by Jaycee Clark
She licked her lips. “R-Ryan?”
Oh, God.
“Yeah?” he whispered.
The seat belt. Her fingers fumbled with the latch, and she shook her head. When it snapped open, she turned in her seat.
“Ryan?”
She could see his ashen face in the dim lights. She reached over the seat, her hands running over him.
“I’m okay. I’m fine, Taylor. Are you okay?” he asked, letting her fluster over him.
“Taylor, you’re crying. Are you hurt?” It was the fear lacing his words that stopped her.
A deep breath. She just had to breathe. For one moment, they stared at each other—Ryan’s sky-blue eyes and freckles clear in the low light against his pale cheeks, his scar a pink contrast.
He was okay. He said he was okay. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“I’m okay. Really. You can stop crying.”
She grinned and wiped a hand over her cheeks.
“What happened?” he asked her.
She thought, then shrugged. “I think we hydroplaned.”
“What’s that?”
What was a little accident when it afforded an eight-year-old such questions?
Taylor sighed and sat back, still facing the backseat. “It’s when water comes between the tires and the pavement and you glide instead of stay on the road,” she simplified.
She closed her eyes and reached for her phone.
Damn it! No. She whirled around in the seat, looked in the console. “No. No. No.”
Where was it?
“The phone is charging at home,” Ryan told her.
And a lot of good it did her there. Damn it. Why hadn’t she grabbed it?
Rain pelted down from the heavens again and lightning strobed the outside world.
This was not happening.
What the hell could she do? It was miles back to the town and she could hardly walk in the rain with Ryan and she wasn’t irresponsible or stupid enough to leave him here. Someone could come along and . . .
“Taylor, there are lights over there.”
She jerked around. Sure enough. Headlights winked through the trees.
“Thank you, God.” She reached under her seat and pulled out the umbrella. “Stay in the car.”
“Be careful. The policeman on the Discovery Channel said how you shouldn’t flag cars down and—”
“Yes, and he’s right. But right now, I have little choice.” She opened the door. “Ryan, stay. In. The. Car.”
His huff floated on the air. “Yes, ma’am.”
She shut her door. The sweet smell of rain, musty wet ground, and earthy leaves and mud assailed her. Taylor could barely hear the sound of the car coming. She needed to hurry, or it would pass them by and God only knew when the next one would come.
The slope of the ditch wasn’t easy to climb in her slick-soled shoes, but she reached the top. Huffing, she waited for the car to come around the corner. Already soaked, she cursed the umbrella and tried to keep the rain off.
• • •
Gavin was almost there. Three more miles and he’d be at his brother’s new house, and several miles past that was his parents’ estate. Why his brother wanted to live this close to home was beyond him. He loved his parents, really Gavin did, but the thought of living only a few miles from them was just too much. Oh well, Aiden was different. The party was now probably indoors thanks to the summer thunderstorm.
He’d dealt with the chief of staff, filled out all the paperwork, talked to the lawyers, and still he was pissed.
Gavin hated to brood. Life was too short to brood.
And he was brooding because—
“What the hell!”
He slammed on his breaks, his Lincoln Navigator sliding until the tires caught the pavement again.
A woman stood in the middle of the damn road holding an umbrella. In the glare of his headlights he saw very little, other than she was wet. She stayed in his lights for a moment more, before she hurried over to his side of the car. He noticed then the car in the ditch.
He rolled his window down and yelled, “Let me get off the road.” Checking the rearview mirror, then the other lane, he drove across the yellow line and pulled his SUV off the road, setting the hazards and brake. His headlights shone on the back of a dark Mercedes sedan.
Gavin jumped out of the vehicle and hurried down the small shoulder of the country road. The woman backed up and something niggled his memory at the sight of her jeans and plastered white T-shirt.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Can you help us?” she asked.
“Ma’am?” He calmed his voice. “Are you hurt? Is anyone hurt?” He pulled out his phone and punched 911.
“No,” she said. “No. I don’t think so. We just need some help. I left my phone at home—stupid, I know, and we flew off the road and I was scared Ryan was hurt, but I don’t think he is and . . .” Her voice trailed off.
That voice. He knew that voice.
“Ms. Reese?” he asked.
“What? How do you know me?” She backed up.
How bad could this day get? He was cursed. God hated him.
“Dr. Kinncaid.”
“You,” she groaned.
A moment passed, the rain pelted his hair to his head, thrummed off the top of her nylon umbrella.
“You are the most idiotic woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
“Me? You’re still the arrogant ass you were this afternoon.”
“Arrogant? Well, I’d rather be arrogant than ignorant.”
“Ignorant?” she gasped.
“You were standing in the middle of the road in the rain in the dark.” He walked towards her, and she no longer backed up. “I could have killed you.”
She huffed and muttered, but he didn’t catch it. Finally, she turned and started back down the hill. The car sat at an odd angle in the bottom of the ditch, the front right fender hissing against a small oak tree.
“Of all the guys, in all the cars, on all the roads,” she said, loud enough for him to hear.
“I could say the same of you.” He skidded down the embankment after her.
From the interior, a shadow moved. A small someone.
“Are you certain no one was hurt?” he asked again.
He wasn’t surprised when she ignored him and kept going to the car.
“Ms. Reese.”
She stopped and turned. “What?”
He strode up to her, ignoring the rain that fell down in buckets. “Are. You. Hurt?”
Her sigh huffed out. “We’re fine, I think.” She looked in the backseat. “Oh, God, he could have been . . . I could have . . . What if . . .”
She took a deep breath and dropped the umbrella.
Gavin picked it up and hit the send button on his phone. While he talked to the dispatcher, he handed her the umbrella back and reached for the woman’s wrist. He didn’t let go, even when she tried to pull away. “I’m a doctor. I’m going to take your vitals whether you like it or not.”
“Check Ryan first.”
Fine. He opened the driver’s door and motioned her to at least sit down. Quickly and concisely he relayed pertinent information to the dispatcher. Then he opened the back door. The kid stayed in the far corner.
“Hey,” Gavin said, leaning down. “I’m Dr. Kinncaid. Are you hurt?”
The boy looked from him to the front seat. “Taylor?”
“It’s okay. He is a doctor. Are you all right, Ryan?”
The boy nodded. “Yeah, nothing hurts, ’cept my shoulder where the seat belt is.”
Gavin sat in the backseat with the boy and reached over to take his pulse. A little fast, but considering the excitement it was normal. Didn’t appear to be in shock at least.
“Let’s all go up and sit in my car. It’s warm and dry and we’ll wait on the cops and EMTs up there.”
After some grumbling from the front seat and silence from the b
ack, they made their way back up the incline to his Navigator.
Once inside he checked both their vitals, and Ryan’s shoulder. Good rotation, didn’t seem dislocated, and the boy didn’t complain of any pain when moving it. Now here, he saw the boy was slightly pale and looked little like Ms. Reese other than the coloring of his hair. The boy’s was a dark red-brown color. He had freckles like his mom. A large pink scar cut a jagged mark down the left side of his face, over his eye. As a doctor, Gavin wondered what happened, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he said, “You’ll probably be bruised tomorrow, but I don’t think any damage was done.”
Taylor’s snort drew his attention to her. He didn’t say a word, just reached over and took her wrist again, noticing how delicate the bones were. Her hand shook.
“Your fingers are like ice.”
She, on the other hand, could be in shock.
He reached over and flicked on the heater even though it was a good seventy degrees outside. The faint whiff of flowers floated to him across the seats.
Sirens wailed through the night. “Cavalry is coming.”
“This is a day from hell,” she said.
He tried to get her to look at him, but she always kept part of her face adverted.
“Ms. Reese—”
“Oh, call me Taylor,” she snapped.
Gavin couldn’t help but chuckle. “All right, Taylor, if you call me Gavin. Are you certain you didn’t hurt your neck?” He reached up to touch the nape, but she jerked away.
“I said I was fine.”
The woman was touchy and might as well have keep back tattooed on her forehead.
“Oh-kay.” He relaxed in his seat and picked up his phone, dialing Aiden’s number. When the county sheriff’s car and ambulance pulled up, he got out and walked to them.
“Yeah?” his brother asked through the phone.
“It’s me. Sorry, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to make it. Something came up, but I am heading to Mom and Dad’s.”
“Thanks for helping me move,” Aiden said.
Though he knew his brother was joking, he was not remotely in the mood. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up. There are things that I can’t control, you know.”
“Yeah, those women in your life are a real nuisance.”
Gavin ignored the jab and continued. “Like babies, and abusive parents, and dying teenagers.” The cops got out of their car and Gavin held his hand up hoping they’d give him a minute. “Car accidents.”
“Car accidents?” Aiden asked sharply. “Where the hell are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m about a mile from your turnoff and it’s not me, so yeah, I’m okay.” Gavin sighed.
“I’ll be there in a—”
“Everything is fine. Just tell Mom I’ll be late.” He looked back at his car. Did they have a place to stay tonight? It was almost ten at night. “And I might be bringing someone.”
No one answered him. Well, damn Aiden anyway.
Gavin spoke to the EMTs on his quick assessment of the two people in his car. He followed the cops down the embankment and told them what he knew of the accident, which was really very little.
Red and blue lights flashed in the night.
“Gavin!”
Gavin sighed and looked up the slope of the ditch to see his brother’s silhouette. Well, had he really expected Aiden Kinncaid to sit quietly at home after he mentioned an accident?
He nodded to the sheriff’s deputy and walked to where his brother stood frowning. Aiden was shorter, even if he was the oldest Kinncaid brother. Though, truth be known, they were all over six feet. And like Gavin, Aiden inherited their father’s jet-black hair and cobalt eyes. But that’s where the similarities ended. Aiden was a complete family man. Must be the oldest-sibling thing. He ran the family hotel business, and though the others had some say in it all, Gavin couldn’t have cared less except he had shares and he had a trust fund. His passion was medicine.
“What the hell happened?” Aiden asked.
“That woman ran off the road,” Gavin said, pointing to his car, where he saw Taylor sat half in, half out of the open passenger door talking to one of the uniformed officers.
“That woman?” Aiden drawled, a grin hinting.
“Yeah, and the idiot then decided to wave a car down in the middle of the damn road.” The more he thought about it, the madder he was getting again. At her.
“And may I ask what that woman’s name is?” Aiden crossed his arms over his chest.
“Taylor. Taylor Reese. Contrary, incompetent, and annoying.”
Gavin stood staring as the medic turned Ryan’s arm one way, then lifted it higher, holding the shoulder. Another EMT moved the officer away and checked Taylor. He was turning Taylor’s face one way, then the other.
“Interesting,” Aiden drawled again.
Gavin ignored him and walked to the car.
“I don’t know what happened. We were going about fifty, probably closer to forty-five because I’d just slowed down to a crawl to look at the map. Anyway, we took the curve and the next thing I knew, I couldn’t control the car and it was just flying off the road,” Taylor said.
He saw then the shadow darkening the left side of her face. Had she hit the steering wheel? The window? Why the hell hadn’t he noticed it before?
“I thought you said you were fine,” he barked, all but shoving the medic out of the way.
One eyebrow cocked.
He reached out, but she pulled back, her brown eyes reminding him of a fox in the low light, the freckles on her face standing out.
Taylor leaned away from his hand, awareness tingling through her at his nearness.
“I am fine,” she told him, tired.
“You look it, too.”
She glanced at his left hand, and saw there was no ring.
“You’re not married, are you?” she asked. “No wife could put up with your do-as-I-say attitude.”
His eyes left the side of her face and zeroed in on hers. “What a subtle come-on.”
Taylor snorted. “That wasn’t a come-on. You are the most arrogant man I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
He tsked. “You’ve already told me that.” He held up a finger. “Watch my finger.”
“Is it going somewhere?” She huffed out a breath. The man was impossible. “The medic has already done that, thank you very much. I don’t have a concussion or anything else, so just stop being all . . . all . . .”
“My finger.”
She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. This close to him, his scent, some expensive outdoor cologne and rain, wafted between them.
Deciding it took more energy to fight the man than give in on this, she watched as his long, blunt-tipped finger went one way then the other.
“Anything else, Doc?” she asked.
“Yeah, how did you get this?” His brows furrowed as his fingers grazed her cheek. She pulled away, startled at the shock his touch sent through her. Just like earlier when he’d felt her wrist for her pulse. It was like a low electrical hum.
Taylor stared at him, saw the way the soft rain glistened on his dark hair in the lights of the other cars. His square jaw was shadowed with stubble, sprinkled with moisture. For some absurd reason she actually wanted to reach out and touch his cheek.
Which was stupid and just went to show that she must have hit her head, or that Mr. Gibbons had scrambled her brains.
“What happened?” he asked quietly, his voice low and deep like beckoning thunder.
“N-nothing.”
One brow cocked. “It looks like nothing.”
His finger touched it, pressed.
“Ouch.”
“What happened? Looks like someone punched you.”
“Someone did,” Ryan said, standing beside Gavin.
Both black brows rose, then immediately beetled on a frown.
“Who?” Gavin asked her.
Taylor rolled her eyes and glared at her son. “It’s nothing.”
“Who hit your mom?” Gavin asked, partially turning to Ryan.
“A man.”
“What man?”
She was seriously going to have to talk to her son about loyalty. He liked new words, she’d have to teach him that one.
“Mr. Gibbons,” she all but sighed out. “It was Mr. Gibbons.”
Gavin turned back to her, his head cocked. “The father of the girl who died?”
“Yep,” Ryan said. “Knocked her right out of the chair.”
Gavin’s eyes narrowed, the blue hardened, iced. “Out of your chair?” he asked quietly.
Taylor looked to her son. “How do you know that?”
“I heard you talking on the phone to Mrs. Jenkins before we left. You said, ‘Well, yeah, when the man knocks you out of the chair, it tends to hurt.’” Her son’s small shoulders shrugged.
“Look up eavesdropping when we find a dictionary,” she said.
The two males, one who must be in his thirties and the other eight, were not related, but the angry expressions, fierce eyes and tense jaws were identical. She couldn’t help it, she laughed.
“I’m fine, you two. Quit frowning.” To her son, she said, “You know it sometimes happens with what I do.”
His set expression didn’t change. “That doesn’t mean I can’t get mad about it.”
True.
“What were you doing with the man?” Gavin asked.
She sighed. “Is it really that important?”
“Humor me,” he muttered, while his fingers pressed around her eye and gently felt her cheekbone.
Trying not to wince, let alone shove his hand away, she said, “It was a legal meeting. Social Services, lawyers. The cop was outside the door.” She shrugged. “Man just moved really quick.”
Gavin grunted.
What did that mean? Her stomach tensed when his fingertip grazed her hairline near her ear.
“Did you have this checked out? X-rayed?”
The man was a doctor, and a bossy one at that, even if he did smell good.
Taylor made to stand, but he didn’t move.
“Did you?” he asked again.
She glared at him. “I. Am. Fine. It’s only a bruise. They go away.”
He pulled back a fraction and simply stared at her with such an intense expression, she shifted.