Look, But Don't Touch

The vehicle coming to a stop in front of him was no simple pickup. Even in the dark he could see that it was a classic Ford El Camino with some kind of custom-designed toolbox built across the cab’s outer wall. As the door opened, the clouds parted and a shaft of moonlight cut through the black rain clouds, hitting the driver like a spotlight and revealing a pair of long, jeans-clad legs, an open stretch of bare midriff and a denim jacket.

“A woman.” She peeled off a baseball cap and, with the shake of her head, her mass of blond hair was caught by the whipping wind.

No, not just a woman, a vision. The Cameron Diaz look-alike strode toward him. She was almost as tall as he was—something he didn’t like in a woman. He preferred them tiny and temporary.

“Hello,” she called. “Are you okay?” For a moment he didn’t answer. He was struck by an awareness of something very physical between them, an energy that started in his fingertips and vibrated up his arms and into the back of his neck. He could only think it was some kind of atmospheric anomaly caused by the impending storm. He felt as if he was about to be struck by lightning. As a ranger, he’d earned the reputation as Ice Man when he encountered trouble. It kept situations from becoming personal. This time that control seemed totally elusive.

“I’m okay but I might not have been,” he blurted, taking his uncertainty out on a woman who didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t see any lightning but he sure as hell felt electricity in the air. If he’d been standing in water, he’d be fried. It was the kind of feeling he imagined a law officer might experience if he were forced to kill a man.

“Should I have hit him?” she asked, a hint of anger in her voice. He wondered if she felt the tension between them. “I don’t think so. My pickup was no match for that big wheeler.”

He took another look at the El Camino with the Georgia tag. “Pickup? Not too many normal people drive a restored vehicle like that on the highway.”

“I do.”

“I can see that.” He made a disparaging sound, not so much directed at her as an attempt to disconnect himself from his rescuer. “What’s a woman from Georgia doing out here alone at this time of night?”

“You have a curfew in Texas for women from other states?”

She couldn’t see his face. He was a silhouette: a lean, dark figure holding a bike mirror as if it were the head of a staff. The Grim Reaper. All he needed was a cloak and a black horse, Cat mused, shivering. Every nerve in her body responded to him in a way she couldn’t understand.

A circle of light split the clouds and fell across the man. She gasped. His five o’clock shadow gave him the sinister look of an old Western outlaw. Dark eyes seemed to look right through her. In response, her teeth began to chatter. She felt as if she were in the eye of a storm. As long as she didn’t move, she was safe.

Bettina had asked her who she was waiting for. She’d quipped that she’d know when she found him. One look at the man in the moonlight and she knew he would be at the top of her list. It had been too long since she’d felt such desire and never this intense. She wanted this man naked, in her bed, inside her—and the sooner the better.

The wind picked up, flinging a wet sheen across her face, and she pulled her cap back on, barely aware she was doing it. “I stopped to help you,” she said.

“Thanks, but I can manage,” he said gruffly.

She took a step back, holding up both hands as a shield. “Okay. Sorry I stopped,” she said, annoyed and puzzled at his mood.

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault.” If it had been anybody else, he’d have forced himself to be more pleasant, but something he couldn’t explain was affecting his breathing. The very air between them was hot.

She asked again, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Those words echoed in his head as he lost himself in thought….

All right? When he was a child, long after his father had gone, he’d asked his mother that. His older brother Mitchell had been forced into becoming the head of the household and making the rules.

Mitchell and Ran, the middle brother, had established a conspiracy of silence that had closed Jesse out, and he’d never understood why. Rule number one was that Mama was sick and Jesse shouldn’t go into her room.

Yet, he’d slip into Mama’s room when they were away and she would loop her thin arms around him and cry against his chest. “Are you all right?” he’d ask. She’d only cry and say she loved him.

Then came the bad days when she no longer knew him as her youngest son. She’d cried then because she was in pain. He’d continued to break Mitchell’s rules—because she’d needed him—until she’d been sent to the nursing home. Then, out of pain and anger, he’d broken some of Mitchell’s other rules. On probation from his second DUI charge, Jesse had finished high school one day and joined the marines the next. But he’d never gotten over the feeling that he’d let Mama down.

He’d determined long ago that he’d never let anyone need him again and he’d never break any more rules.

“Listen. I feel bad about what happened,” the woman facing him said. “It’s starting to rain. If you’ll put your bike in the back of my truck I’ll drive you wherever you like.”

With her hands still extended, his skin tingled with the crazy sensation that she was pushing against him, as though her long fingers were pressed against his bare skin. Damn. When he’d fallen, he must have hit his midsection. The feeling intensified. Hell, he must have hit his head, too.

“No thanks.”

“Fine.” She dropped her hands and started to turn away, then stopped. “Since you don’t want my help, I’ll just go.”

“Where are you heading?” His question stopped her. He’d surprised himself by asking. Asking made the connection stronger. As the rumble of thunder in the distance grew louder, the physical responses in his body seemed to intensify, fed by the wind and the rain.

“I’m headed for San Antonio. If I read the last road sign right, it’s just ahead.”

“You’re about twenty miles out,” Jesse agreed, switching to ranger mode. “It is none of my business, but you shouldn’t give out information. In fact, you shouldn’t have stopped to help me. Suppose I’m an ax murderer?”

He told himself his voice wasn’t tight because of the overwhelming tension that arced between them—he was simply reprimanding her. A smart woman would get out of here. He’d bet she was smart. And gutsy. Whatever she was feeling, she certainly wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, he sensed what might be called cynical amusement.

She stood her ground. “I’m just curious. Are you an ax murderer or do you club your victims with rearview mirrors?”

He glanced down. He was holding the broken mirror with no recollection of picking it up. “I improvise. What about you?” The words came out as though someone else was speaking. Maybe he really had hit his head.

“Normally, I’d already be gone, but since I did contribute to your accident, I felt compelled to help. It’s your call, Motorcycle Man. We can put your bike in the back of the El Camino and get out of the elements or I’ll send someone from the next open garage.” She jutted her chin forward and waited.

He shook his head. “If I thought the two of us could lift a five-hundred-pound machine into the bed of your truck, I might agree.” He didn’t have a choice. He’d have to take his chances and let her help. “Just send a wrecker when you get to the next garage.”

“Well, I could, but it happens that I have ramps, a tarp and a tool chest in the back. I travel alone so I’m always prepared. By the way, I believe your motorcycle is a Road King and they weigh closer to seven hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

Jesse was amazed. She was right about the bike. It was a Harley Road King and it weighed seven hundred and twenty-three pounds. Before he realized what he was doing, he heard himself saying, “I accept your offer. You carry ramps around?”

“They’re useful in moving things in and out of the truck. Never know what I’ll need when I start a new assignment.”

Because of her tool chest, getting the bike into the truckbed wasn’t easy. By the time they’d done it and picked up the broken pieces of metal along the roadside, both were soaking wet. He was still curious about the ramps as he watched the woman pull off her jacket and wet cap, open the passenger side door and lean inside the cab. Moments later she straightened again. “Okay, get in, unless you’d rather ride in the back with the bike. Be careful of my gear on the floor.”

Jesse crawled in, carefully planting his feet around the bulky backpacks and wondering how he’d gotten himself into such a situation. The seat shifted as she got in on her side. He turned to thank her and heard a sharp intake of breath, not certain whether it had come from him or her. At this close proximity, they had their first clear view of each other. If tension could be measured by a thermometer, it would have hit the top of the gauge.

With the moonlight behind her, he’d only gotten a general impression of his angel of mercy. Up close, she was straight out of a fantasy comic book. Blond hair streaming in wet ropes and a T-shirt plastered against full breasts, she could have ridden a wild stallion with Zena or been an agent in the next episode of “Silk Stalkings.” If she stepped on a stage with Madonna or Brittany Spears, they’d fade away.

As they continued to eye each other, he took a deep breath and let it out. “Something wrong?” Wrong? If he asked himself that question, he’d have to answer yes. Something was wrong. The woman. The night. The storm.

She simply stared at him, the silence heavy between them. Her voice was tight when she answered. “Maybe. Maybe not. I think I’m just a little shaky. The accident was a shock.”

“That surprises me. I’d expect the average woman to be shaken up, but the average woman doesn’t drive a truck carrying tools and equipment.”

“Women have toys. They just aren’t always what you expect,” she said, and closed her door. Mercifully, the light went out. Moments later the engine came to life and she pulled back onto the highway. “It isn’t the accident that bothered me. It’s you.”

“I bother you? Why is that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Men are my business. I’ve seen all kinds and I’ve learned to read them. Everything about you says danger.”

He didn’t know which comment bothered him the most, her reference to danger or that men were her business. He shifted his feet, wondering what she carried in her cases. With a taste for classic vehicles and motorcycles, she had to have money. Or maybe she was the ax murderer and she carried her weapons in her cases. Either way, this woman was trouble and trouble was something he didn’t need. He was going to find enough of that in the morning at the meeting scheduled with his boss.

“You’re very direct for a woman,” he finally said. “Or a man, for that matter.”