Worth the Trouble (St. James #2) (29 page)

Nothing else could explain why she’d risk her safety to go
trade words with the crazy man playing white knight in a thunderstorm. Then
again, recent weeks of meditation—her last-ditch effort to cope with the
demands of parenting—were teaching her to experience everything openly and
without judgment. To be present. Mindful. And right now, curious.

She jumped down from the cab and began her approach. That’s
when she saw Connecticut plates on the front of his car. A tourist. Hopefully
not a cunning rapist or murderer, too. To her knowledge, murderers didn’t
usually draw attention to themselves with reflective roadside emergency gear.
Then again, she’d never known any violent criminals.

Whether habit or nerves took over, she didn’t know, but one
of those two caused her to smooth her wet hair. Like that would help.

Resolved, more or less, she trotted to the passenger side of
his car and motioned for him to roll down his window. He donned a pleasant
expression but remained seated, making no attempt to approach her or the
passenger door. She guessed he froze in place to keep her from getting jumpy.

When she stepped close enough to peer through the open
window, she noticed the spotless interior. No wadded-up wrappers or napkins, no
stray sippy cups, no scuff marks on the seats. Either this guy was a neat freak
or he didn’t have kids. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t end up as roadkill.” He grinned. A
heart-stopping, full-lipped grin surrounding stark white teeth that contrasted with
his olive-toned complexion.

Growing up in this rural, tiny town of eight hundred
residents, she hadn’t seen men who looked like him except in magazines. Around
here, clean shaven was a bonus, let alone this guy’s level of H-O-T. She’d been
right to think him deadly, just wrong about the why of it.

“Oh.” Her heart began pumping as hard as it might during a
hike up Mount Equinox. “Well, thanks, but I’m sure the tow truck will be here
soon. I told you, not many cars pass this way on Tuesday afternoons. You really
don’t need to stay. I’m fine.”

She swiped her palm across her face to wipe away the water.
Darn rain. Surely she had mascara streaks streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m fine, too.” His gaze strayed to the raindrops coming in
through the open window. Tilting his head, he said, “You’re welcome to take a
seat if you’d rather continue your interrogation someplace dry.”

Gabby stepped back and shook her head. “No, thanks.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do I look like some kind of murderer?”

“Frankly, I’ve got no idea. I’ve never met a murderer.” His
wide-eyed reaction spurred her to tease him. “But Ted Bundy was good-looking,
so for all I know, you’re a serial killer.”

Instead of arguing, his devilish smile emerged, which set
free a thousand butterflies in her stomach. A magical, brightening sensation
she hadn’t felt in years and now wished she could capture in a box to take home
to experience again and again and again.

His lethal smile expanded. “You think I’m good-looking?”

As if he didn’t already know. Every woman on the planet would
consider him handsome . . . and sexy. She could only imagine how
fine his dark, curly hair would look when it dried. Fistfuls of it, she knew
that much. Broad shoulders—very broad—and a square jaw. Amber-colored eyes set
deeply beneath dark, heavy brows, although those eyes looked quite melancholy
for someone wearing that smile.

She crossed her arms and chuckled. “That’s all you heard?”

“I’ve got a talent for homing in on the most important point.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2013 Lorah Haskins

Jamie Beck is a former attorney with a passion for inventing stories about love and redemption. In addition to writing novels, she also enjoys dancing around the kitchen while cooking, and hitting the slopes in Vermont and Utah. Above all, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family.

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