Guardian's Joy #3 (46 page)

She started shifting more of her things from
the passenger seat to the driver’s side and the already bulging
back seat. Visibility from the rear window wasn’t an issue now and
if she had to spend the rest of the night in the car, the passenger
side would be slightly more comfortable. The last thing she pulled
out was the small carryall that contained the boxers and tee she’d
used for pajamas while on the road and a clean set of
underwear.

Clean clothes would make things a lot more
pleasant. She eyed the surrounding darkness. If a car was coming
along the road, surely she’d hear it or see the flash of its
headlights in plenty of time. She peeled off her muddy tee and used
it to wipe off as much muck as she could from her face and hands
and then spread it inside out on the ground beside the door so she
could stand on it. She then used her cotton shorts to wipe down her
legs and feet.

Standing in only her bra and panties, the air
was chilly enough to remind her of why she’d stopped at the little
store. Elizabeth sighed. It was an incontrovertible law of the
female universe that the more you tried to ignore the call of
nature, the more you had to pee. She would get no rest until it was
done. She grabbed a tissue from the pack she’d retrieved when she’d
finally unearthed her handbag. Her cell phone was still MIA.

Rather than risk muddying her PJs, she stayed
as she was, slipped her flip-flops back on and stepped a few feet
away from the vehicle to squat. Of course, as soon as her panties
were down and she was in position, the car lights went out. She
finished in the dark and gingerly felt her way back to the car.

It wasn’t until she was back standing on her
t-shirt doormat with her rear end in the air, reaching for the
flashlight on the floor, that she heard the crunch of gravel above
her and the beam from someone else’s light illuminated her cotton
clad behind.

“You look like you could use some help,” said
a very deep and very male voice behind her.

Chapter
2

Elizabeth screeched, jumped, and whacked the
back of her head on the doorframe. Cursing, she whirled with the
flashlight in her hand and aimed it in the general vicinity of the
voice.

Standing in its beam was the most gorgeous
man she had ever seen outside of a movie theater. Make that
gorgeous with a capital G. Hard to judge how tall he was since he
was standing uphill from her but he had to be at least six feet.
His hair was dark, just long enough to run your fingers through and
his t-shirt was tight enough to show each bulge and ripple of his
chest and abs. A pair of form fitting jeans encased a set of narrow
hips and long, long legs that ended in a pair of square toed
boots.

The face matched the body; long and lean with
high chiseled cheekbones slightly hollowed beneath. His nose was
straight and perfectly sized to the shape of his face and his mouth
was wide and generous, the lips neither too thin nor too full. She
couldn’t see his eyes. They were squinting against the light. He
held out his hand, broad palmed and long fingered, against the
glare.

“Easy now,” he said gently, “You need help.
I’m coming down.”

“N-no! Stay there! And turn off that
light.”

The only thing that could be worse than being
rescued in your panties and bra by a handsome stranger would be if
said panties were of the comfortable, but totally unattractive
white cotton variety and said bra was something your grandmother
would wear. When she chose them, she was thinking of comfortable
driving, not being on display!

“P-please turn around,” she squeaked, “I’m
not dressed.”

“So I noticed,” he chuckled, but he did as
she asked.

“I was all muddy, you see. I-I had to crawl
in the mud. I was trying to get rid of the mud,” she babbled as she
pulled on the faded flannel boxers and bright orange tee with the
words ‘Librarians Do It By The Book’ plastered across the front.
The outfit was as appealing as the underwear.

Why did it matter? This was a rescue, not a
date. The clenching in her belly and the rapid heartbeat was a
simple physical reaction to the mental trauma of the accident. For
heaven’s sake, she knew better than to fall all over a man. If you
fell, it usually meant right on your face. Hadn’t she been there,
done that, several times? She should be grateful for the rescue,
not worried about how she looked. And this man was a stranger. He
could be a good looking axe murderer for all she knew. She picked
up the flashlight from the seat where she’d left it to get dressed
and shined it back on the man.

As if that was the signal he’d been waiting
for, he turned back to her and started down the slope. “Stay there.
I’m coming down to help you up.”

“No,” she said, “I’ll be fine right here if
you’ll call a tow truck for me.”

“Not going to happen.” He stopped and
shrugged. “George and his truck will be out of commission until
along about noon tomorrow. You’ll be better off to come along with
me.”

“It would probably be best if you called the
police then. They can write up the report and take me home. I don’t
live very far.” She smacked at a series of mosquitos that she
hadn’t noticed before.

“You’re not from around here,” he said,
looking at her curiously, “Who are you staying with?”

“Oh, I’m not staying with…” Elizabeth snapped
her mouth shut. Where was her good sense telling a stranger where
she lived… alone? “Please just call the police.”

He laughed. “Won’t do any good. They’re
already here. I guess I should have introduced myself, but I was a
little distracted.” He gave her a two finger salute. “Marshall
Goodman. That’s my name, not my title. My title is Village Police
Chief for what it’s worth.”

“You’re not wearing a uniform,” she said
suspiciously.

“I rarely do.” He took another step down the
hill. “Look, a neighbor called to say they heard the crash and the
horn. You need help and I’m here to give it. Stay still until I get
to you.”

There was no way to avoid it. It was foolish
to stand here like an imbecile waiting to be rescued, so she
started up the slope to meet him, but before she could grasp his
outstretched hand, her feet slid out from under her and she ended
up face first in the mud. Her startled “Oh!” left her mouth open
when she hit the dirt and she was spitting leaves when he scooped
her up into his arms which started the belly clenching heartbeat
thing again.

“Stop wiggling or we’ll both be in the mud,”
he ordered.

“It’s in my mouth,” she squealed. She tried
to wipe the mud from her tongue with her hand forgetting that her
hand was muddy, too. How was she supposed to think clearly when the
heat from his hand on her butt was…?

“Stay still, dammit!”

A sharp whap on her rear made her stop
wiggling. Startled, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried
her face in his chest and her breasts immediately felt like this
was the place they wanted to be. She could feel his heart beating
against her cheek and her heart quickened its pace to match it.

The t-shirt smelled fresh from the wash and,
except where her dirty face had rubbed, was mercifully clean. He
was busy keeping his footing as he carried her up the hill. He’d
never notice if she used his shirt to clean the mud from her
tongue. She licked and then licked again. She could feel his skin
shiver beneath her tongue and the shirt. It was fascinating and
just a little bit exciting, so she found a clean spot and did it
again.

He stumbled and cursed. “Good god, woman,
what the hell do you think you’re doing!”

“Oops,” she mumbled into his shirt. This was
so not her. Somewhere on her mother’s list of Things You Must Never
Do, right under passing gas in church and mending your underwear
with safety pins, there had to be something about licking a strange
man’s chest. She giggled a little at the thought. That bump to the
head must have been harder than she thought.

He set her down on the edge of the road so
quickly she had to hang on to his arm to keep her balance. A light
colored SUV was parked about ten yards away, emergency flashers
blinking. The light bar across the top was dark.

“Come on, little lady. Let’s get you out of
here.”

He started walking and she followed. When he
got to the vehicle, he opened the hatch and removed a heavy green
blanket that he wrapped around her and tucked tightly under her
chin.

“There. We’ll both feel safer if you wear
this.” He opened the passenger door for her and waited until the
seatbelt clicked before he spoke again. “You got a name?”

“Oh! Sorry. Elizabeth Reynolds.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lizzie. You want to
tell me what happened?”

She almost corrected him. Her name was
Elizabeth. No one had ever called her anything else. Instead, she
told him, honestly and without exaggeration, what she saw that
caused her to swerve off the road. His hands clenched almost
imperceptibly on the steering wheel.

“Probably a deer,” he said when she
finished.

“It was not a deer,” she said indignantly. “I
know what a deer looks like. I hit one two years ago. The sight of
it leaping in front of my car isn’t something I’ll easily forget.
This was bigger, furrier, like a dog.”

He shrugged. “Could have been a bear, I
suppose.”

“Bears lumber. They don’t run.” She crossed
her arms over her chest and huffed.

Marshall laughed. “Had a lot of experience
with bears, have you?”

“No, but I’d recognize a bear if I saw one
and this wasn’t.” Did he think she didn’t know how this sounded?
She remembered reading somewhere that a great many single car
accidents were attributed to large white dogs darting across the
road. These claims were rarely substantiated.

“So you’d rather stick with a giant, dark,
shadowy dog that you saw for a split second rather than a deer or a
bear which are both common in these woods.” The police chief raised
his right eyebrow in question. The corner of his mouth quirked
up.

“I know it sounds foolish, but…”

“Not foolish. You were surprised, frightened,
trying to control your car. You hit your head.” He sounded
sympathetic and understanding. He lifted his head and seemed to
sniff the air. “We’d better get moving.”

By the time he walked around to his side of
the vehicle, she’d almost convinced herself that he was right. It
all happened so fast.

“Now, where did you say you were staying?” he
asked as he turned the car around.

“I didn’t.” And then she smiled. The man was
the police chief for heaven’s sake. It said so on the side of the
car. “The Connor place,” she said.

He looked surprised. “I’d know if that place
was rented out. No one’s lived there in a couple of years.”

“They do now,” she said, “I rented it two
weeks ago. I have the papers and key right here in my… Oh shit. My
bag! I left it in the car. We have to go back.”

“Look, it’s late. We’ll get your things
tomorrow.”

He was looking up through the trees as if
trying to see the sky. Not Likely. The branches were as thick
overhead as ever.

“You don’t understand. Everything I have is
in that bag.”

“It’ll be fine. I guarantee it will be there
tomorrow morning.”

“But the key. I won’t be able to get into the
house.”

“Probably not locked anyway.”

Marshall took a turn off to the left. Her
directions said the next right.

“This is the wrong way,” she said, beginning
to panic, “The directions said…”

“You’re not spending the night in that house.
It’s been empty for a long time.” He glanced at her and sucked in
his cheeks. They made a loud smack when he released them. “You
don’t know what kind of wildlife has moved in in the meantime.”

Raccoons? Opossums? Skunks? She’d had enough
of woodland creatures for one night.

“Then where are you taking me? To jail?”

He laughed. “I could, I suppose. Thought
you’d be more comfortable at my house. Food’s better at the jail,
though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Henry. Sally Ann is one
helluva cook.” He lifted his shoulders. “Six of one, half dozen of
the other. Which would you prefer, Sally Ann’s food or a
comfortable bed?”

The thought of spending the night under the
same roof as Marshall Goodman caused her to blush and she was
grateful for the darkness. And who did she think she was thinking
someone who looked like him would look twice at someone who looked
like her. Under different circumstances, she knew she was
considered moderately attractive, but first impressions meant
everything and what were his of her? Mud covered and wearing Granny
underwear, that’s what and let’s not forget the shirt licking.

She didn’t even know the man, for heaven’s
sake. So okay, given his job, he probably wasn’t an axe murderer,
but he could drink heavily on the weekends or spend all his
weeknights watching wrestling and roller derby. He could be married
with six kids!

A guy who looked like Chief Goodman had to be
attached to someone. She didn’t see a wedding band, but that didn’t
mean anything. Some men didn’t wear them and if he wasn’t married,
he certainly wouldn’t be suffering from a lack of company.
Imagining what that company would look like, she decided to save
herself from additional humiliation.

“Is there a shower at the jail? Something I
could change into?” An orange jumpsuit would be an improvement.

“Wash room, no shower. This is a one cell
village jail. We don’t supply uniforms, though I’ve considered it.
Orville Stewart can get pretty ripe when he’s been on a
bender.”

So what was a little more humiliation?

“I’ll take clean sheets and a shower for
three hundred, Alex.”

Marshall grinned. “As the answer to the
question, ‘What does a hungry, mud covered girl want more than
food?”