Okay?'
'Okay,' Greg submitted grudgingly.
A quarter of an hour later, Susan was gingerly sliding into the passenger seat of Greg's vintage Chevrolet, a tactful term for a worn-out used car. She carefully avoided the jutting edge of broken plastic ribbing on the seat that was trying to snag her pantyhose.
'I thought you were going to buy new covers for the seats,' she commented as she brushed her plaid skirt of olive green and black on white.
Her brother grinned and turned the key in the ignition. 'I'm hoping Mom and Dad will buy them as a birthday present. Then I can use the money I saved to buy some hubcaps.'
'You might be further ahead to save the money for a down payment on a new car,' Susan suggested when the motor grudgingly growled to life. 'It might prove a better investment.'
'This car is practically an antique. It's going to be worth a lot of money some day.'
'Yes, but will it be worth as much money as you invested in it? That's the question,' she teased, but with a thread of seriousness.
'She runs like a top,' Greg defended.
Her brother was practically a fanatic about the car. He and his friends spent hours tinkering with it after school and on weekends.
As they joined the rush hour traffic on the freeway en route to their home on the outskirts of Indianapolis, Susan admitted that outside of a grumbling reluctance to start the car ran quite well.
They were nearly halfway home when Greg murmured a worried 'Oh, oh!' and began to edge the car into the outside lane of traffic. Susan glanced curiously at his troubled frown.
'What's wrong?'
'The engine is overheating,' he answered, slowing the car to a stop on the wide shoulder of the freeway.
'Why?'
'That's what I'm about to find out,' Greg answered grimly as he opened his door and walked to the front of the car to raise the hood.
A misty gray cloud swirled into the air when the hood came up. Alarmed, Susan quickly opened her door and joined her cursing brother now standing several steps from the front of the car.
'Is it on fire?' she asked anxiously, not seeing any flames that might be causing the smoke.
'No, that's steam,' he sighed heavily. 'The radiator hose has a leak.'
'Can you fix it?' Susan followed Greg as he moved closer to inspect the problem when the bulk of the steam had dissipated. She was careful not to come too close to the front of the car in case the condensing steam stained her skirt or the well tailored blazer-style jacket of matching olive green.
'Even if I could fix it temporarily,' he grumbled, 'there isn't any place to get water to replace what the radiator has lost, which looks like about all of it.'
'Which means?' Susan prodded.
'Which means,' his hands were disgustedly propped on his hips as he looked past the car in the direction they had just come from, 'I'm going to have to hike to that service station a mile and a half back and see if they don't have a wrecker that can tow us in. And that means I'm going to have to spend the money I was saving for my hubcaps.'
'Greg' I'm sorry,' Susan offered sympathetically. 'I'll pay the towing charges as part of your birthday present. I—-'
'Hello, Susan. Are you having trouble?'
Whirling around, Susan's heart skipped a beat as she met the winning smile of Mitch Braden. His supple, rolling walk was carrying him from the cobalt blue sports car parked ahead of them.
There was an absent recognition that his twinkling eyes matched the color of his car or vice versa, but mostly Susan simply felt stunned amazement. The traffic had been so heavy that she had not noticed any cars even slowing in response to their breakdown, let alone hear any stop.
'How … How did you know it was me?' she breathed, still in a state of confused astonishment.
His gaze swept her from head to toe and back. 'I pride myself on never forgetting a figure,' he grinned wickedly, 'or a face.'
His suggestive reply disturbed her heartbeat, making it pulse much too fast. Susan turned away, momentarily unable to counter his remark.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of her brother's slightly open-mouthed stare, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. For that matter neither could she. Who would ever have dreamed of Mitch Braden stopping to help?
A sickening thought knotted her stomach. What if he mentioned in front of Greg her supposed marriage to Warren? She would never be able to endure that man's mockery if he learned Warren had been lying.
'What's the problem?' Mitch Braden was directly behind her, his voice low and amused.
'Oh … er … a leak in the radiator hose.' Greg pulled himself out of his trance with a supreme effort.
Mitch Braden leaned forward to look under th
e hood and verify the problem. Susan moved quickly to the side of the car. The man was a wolf. She didn't intend there to be any 'accidental' physical contact between them—he would be too quick to find a way to take advantage of it.
Mitch Braden straightened, his expression serious as he darted her a twinkling look. 'It's a busted hose all right.'
'I'm Greg Mabry, Susan's brother,' Greg rushed, the shock at meeting the race driver wearing off. 'Boy, I can't believe I'm actually meeting you in person, Mr. Braden. I've watched you drive hundreds of times, on television mostly, but—wow, this is really a thrill for me!'
'I'm happy to meet you, too, Greg.' Mitch Braden offered his hand, which Greg shook with obvious enthusiasm.
'This was worth breaking down for,' her brother grinned, a quaking excitement trembling beneath the surface of his voice as if he was mentally pinching himself to be certain this was really happening to him.
'Greg, it's getting late,' Susan thinly prodded him back to the problem at hand.
'What?' He looked at her blankly for an instant. 'Oh, yeah.'
The grooves deepened around Mitch Braden's mouth as Susan's glance ricocheted away from his face. 'Why don't you let me give you a lift to the nearest wrecker service, Greg, and we'll make arrangements to have your car towed in?' he offered.
'Would you?' Greg breathed excitedly. 'I mean—wow, that would be terrific!'
Susan felt an overwhelming desire to give her brother a hard shake. His blatant hero-worship of the man was getting on her nerves. More than that, however, she wanted to bring this meeting to an end.
'Lock up your car and we'll go,' the man ordered easily.
'There's no need to do that,' Susan inserted quickly. 'I'll stay here and keep an eye on it until Greg comes back with the wrecker.'
'I can't let you do that.' Mitch Braden moved his head to the side in disagreement, a mocking glint in his blue eyes. 'A beautiful woman like you, stranded on a highway, that would be asking for trouble. I would never be able to face your husband if something happened to you while your brother and I were gone.'
Husband. There it was. And Greg picked up on it immediately as Susan's heart sunk to her toes.
'Husband?' he frowned. 'Susan isn't married.'
There was no mistaking the reason for the gleam in Mitch Braden's eyes as they swung to Greg. 'She isn't? This Warren—-'
'That creep!' her brother grunted.
'Greg!' Susan warned through gritted teeth.
He paid no attention to her. 'She's engaged to him all right,' her brother acknowledged in the same contemptuous voice, 'but she isn't married to him yet.'
'It doesn't sound as if you're very much in favor of the marriage,' Mitch Braden observed.
'That's putting it mildly,' Greg replied, indifferent to his sister's daggers.
'Maybe you and I will have to join forces to see what we can do about it,' he suggested with a crooked smile.
'That's a good idea,' her brother laughed, suddenly seeing himself in the role of a matchmaker and liking the idea of Susan and Mitch Braden together.
'If you don't mind—-' Anger trembled through her into her voice.
'You're right.' Mitch Braden nodded, his brown hair glinting golden as it caught the fire of the setting sun. 'This conversation isn't getting your car fixed.'
'Right,' Greg agreed. 'I'll lock up.'
He shut the hood and walked around to the driver's side to lock the doors. Susan wanted to dig her heels in and refuse to leave the car. Meeting Mitch's challenging look, she knew she couldn't leave Greg alone with him. There was no telling what kind of a scheme he would talk her gullible brother into trying.
Her brown eyes snapped with frustrated anger as she stalked past him toward the blue sports car. Of all the motorists on the highways, why had he been the one to stop? She paused beside the passenger door of the low-slung sports car and Mitch Braden was instantly beside her, his lazy, rolling stride covering ground with surprising swiftness.
'You'll have to wait for your brother,' he murmured in a mocking tone. 'It'll be easier for him to crawl into the back cubbyhole than for you with your skirt.'
She stared through the tinted glass window at the bucket seats in front of the half-seat behind them. What he said was irritatingly correct, and Susan wondered why he couldn't drive a car with full seats in front and back. Impatiently she glanced back to see her brother jogging toward them. His eyes widened in admiration as he approached the sports car.
'A Ferrari Boxer!' Greg whistled, touching the shiny blue surface almost reverently.
'She's a beauty, isn't she?' Mitch smiled understandingly as he opened the door.
'I'll say!' her brother agreed fervently, ducking his head inside to look around before crawling automatically into the compartment behind the bucket seats.
Susan's lips tightened grimly as she slid onto the leather seat, keeping her gaze straight ahead while Mitch closed the door. Greg leaned forward to inspect the dashboard panel and the gearshift on the floor between the front seats.
'I've only seen these babies in magazines,' he breathed in the same awed tone as before when Mitch slipped behind the wheel.
'This one has been all rebuilt to pass the emission control standards,' Mitch explained as the powerful motor sprang to life.
Susan refused to appear impressed, instead looking uninterestedly out of the window. The car accelerated quickly into the mainstream of traffic, the hand near her leg smoothly shifting the gears. She sat very still in prim silence.
'I saw you on television the other night,' Greg offered after they had traveled some distance.
'Did you?' Mitch responded absently as if it was a commonplace occurrence that didn't warrant any special mention.
'How do you think you'll do in the time trials for the Indy 500?'
'If the car keeps running the way it did today, it ought to finish somewhere up in the top ten,' he replied.
'The newspapers say you have the fastest car,' Greg observed.
'Maybe,' Mitch shrugged, 'but in a race as long as the Indy 500, there are too many unknowns that can happen for owning the fastest car to make you a sure winner.'
'Yeah,' her brother agreed with a smile. 'A lot depends on the driver behind the wheel and you're the best driver on the circuit.'
'With you and luck on my side,' Mitch grinned over his shoulder, 'I won't need a cheering section to win. Of course, there are some other guys in the race who are just as intent on making that victory lap as I am.'
'Oh sure,' Greg admitted, 'but you'll win. I know it.'
A low chuckle followed her brother's positive statement. Susan reluctantly acknowledged to herself that it was an attractive sound, warm and caressing like his voice. Her fingers tightened convulsively on the handle of her purse, not wanting to like anything about this man.
Out of the corner of her eye, she studied the strong hands gripping the wheel. Muscles rippled in the tan arms, bare below the short sleeves of his shirt. She considered the strength that the fingers, hands and arms had to possess to manhandle a car traveling at upward of a hundred and eighty miles or more.
Yet something told her they could be gentle, too. The prospect of them ever touching her with that gentleness was disturbing and she mentally shook the thought away.
They had made the turnaround on the highway and were driving into the station that had been Greg's destination when he had intended to walk for help. Cutting the motor, Mitch stepped from the car and Greg scrambled over the driver's seat to follow him.
Taking a step, Greg turned back, glancing into the car at Susan. 'You might as well wait here until I find out whether they can help me now.'
Susan had turned slightly, reaching for the door handle, but at her brother's words she subsided into the molding cushions of the leather seat. No doubt with Mitch Braden lending his voice to Greg's request, they would receive speedy service, she thought with a sigh.
The cynicism in the thought surprised her. What was there about the man
that acted on her like two opposing fields of a magnet? She was unquestionably drawn by his charm and stunning looks. It was only natural that she found him physically attractive.
Yet something inside her insisted that she keep a safe distance from Mitch Braden. Susan wanted to believe it was a sense of fidelity to Warren, but that was only a part of it. There was a feeling of guilt, too, that she would be attracted to a man who was not her fiancé.
She brushed a wing of dark hair away from her cheek. Propping her elbow on the door, she rested her chin in her hand, trying to discern why she couldn't bring herself to trust Mitch Braden, and why she was so determined not to let herself like him.
The door on the driver's side was opened. Susan turned with a start as Mitch Braden slid behind the wheel and closed the door. The motor growled at the turn of the ignition key and he shifted the gear into reverse.
'Where's Greg? Susan looked frantically around.
Deftly they had turned around, the car fluidly changing from a reverse motion to forward with barely a break. The car was responsive to Mitch Braden's slightest touch, its power an extension of the man who commanded it.
Turning in her seat to look out the rear window, she saw Greg waving a casual goodbye.
'It will be ten minutes before a man is free to take the wrecker out for your brother's car,' Mitch finally explained when her frantic gaze riveted itself on his profile. 'Then they still have to install the new hose. I offered to give you a ride home.'
'Don't I have some say in it?' Susan protested with astonishment at his high-handed manner.
'I have your brother's permission.' He sent her a wicked smile. 'And I thought by the time you had finished all your objections about why you didn't want to ride with me, I would have you home.'
Susan breathed in deeply and finally expelled the breath in an impotently angry sigh.
'What's the matter?' he mocked. 'Don't you think I will take you straight home?'
'Will you?' she returned acidly.
'No side trips,' Mitch assured her with a mock promise, his blue eyes sparkling with an audacious light. 'Of course with such precious cargo, I'll take my time.'
