by Sharon Sala
The blowout had come without warning. One minute Boone had been driving with ease, thinking of picking up some barbecue at the Adam’s Rib Café to take home for supper, and the next thing he knew, he’d been skidding all over the road. It had taken all his skill to come to a halt without hitting a nearby stand of trees. And as he got out of his truck, he’d realized he was less than a mile from where the wreck had occurred.
“This stretch of road must be jinxed,” he muttered as he circled his truck, checking for damage. Luckily for him, the only thing ruined was a tire.
But his disgust turned to anger when he realized his jack was missing, and not only that, his spare was flat. He glanced up at the setting sun, judging the time he had left before darkness set in, and faced the fact that he’d be after dark walking into Razor Bend. Yet no sooner had he looked up than a car came around the far curve, heading his way.
“Talk about luck,” he said. He was about to wave the driver down when he recognized the car.
His luck had just gone from bad to worse. It was Rachel Brant, and judging from the way she looked at him each time they met, there was no way she was going to stop. He stood like a man waiting for the other shoe to drop, watching as she drove past.
And then her brake lights came on and, to his disbelief, she started backing up. Moments later, her window came down. With only a trace of a tremor in her voice, she spoke. “Need any help?”
He couldn’t think what to say. He’d been so certain that she would leave him standing there that it took him a moment to gather his thoughts.
“Had a blowout,” he finally muttered.
Rachel nodded. “Do you have a spare?”
“It’s flat.”
Rachel took a deep breath. “I have room in my trunk. Toss it in. I’ll be glad to drop you off at Jimmy’s Place. It’s the only place in town that...”
Boone finished her sentence. “... fixes flats.”
Rachel grinned, more to herself than at him, but it broke the ice. She got out of the car with her key in her hand while Boone turned to get the spare.
Before she could get the key in the hole, wind whipped around the curve where she’d parked, blasting grit and dust in her face and into her eyes.
“Oh!” she gasped, and covered her face with her hands, but it was too late. The damage had already been done.
At the sound of her cry, Boone spun, just as she covered her face. Seconds later, he was at her side. He had no way of knowing what had caused her to cry out, but he could see that she was hurting.
“What’s wrong?”
“My eyes,” Rachel mumbled, and then staggered up against her own car, disoriented by the pain.
“Let me see,” he urged, trying to pull her hands away from her face.
At first Rachel wouldn’t budge. She’d covered her face in reflex, and although it had been too late to prevent the damage, the dark felt better than the light. And then his soft plea broke through her resolve.
“Please, honey...let me see.”
Rachel froze at the familiarity, but his voice compelled her to obey. When he laid his hands on top of hers, gently urging them aside, her legs went weak, but from want, not panic. He’d stirred a longing within her that she’d been trying to deny. It wasn’t fear that he made her feel. It was fascination.
“Easy now,” he said softly, as her hands dropped to her sides.
And when she tilted her head back, her eyes still closed, awaiting his ministrations, it was all Boone could do not to kiss the invitation he saw on her lips. Then she started to speak, and he gritted his teeth, trying to remember what he’d been about to do.
“Dirt. In my eyes. My eyes.”
To his dismay, healing tears were already seeping out from beneath her dark lashes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t stopped to help. Will you let me help you?”
Her hesitation was momentary. She was already blinded and helpless. He’d had his chance to do her harm, and once again, all he’d done was offer her aid.
She nodded.
Boone exhaled, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath. “One eye at a time, okay?”
His hands were cupping her face. Gently... so gently. It was all she could do not to lean into them, into him. “Okay.”
“We need to rinse that grit out. I’ve got a nearly full bottle of spring water in my truck.”
“That will work,” Rachel said, and when he turned her loose to go back to his truck, she felt adrift in a dark, empty sea. Only after she felt his hand on her arm did she feel rooted once again to the earth.
“I need you to tilt your head back. Easy now...a little more ... a little more.”
She did as she was told.
“That’s good. Hold it there.”
She felt him put something in her hand.
“Here’s a handkerchief to catch the drip.”
Her fingers curled around the fabric and, in doing so, caught the tips of his fingers with it.
Boone inhaled slowly, reminding himself of the business at hand, and slipped out from beneath her touch.
Rachel sighed. She had every reason in the world to distrust him, and yet the feeling just wasn’t there. He was too gentle to be frightening.
“Pour away,” she said, and when the tepid water began washing away the dirt, she knew an overwhelming feeling of relief. “That feels so good.”
Boone’s imagination hit overdrive. If things had been different, he could have envisioned her saying that very same thing in his ear as they made love.
“Easy does it,” he cautioned, staying her hand as she started to scrub at her eye. “Let’s do the other one. Then, if we need to, we’ll give them both a second dose.”
Again the water ran free, washing the last of the grit out and freeing her sight.
“Hallelujah! I was blind and now I see,” she said, half laughing and half crying with relief as she opened her eyes fully. It broke the tension of the moment.
A smile tilted the corner of his mouth. “Would you believe in another life I walked on water?”
Rachel laughed. “No.”
“I didn’t think so,” he drawled, and handed her the bottle of water. “Here, trade you this for your keys. You get back in the car before any more damage is done. I’ll load the tire.”
Gratefully she handed over the keys and reached for the door.
“Can you see okay to drive?” Boone asked.
Rachel turned, gazing intently past his hard-bitten look to the gentle depths of his dark eyes.
“I’m fine ... thanks to you.”
Time stood still. Neither moved, neither spoke, both of them absorbing the fact that, for the moment, they were the only two people in the world. And then, off in the distance, the sound of an eighteen-wheeler pulling up a distant steep grade could be heard. Boone was the first to look away.
“I’d better get this tire loaded, or we’ll have to drive behind that rig all the way into town.”
Rachel slipped behind the wheel. Seconds later the trunk lid shut with a thump, and Boone slid inside, bringing a new kind of tension with him.
The space inside the car suddenly shrank. Rachel fiddled with her seat belt and tried to pretend he wasn’t there. But it was useless. His presence was overpowering, and it was all she could do not to stare. She took the keys from him and started the car:
She’d never known his legs were so long or his shoulders so wide. She hadn’t noticed that his eyebrows were as black as his eyes, or that his eyelashes threw shadows on the planes of his cheeks. Afraid that he would catch her staring, she gripped the steering wheel like a hungover bull rider on an eight-second ride and sped away.
Silence had never been so loud.
Neither spoke, and then both spoke at once, stepping all over each other’s conversation in the act of trying to end the ongoing standoff.
Rachel flushed and then shrugged, waiting for him to continue, but Boone had other ideas.
>
“Sorry,” he said.
“No,” Rachel said. “You first.”
He looked intently at her face. “How are your eyes?”
She smiled. “Much better.”
He nodded, then looked away to keep from revealing his feelings. Dear God, being this close without being able to hold her was driving him mad.
Rachel glanced at him as the car took a curve. “Have we ever met before? I mean, before the other night?”
He panicked. It was the last thing he had expected her to say, and it was an undercover cop’s worst fear, that someone from his past would walk up and call him by a name other than the one under which he was living. It could not only blow his cover all to hell, it was what got people killed. His gaze was cool and fixed as he answered. “No way. I would have remembered.”
Rachel flushed, uncomfortable with the entire situation. But she kept thinking of the mess she was in, and that it was getting deeper by the day. For that reason, she persisted.
“So the first time we met was the other night...on the mountain?”
“I didn’t mean to snoop. I heard you crying, you know.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but she was starting to believe him.
After all, he would have had no way of knowing that she was going to wander around the Kiamichis in her sleep.
“I know that,” she said quietly.
“But I frightened you.”
A slight grin split the seriousness of her expression. “That you did.”
Boone’s tension started to ease. Damn, but she was pretty when she smiled. He gave himself permission to stare, and then almost wished he hadn’t. Her hair was down, just as it had been the night he saw her in the swing. It reminded him of some black satin sheets he’d once seen, rich, glossy and shining. He remembered the ebb and flow of it against her body as she’d taken flight in the night. Her clothes were simple, nothing more than blue jeans and a thick white sweater, but they were the perfect foil for that slim body and beautiful face. He wasn’t sure, but be didn’t think he’d ever seen eyes that blue or skin so fair. And then she ended his musing with another pointed question he would have preferred to ignore.
“So, what brought you to Razor Bend?”
“A job.”
She nodded. Obviously she’d opened a subject he would rather not discuss. And when she thought of his buddies, she decided she would rather not know. “Been in town long?”
This time, at least, he could answer with complete truth. “Six weeks or so.”
Rachel’s heart thumped. The timeline coincided with the onset of her sleepwalking episodes. Another clue to add to the mental list she was making. For lack of anything else to say, she started to introduce herself.
“I suppose I should have done this before. My name is—”
Boone finished the sentence for her. “Rachel Brant.” And then he was the one to look embarrassed. “Someone told me.”
She glanced at the scenery, aware that she was less than three miles outside town. If there was anything more to learn, she was going to have to act fast. “And you’re Boone?”
He nodded.
“First name or last?
This time he grinned, and as he did, Rachel felt herself sliding back in time.
“No... no,” she muttered. “Not now. Not now.”
Boone frowned. She wasn’t making any sense, but when her gaze went out of focus and the car began to swerve, he shouted, “Rachel, look out!” then grabbed the steering wheel and set the car back on track.
Rachel jerked. The sensation was gone.
“Sorry. I’m... I keep seeing... Uh, I guess I must be tired.”
He sighed. Something was going on with her, and had been from the moment he saw her standing in the water, talking to someone who wasn’t really there. Just like now.
“Boone MacDonald.”
Rachel was still lost in thought. “What?”
“My name is Boone MacDonald.”
“Oh.”
As they stopped at a crossroads outside town, she gave him another long, considering stare, then decided that after what had just transpired between them, she owed him at least this much. “I’m pleased to meet you, Boone MacDonald.”
If he hadn’t been already sitting, he would be now. That was the last thing he’d expected her to say.
Stay cool, damn it. Stay focused...and for God’s sake stay away from this woman.
But he’d wasted a good pep talk on himself. Instead of turning a cold eye, he found himself with a half-assed grin and a lighter heart. “Have mercy,” he drawled. “But the pleasure is mine.”
Rachel froze. The smile on her face tilted as her mind began to race.
Have mercy? Did he just say, ‘Have mercy’? Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
She heard Mercy’s outlaw saying the very same words.
Have mercy, sweet Mercy.
“It’s your turn to go,” Boone said, pointing out the clear four-way stop and the fact that no one else was in sight.
“Oh! Right!”
Rachel accelerated, shooting through the intersection and on into town. When Jimmy’s Place appeared on her left, she signaled her turn, pulled to a stop between the building and the pumps, then popped the trunk lid and killed the engine.
“We’re here,” she said.
Once again, he grinned, and at that moment Rachel knew that she’d seen that same smile before—but on another man’s face.
Boone leaned toward her, not much, but just enough to make Rachel’s heart jump with an odd sort of longing.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“For what?” she muttered, lost in the depths of a pair of dark eyes.
He grinned again. For some reason, this very capable woman seemed incapable of following a single train of thought.
“For the ride,” he said.
Rachel blinked, then sat upright. “Oh! Oh, yes! You’re welcome, of course.”
“You sure your eyes are okay?”
“Yes.” Just don’t ask me about my heart.
Boone nodded. “Then I’ll just get my tire and get out of your life.” He got out of the car and headed toward the trunk to remove the spare.
“If only,” Rachel muttered, then jumped when Boone slammed the trunk lid shut.
“Thanks again,” he called.
She watched as he rolled the tire toward the garage and once again was struck by the familiarity of his slow, careless stride. Before she could think to move, he suddenly turned and caught her watching.
Embarrassed, she looked away, only to come eye-to-eye with Charlie Dutton’s inquiring stare. He was standing in the doorway of Jimmy’s Place with a can of pop, a bag of chips and an expression on his face that might have been described as one of disbelief.
It struck a defensive chord in Rachel that she couldn’t have explained. What she did on her own time was no one’s business, and yet living in a town the size of Razor Bend, she was constantly subjected to everyone’s scrutiny.
She waved at Charlie, then glanced once again toward the garage. Boone was nowhere in sight. It was just as well. She started her car and drove away.
The road home was long and winding, but the path was well marked by a sunset of remarkable hues. This evening, the heavenly artwork was wasted on Rachel. Her mind was still locked on the facts she’d unearthed. But were they real facts, she wondered, or just figments of a wild imagination? Or, worse—was she truly losing her mind?
Griffin Ross was coming out of the bakery as Rachel pulled into Jimmy’s Place. Unable to believe his eyes, he stood with his mouth agape. There was Rachel—his Rachel—and she was with another man. They were smiling and talking as if they’d known each other forever.
He stepped back into the lengthening shadows before she could see him and watched as she parked in the drive by the self-serve pumps. He saw the trunk pop up, then saw the man get out and remove a flat tire. A long, telling glance passed between them before Rachel suddenly waved and drove away.
>
The whole thing seemed innocent enough. And it was just like Rachel to help someone out.
But it was the man himself who was giving Griffin such pause for thought. He wasn’t exactly one of Razor Bend’s most admirable citizens. In fact, he looked as if he’d stepped off a Wanted poster. And he was staring after Rachel like a starving man looking at a feast. Even worse, Griffin had seen something very near longing on Rachel Brant’s face. That was what really galled him.
Jealousy turned to rage. She didn’t want me. How dare she yearn for a loser like him?
He stared until the man had disappeared into the garage with the tire, then stomped to his car with new determination. He didn’t know who the hell that man was, but he was going to find out.
By the time Boone got home, it was way after dark. He was tired. He was cold. And he was hungry. The message light was blinking on his answering machine, but the urge to ignore it was great. The scent of the barbecued ribs he’d brought home seeped from the sack in his hand, enticing him. But his training overcame everything else. He set the sack aside, then punched the button, listening closely as Denver Cherry’s voice came into the room.
All he said was “Call me,” but Boone knew who it was, and his adrenaline surged. There was only one reason for Cherry to be calling him. He picked up the phone and made the call. Denver answered on the second ring.
Boone’s words were as clipped as Denver’s had been. “It’s me,” Boone said. “What’s up?”
Denver muttered beneath his breath, then grumbled, “What time is it?”
Boone glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes until twelve.”
Denver groaned, and Boone could hear the bed springs giving beneath his weight.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” Denver grumbled.
“I had a blowout coming home this evening. My jack was gone, and my spare was flat, and I take better care of my gear than that. You can tell that son of a bitch Snake I want my jack back. I’ll deal with him on my own about the spare.”
Denver’s eyes narrowed. “Damn it! I want you and Snake to make peace, not start another war. We’ve got our hands full as it is. Come by tomorrow evening. Got a job for you.”
