Chapter 2
For a moment, Meg couldn’t move, stunned by the sudden jolt of crunching metal. Time seemed to flow in slow motion as she looked around, trying to grasp what just took place.
“Are you okay?” She and Nan exclaimed at the same time.
“I’m fine,” Meg replied first.
“Me, too,” Nan added, though her face paled.
“Come on,” Meg murmured, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Let’s find out what this guy has to say for himself.” She threw open the door and stepped out, literally into the middle of chaos. The accident had created a traffic jam as far as she could see.
Both doors on the pickup flew open. The driver jumped out first, slammed his door and strode toward her. Meg spun in his direction with fists clenched, ready to give this joker a piece of her mind, but one good look told her this guy definitely embodied trouble. His unruly black hair hung just a little too long, his tight, faded jeans revealed just a little too much and his musky cologne smelled just a little too good. He epitomized the definition of a mother’s worst nightmare and the way he strutted up to her proved he knew it. Oh, boy, did he know it.
He towered over her, dwarfing her five-feet-four-inches like a pro-wrestler bearing down on a girl scout. His bronzed, muscular shoulders flexed under a gray T-shirt as large hands gripped his hips. Eyes of royal blue suddenly softened, throwing her off guard.
“Are you girls all right?” His baritone voice boomed over the roar of vehicles maneuvering around them.
“Yeah, we’re fine, no thanks to you.” Meg stared up at him, feeling strangely disadvantaged by his obvious concern.
The care on his lean face turned to frustration. “Look, I’m really sorry. I tried to stop, but it all happened so fast I didn’t see your brake lights until it was too late.”
“What a crock of bull!” Nan said as she circled the hood of the Fiesta and stopped next to Meg. “You’ve been on our tail for miles!”
The passenger of the pickup, a wiry blond fellow sporting a Budweiser T-shirt and matching baseball cap joined the group. He confronted Nan, nose to nose, his tanned face turning a dark crimson. “Whaddya saying, that Denny did it on purpose? You’re crazy, woman!” He pointed to the damage on the front-end of the Ram. “It’s gonna cost him a fortune to fix this!”
Everyone gawked at the Dodge. Somewhere underneath the ailing monster, liquid made a steady drip, drip, drip, on the asphalt.
“Yeah, but the damage to our vehicle is worse,” Nan countered in a huff. Everyone turned and peered at the Fiesta as though viewing a corpse. The left rear quarter panel, bumper and part of the hatchback were crumpled; the tail light was now just a memory.
Meg stared in disbelief. Her quick-starting, smooth-running Fiesta now sat in the middle of I-35, blocking traffic and looking like the ugliest piece of modern art ever created. “My car,” she whispered in shock. “Look what’s happened to my car!”
“No big loss.” The shorter, blond guy shrugged. “It’s only a Ford, anyway.”
Both women gasped in unison.
“Watch it, mister.” Meg glared at him. “That’s my car you’re talking about!”
Denny held up his palms. “Hey, hey, everybody calm down, okay? There’s no need to get upset. We can work this out—”
Meg shoved out her hand. “I’d like to see some proof of insurance.”
Slipping long, tanned fingers into his back pocket, he extracted his wallet and flipped it open. He pulled out a card and offered it to her.
Meg scrutinized the card. His full name read Dennis Daniel Metz. According to his date of birth, he’d just turned twenty-seven, making him only four months older than her. The card also showed current policy dates and full coverage with a reputable company.
“I’m Meg Bristol.” She handed him the card back and pointed to her left. “This is Nan O’Brien.”
“I’m Denny Metz.” Denny offered his hand to Nan.
“Jim Anderson, here,” the blond man piped.
The July temperature climbed with the morning sun, turning the freeway into the desert at high noon. Meg slid out of her gray linen blazer, draping it over her arm. Her white silk shell and straight skirt clung to her skin. The clip she’d twisted her hair into pulled so tight it hurt. “We need to call the police,” she said to Denny to keep her mind off her discomfort.
“I already did.” He cocked his head to one side and squinted to block out the sun. “Rather, my OnStar emergency service did.” He glanced down the freeway. “They should be here any minute.”
Jim let out a sigh that sounded almost happy. “Well, we’re not going to make it to the jobsite today.” At Nan’s quizzical look he replied, “We’re in construction. What about you?”
“We’re librarians.” Nan lifted her head high. “We work at the main library downtown.”
Jim shot Denny a wry ‘I told you so’ glance.
Hmph! Meg held her head high. Working in a library happened to be a very interesting job. Of course, construction workers couldn’t appreciate that. After all, beer drinking and bar brawling was better suited to their expertise!
Whatever...
She turned to Denny, changing the subject. “Do you think I could get my car fixed by Monday?”
“Ah, not really,” Denny said, looking warily at her car. “It takes longer than a weekend to do major body work. Only, in your case, it’s going to take a miracle.”
Meg blinked. “You mean...it can’t be fixed?”
Jim folded his arms as he walked around the back of the car, giving the Fiesta a thorough appraisal. “Not in this life. This baby’s history.”
Denny frowned at Jim then turned to Meg. “What he means is the book value on the car is less than what it would cost to fix it, so you’ll probably just get the cash.”
Outraged, Meg glared at Denny and Jim. “What am I going to do without a vehicle?”
“What’s Denny gonna do?” Jim pointed to the Ram. “The front end’s a mess!”
Meg watched Denny wince as Jim gave a blow-by-blow description of the Ram’s damage and her anger suddenly cooled. Did Denny really deserve all the blame? Perhaps if she’d paid closer attention to her own driving she’d have noticed the slowdown sooner, giving them both more time to stop.
Could things get much worse? The stress of not one, but two disasters back-to-back began to fray her nerves. She’d vowed not to cry, but though she tried to hold it back, her eyes began to mist.
Denny jumped to her side, steadying her with one hand on her arm, his other on the small of her back. “What’s wrong?” His voice turned silky, his touch proved surprisingly gentle. He pulled her close, encouraging her to lean on him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
The tingle of his breath in her ear shifted her pulse into overdrive, triggering warning bells in her head. Then his hand slid around her waist. Oh-oh, she thought as her stomach danced the “Hokey-Pokey” and turned itself around. This guy really knew how to put on the charm, and he had her so flustered she could barely think straight much less explain her problem.
She wanted to lie and swear she felt fine, but all Meg could say sounded like “N-o-o-o...”
Hot Shot Page 3