Impulsive Gamble

by Lynn Turner

  So he wanted to back up her words with action, did he? All right, she told him silently as she willed her tensed muscles to relax. Just remember, Buster, you asked for it.

  Her brows furrowed in concentration.

  ‘The clutch feels stiff,’ she murmured as the Shelby’s rear bumper cleared the garage door. ‘Did you just put it in?’

  ‘Yeah, a couple of days ago.’

  The disgruntled note in Mal’s voice didn’t escape her notice. No doubt he’d expected her to either kill the engine or make the car buck like a mechanical bull when she released the clutch. As soon as she’d steered the car on to the asphalt surface of the track, she braked it to a smooth stop.

  ‘I’ll take it easy for the first couple of laps… get a feel for how she handles,’ she said casually.

  Mal’s indifferent shrug didn’t fool her. ‘Suit yourself,’ he muttered. ‘You’re the driver.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Abbie replied coolly. She didn’t see the irritated look Mal shot her. All her attention, all her awareness, were already concentrated on the car. She was so absorbed in learning the rhythm of this particular car’s idling engine that she didn’t notice the speculative glint in Mal’s narrowed eyes as he observed her from the other bucket seat.

  When she realised for the first time how much power the engine was capable of generating, she experienced an almost intoxicating rush of exhilaration. She wasn’t aware of the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, but Mal saw it. His gaze sharpened, but he didn’t speak.

  She accelerated cautiously as soon as the track straightened out again, speed-shifting into fourth gear with the confident skill of a pro. The needle of the speedometer was nudging the sixty-mile-per-hour mark when she downshifted to take the second banked curve. The car shot around it beautifully. They finished the first lap at an even seventy miles per hour.

  ‘Did you completely redesign the engine?’ Abbie yelled the question in order to be heard above the wind rushing in through the open windows.

  Mal’s shouted reply sounded a little testy. ‘No. I kept the original, but I’ve made substantial modifications to it.’

  They whizzed around the second curve and completed lap two. The speedometer registered eighty-two miles per hour. ‘What’s top end?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know exactly.’

  Abbie was incredulous. ‘You redesigned the engine, and you don’t know how fast the car will go?’

  He shifted restlessly in the other bucket seat. ‘Did you hear what Deke said back at the hotel … about my driving?’ He waited for her nod, then confessed gruffly,

  ‘Well, it’s true. I’m a lousy driver.’

  Abbie sensed that the admission had been made at considerable cost to his pride. ‘Well, isn’t there anyone else who could have tested it for you—maybe Deke, or one of the mechanics?’

  He made a rude noise. ‘No way. I’ve got too much time and money invested in this baby to trust it to just anybody.’

  Yet he had agreed to let her test drive the car. Abbie wondered if he was aware that his attitude toward her had undergone a subtle change. It still couldn’t be called cordial, by any means, but at least his voice held grudging respect now.

  If she could get him to think of her as a qualified driver first and a woman second, maybe he would let down his guard, start to relax with her. Friendly would be even better, but she would happily settle for comfortably relaxed. Otherwise, she could kiss her dream of an exclusive Malachi Garrett story goodbye.

  From now on, she decided impulsively, she would make herself as sexless as possible. She was confident that her strategy would work; before long Mr Malachi Garrett would be thinking of her as just one of the guys.

  Five minutes later Abbie steered the car off the track and back into the garage. Neither she nor Mal had uttered a word after his response. She had no idea what he was thinking, and she was reluctant to look at him, even after she’d shut off the engine.

  It had belatedly occurred to her that in attempting to prove herself, she might have gone a little too far. She’d had time for one quick glance at the speedometer as they entered the straightway that last time around the track, and what she’d seen had made her decide to quit while she was ahead—the needle had been hovering directly over the one hundred and twenty mile per hour mark.

  She’d been startled, and, if she was honest, a little unnerved. The Shelby handled so beautifully and gave such a smooth ride that it was hard to believe they were travelling at that speed, even after she’d seen the evidence with her own eyes.

  She still didn’t speak as she removed the white helmet and ran nervous fingers through her hair. When she heard his door open, her head snapped around, her eyes wide and questioning. He was climbing out of the car. Abbie hurried to follow suit.

  ‘Holy catfish!’ The exclamation came from Deke, as he hurried into the garage to join them. ‘That is one hot car, Mal. And one hot driver!’ he added with a huge grin. Without warning, he swooped down on Abbie, lifting her off the floor for an exuberant bear hug. When he set her back on her feet, she stared at him dazedly.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She didn’t think Deke heard her. His attention had shifted back to Mal. ‘Well?’ he said expectantly. ‘How about it? You have to admit she did everything you asked of her.’

  ‘And then some,’ Mal agreed as he removed the red helmet and placed it on the shelf.

  Abbie started to speak up, then changed her mind. She waited silently while he raked both hands through his hair and heaved a sigh that could have conveyed either resignation or disgust. He suddenly turned, his narrowed eyes capturing and holding her anxious gaze.

  ‘I’m curious,’ he murmured. ‘How did a medical secretary from Washington, DC, end up stranded in a one-horse town in the middle of Oklahoma?’

  Abbie frantically cast about for a plausible story, one he would be likely to accept without too many questions.

  ‘Well, I was with my boyfriend,’ she improved hastily. Carrying her helmet back to the shelf from which he’d taken it gave her an excuse to turn away from his probing gaze.

  ‘Your boyfriend,’ Mal repeated. He leaned back against the Shelby, arms folded over his chest. His narrowed eyes continued to scrutinise her.

  ‘That’s right. We came out west to visit his sister.’ She placed her helmet next to his, giving herself a few more seconds to think before turning back to face him.

  ‘Frankly, the trip was a bummer. The night we got there, Larry’s sister accused her husband of having an affair with her best friend. After that, they were constantly at each other’s throats. It was a pretty uncomfortable situation, so we decided to cut the visit short and headed home a few days early. I’d have been halfway to Washington by now, but we had a big fight just this side of Tulsa. Larry waited until I was asleep, then cut out—let me stranded in some fleabag motel. I didn’t even know he was gone till the next morning.’

  Mal’s brows snapped together in surprise . ‘He just took off and left you?’

  ‘High and dry,’ Abbie confirmed with a straight face.

  ‘That must have been some fight.’

  She shrugged.

  Mal’s expression was sceptical, to say the least, but he refrained from voicing any doubts he may have had about her scruples, or lack of them. ‘So how did you come to be at the hotel in town?’

  ‘I managed to get this far by hitch-hiking, but I don’t like taking rides from strangers, and I didn’t see how I could possibly get all the way to Washington by next Monday. To make matters worse, Larry only left me enough to pay for a hotel room for a couple of nights. I was feeling pretty low, I don’t mind telling you. And then I happened to overhear you and Deke talking about how you needed a driver to get you and your car to Washington, and … well, it seemed like fate or something.’

  Mal’s mouth quirked in a reluctant half-smile. Their gazes locked for just a moment, and Abbie thought he was about to speak. But then he suddenly pushed away from the
car and walked around it, heading for the front of the building. He tossed a careless instruction over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought.

  ‘Take her back to the hotel, Deke.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  For a second or two Abbie was too stunned to react. Then she swore under her breath and went after him.

  ‘Hey, wait a minute!’

  Mal didn’t even slow down. She caught up with him halfway through the garage, then had to take two steps to his one to keep up as he made for the door by which they’d originally entered the building.

  ‘Why does he have to take me back to the hotel?’ she demanded as she trotted along at his side. ‘Just what was wrong with my driving?’

  Mal stopped abruptly when he reached the door. ‘Not a thing. You’ve got the job, Miss Kincaid.’

  Abbie just stared at him for a moment, afraid to trust her hearing. ‘You mean … you’re going to let me drive you to Washington?’

  He gave her an impatient, slightly exasperated look. ‘Wasn’t that what you wanted?’

  She could hardly believe her luck. ‘Yes!’ she blurted before he could change his mind. ‘But if you’ve decided to let me drive, why did you just tell Deke—’

  ‘You’ll need to collect your things. We leave at noon tomorrow, which doesn’t give you much time to become familiar with the car. You can stay out here tonight and get in some more practice time after supper.’

  Abbie had barely registered the fact that he intended for her to spend the night at the farm when he opened the door and stepped outside.

  ‘Wait!’ She rushed after him, impulsively grabbing his arm to stop him. Now that she knew her exclusive Malachi Garrett story would become a reality, there was one or two last-minute thing she needed to take care of—such as calling the editor at the Post who’d bought her anti-nuclear piece to ask if he would also be interested in buying this one. She couldn’t make that call form Malachi Garrett’s house; not unless she wanted to risk blowing both her cover and the story.

  Mal’s gazed dropped to the slender fingers clutching his arm. One shaggy brow arched in surprise. Abbie snatched her hand away at once, loath to have him think she was coming on to him.

  ‘You—er—want to me spend the night here?’ She barely stopped herself from adding, ‘With you?’ Judging by his reaction, she might as well have gone ahead and said it.

  ‘No need to get yourself in a dither, Abigail Prudence.’ He subjected her to a slow head-to-toe appraisal, allowing his gaze to linger for several seconds on the front of her blouse. ‘Your virtue is safe, believe me.’

  Abbie almost winced at the mocking emphasis he gave the word ‘virtue’. He couldn’t have made it any more clear that he considered hers to be in extremely short supply.

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t worried about that,’ she assured him. ‘Actually, I was thinking of you. Aren’t you concerned about what people might think—your friends, I mean, and the people in town? Or do you make a habit of picking up strange women in bars and then moving them into your house?’

  She regretted the taunt the second it left her mouth. She saw irritation flicker briefly in his eyes, and the way his sensual mouth thinned slightly, and braced herself for the worst.

  ‘I can see this is going to be a long trip,’ he muttered.

  Abbie hastily attempted to placate him. ‘Listen, I didn’t mean to be … well, insulting.’

  His eyebrows rose a sceptical centimetre but, other than that, he didn’t comment. She offered him a tentative, ingratiating smile.

  ‘I don’t always think before I speak.’

  ‘Do tell.’ His tone was as dry as dust.

  Abbie abandoned hope of convincing him to let her stay at the hotel that night. At this point, she would consider herself lucky if he didn’t call of their arrangement and send her packing. She impulsively decided that a touch of humility was called for.

  ‘I really am sorry if I offended you. I don’t know what comes over me sometimes. You’d think I didn’t have a brain in my head, the way I just blurt out any old—’

  ‘Save it, Abigail. It’s a little late to start playing a dizzy blonde. You don’t have to worry that I’ll back out of our deal. I won’t pretend I’m overjoyed to have you as my chauffeur. We both know I’m not. But you’re the best driver I’m likely to find before noon tomorrow, so I guess I’m stuck with you.’

  ‘And vice versa.’ The dry rejoinder was out before Abbie could stop it. Thankfully, Mal didn’t bother to acknowledge it.

  ‘And the answer to your question is no,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I don’t make a habit of picking up strange women in bars, much less inviting them to move into my house.’ He sounded as if, given the choice, he would prefer to share his home with a colony of scorpions.

  ‘I didn’t really think so,’ Abbie confessed. ‘I was just …’

  ‘Needling me,’ Mal finished for her. ‘As you’ve been doing for the last couple of hours.’ She felt her face heat with a guilty flush. ‘Well …yes. For some reason you seem to bring out the shrew in me.’

  He smiled, but it was a thin, wintry sort of smile; the kind that conveys dwindling patience, rather than amusement.

  ‘Yeah, I noticed that,’ he murmured. He paused to rake a lean brown hand through his hair. For the first time, Abbie noticed the dark circles under his eyes. There was also a definite droop to his broad shoulders as he leaned back against the garage wall. The man was exhausted, she realized with a small jolt of surprise—wiped out, dead on his feet.

  ‘This trip is very important to me, for several reasons,’ he said quietly. Now that she listened for it, she heard the exhaustion in his voice, too. ‘I’m going to have enough on my mind, without having to contend with a wise-ass feminist who feels obliged to get in at least one or two digs per mile.’

  Abbie decided to let the ‘wise-ass’ pass—for the time being, anyway. ‘What makes you think I’m a feminist?’ she asked in as mild a tone as she could manage.

  Another thin smile slashed his mouth. ‘What made you take one look at me and decide I was a male chauvinist pig?’ he countered.

  Abbie decided that at least they were in agreement about one thing: it was going to be a long trip. ‘Instinct,’ she answered succinctly.

  Mal’s head dipped in a brusque nod. ‘Exactly. So we both know where we stand—neither of us is thrilled with our little arrangement. Unfortunately, like it or not, we’re going to be spending virtually every minute together for the next few days.’

  ‘In other words,’ Abbie surmised drily, ‘it would be in both our interests to agree to a temporary truce in the battle between the sexes.’

  ‘I’d say it should be our number one priority,’ he drawled ‘Tell you what—I’ll try not to come on like such a chauvinist swine, if you’ll make an effort not to be such a … pain in the neck.’

  He’d almost said ‘bitch’. Abbie was sure of it. She gave him half a point for self-restraint. Pasting on a smile that felt stiff, she offered her hand.

  ‘You’ve got a deal, Mr Garrett.’

  As his hard, warm fingers closed around hers, she thought wryly that, while she had every intention of keeping her part of the bargain—she had a powerful incentive, after all—it was highly doubtful that he would be able to do the same. She told herself that it didn’t matter. She was determined to get to know the real Malachi Garrett, the man behind the legend. If that man turned out to be an incorrigible sexist, which she suspected would be the case, that was precisely how her story would portray him.

  Deke drove her back to town in his pick-up truck. When they arrived at the hotel, Abbie suggested that he relax in the bar with a cold beer while she packed and checked out. He agreed willingly.

  Fortunately, she’d already done most of her packing. She dug the notebook containing the Post’s telephone number out of her purse and placed it beside the phone, then quickly punched out the phone number. A glance at her watch caused two deep creases to appear between her brows. D
eke had already had time to finish one beer and start on a second.

  ‘Will somebody answer the stupid phone?’ she muttered irritably. There was one more ring, and then a nasal female voice informed her that she’d reached the newspaper’s editorial offices.

  ‘Roger Zirkelbach, please.’ Abbie used a brisk, businesslike tone.

  ‘One moment, please, I’ll see if he’s still in.’

  Roger picked up his extension in the middle of the second ring. Abbie didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

  ‘It’s Abbie Kincaid, Roger. Would you be interested in an exclusive piece about Malachi Garrett?’

  There was utter silence at the other end of the line for several seconds. Abbie began to think she’d been cut off.

  ‘Hell, yes, I’d be interested! But how on earth did you get to him? I thought he was supposed to be some kind of misanthrope.’

  Abbie glanced at her watch again. ‘It’s a little complicated, and I don’t have time to explain all the hows and whys. I can tell you that the story involves a cross-country race between two cars—one of which is a sixty-eight Shelby Cobra equipped with some kind of experimental engine Garrett designed.’

  Roger expelled a low whistle. ‘And you’ll have access to all the details?’ To say that he sounded excited would have been an understatement.

  ‘Better than that,’ Abbie replied. ‘I’ll be driving Garrett’s car. Garrett will be in it, by the way. I don’t know who else is involved—at least, not yet—but I think there’ll only be Garrett’s car and one other. I imagine the reason you haven’t heard about it is because, as far as I can tell, the race is to settle a bet between Garrett and the person who designed the other car … or maybe just the other car’s engine. That’s something else I don’t know yet. And don’t ask me what the bet’s about, or the terms, because I don’t know that, either. I do know that our destination is Washington DC. I could probably deliver the story to you a few hours after we arrive.’

  ‘I see,’ Roger said ‘And did you also tell him that as well as being a driver, you’re a first-rate freelance journalist?’