A Night To Remember

by Gina Wilkins

But she was already patting the thing, crooning softly into one of its scraggly ears. “Don’t be afraid, baby. We’re not going to hurt you—and we’re not going to leave you here like this.”

  They weren’t? No, of course they weren’t, Andrew told himself in resignation, studying the meltingly compassionate look on Nicole’s lovely face. “I’ll use the car phone to call the animal shelter,” he offered.

  “I doubt that there will be anyone available on New Year’s Eve to come rescue a stray dog.”

  He frowned. “Then what do you expect to do with it?” he asked.

  She eyed the Range Rover.

  Alarmed, Andrew held up his hands. “Now, wait a minute. Surely you don’t think—”

  “She seems like a very sweet dog,” Nicole said entreatingly. “She’d make a very nice pet.”

  “I doubt that your motel would appreciate you taking in a dirty stray,” he pointed out.

  She shook her head. “No dogs are allowed there. But maybe you—”

  “I do not want a dog,” he cut in firmly.

  “Are you sure? Strays are usually the best pets. They’re so grateful and loyal and—”

  “Nicole,” he interrupted again. “I don’t want a pet.”

  She seemed to accept his flat refusal. “All right,” she conceded with a sigh. “I know someone who’ll take her in and give her a good home. Will you drive us there?”

  He looked at the filthy mutt again and thought of the impeccable interior of his month-old Range Rover. The plush carpet. The soft leather seats. The lingering, new-car smell. “Well, I—”

  He stopped and cleared his throat, conscious that he was being regarded by two pairs of large, beseeching brown eyes. He sighed. “The dog has to ride in the back,” he muttered. “I’ll spread out the blanket I keep in my emergency supplies.”

  It was almost worth the bother to be on the receiving end of Nicole’s brilliant smile. “Thank you,” she said, leaping up to kiss his cheek. “I knew you couldn’t just leave her here.”

  He shifted his feet and avoided her eyes. “I’ll go open the hatch. You see if you can talk it into coming with us.”

  No persuasion was required. The dog stayed as close as a shadow to Nicole, its scrawny tail wagging pitifully.

  Andrew opened the hatch, spread the thin blanket carefully over his carpet, and stepped back, hoping for the best. Nicole crooned again to the dog, and patted the blanket invitingly. After only a moment’s hesitation, the dog jumped into the vehicle.

  “Stay there,” Andrew said to the animal, then closed the hatch. “Get in,” he said a bit more curtly than he’d intended to Nicole. “You’re shivering. You really should wear your damned coat.”

  She didn’t seem to take offense at his tone. She probably understood by now that he didn’t react comfortably to dramatic changes in his routine. She only nodded and hurried into her seat.

  Almost the minute Andrew climbed behind the wheel and started the engine, the dog sailed over the back seat, landed on soft leather, and then tumbled into the floor behind Andrew’s seat. It rested its head on the console between Andrew and Nicole, shivering and watching them out of anxious, adoring eyes.

  Andrew sighed. Looked like he’d be sending the Range Rover off for an interior cleaning after the holiday. He wasn’t sure it would ever smell quite the same again.

  Giving Andrew an apologetic look, Nicole patted the dog and murmured soothingly to it. “She’s hungry,” she said. “Maybe we should stop at that convenience store ahead and get her something to eat.”

  Great, Andrew thought. Dog hairs and food crumbs on my carpet.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said tonelessly. “No problem.”

  He turned into the otherwise unoccupied parking lot of the convenience store/service station. “I’ll go in and find something. You try to keep the dog from ruining my leather,” he suggested without much hope.

  Nicole smiled at him. “I’ll do my best.”

  Even annoyed with her, he found that he was no more immune to her smile than he’d been from the start. He nodded. “I won’t be long.”

  There was only one occupant in the store, a shaggy-haired, bored-looking young man who was standing behind the counter, leafing desultorily through a men’s magazine. “Help you?” he asked without looking up.

  “Do you have any dog food?”

  The clerk motioned toward the back of the store. “Not much to choose from,” he said. “What we’ve got’s all in that corner.”

  “Thanks.” Andrew studied the limited selection, finally choosing a small box of burger-shaped dry patties. He’d just returned to the counter when Nicole entered the store. He noted that she was wearing her glittery black coat this time.

  “Since we’re having to postpone our meal, I thought I’d grab a candy bar or something to tide me over,” she explained. “Want something?”

  He started to decline, then shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Anything with chocolate and peanuts. And a cola to wash it down.” He set the dog food on the counter and reached for his wallet. The clerk put the magazine aside and turned toward the register.

  Nicole had just set her snack selections on the counter beside the dog food when the door burst open. The teenager who entered reminded Andrew of the neglected dog—dirty and ragged and desperate-looking. Unlike the dog, however, this stray looked dangerous.

  Andrew instinctively braced for trouble.

  “Get back away from the counter!” the newcomer shouted at Andrew and Nicole, pulling a gun out of the front of his jacket. “Just stand there and be quiet, you hear?”

  Andrew spread his hands and backed away, staying between Nicole and the gunman.

  Apparently satisfied that the man in the tuxedo and the slender woman behind him posed no threat, the robber turned to the clerk, whose bored expression had hardly changed. Andrew wondered if middle-of-thenight holdups were routine for the guy.

  “Open the register and give me the money. And hurry,” the punk ordered.

  The clerk nodded and punched a button to open the register. The gunman turned toward Andrew.

  “Put your wallet on the counter,” he said, growing more confident when there was no resistance to his demands. The gun wasn’t quite steady in his hand, but it obviously gave him a sense of invulnerability.

  Andrew had already memorized the teenager’s face and clothing for a description to the police. He assumed security cameras were taping the scene, as well. He wasn’t eager to hand over his wallet, but he wouldn’t risk Nicole’s safety by resisting. He slid the wallet out of his pocket and tossed it onto the counter, without taking his gaze from the weapon.

  “You,” the punk said, motioning toward Nicole. “I’ll take that necklace. And those earrings.”

  Andrew winced. The kid was getting a bit too cocky. Hadn’t he ever heard of pushing one’s luck?

  And then he heard Nicole speak, more anger than fear in her husky voice. “No.”

  Andrew’s eyebrows shot up in surprised displeasure. He looked over his shoulder to where Nicole stood with one hand over her diamond necklace, her chin lifted in defiance as she stared the gunman down. “Nicole—”

  The teenager narrowed his eyes in anger at this first sign of resistance. “I said gimme the stuff. Now.”

  “And I said no,” she replied calmly. “They’re mine. You can’t have them.”

  “Damn it, lady, I’ve got a gun!”

  “I can see that. Unless you plan to use it on me, I suggest you take the money and get out of here. Or better yet, leave the money and go before you get arrested. It’s just plain foolish to throw away your future for a fistful of cash.”

  Andrew shifted to keep himself firmly planted between Nicole and the weapon. “Nicole, don’t try to reform him,” he muttered. “Just cooperate so we can get out of here without trouble, okay?”

  “I’m not giving him my necklace,” she replied flatly. “He has no right to take it.”

  Andrew tensed. The store clerk watched the conf
rontation with the first spark of interest Andrew had seen him display.

  “This gives me the right to take what I want!” the kid yelled, recklessly waving the gun.

  “I don’t think so,” Nicole snapped in return. “Apparently, it just makes you stupid.”

  Enraged, the would-be robber growled low in his skinny throat and moved toward Nicole.

  Andrew sighed, knowing that trouble was now unavoidable. Taking advantage of the punk’s single-minded concentration on Nicole and her necklace, Andrew subtly shifted his weight, then swung his right foot out in a smooth, graceful arch. His foot connected solidly with the kid’s hand. The gun clattered to the floor several feet away.

  Panicking, the robber turned to fight back. His head down, he rushed at Andrew, hitting him with his full weight—some thirty pounds less than Andrew’s slim but solidly conditioned build.

  Andrew didn’t even stumble. He used the kid’s momentum against him, grabbing him and turning to send him crashing into à metal rack of packaged pastries. Cream-filled cupcakes and sponge cakes flew in every direction. The kid groaned and struggled to get up.

  Andrew set a foot solidly in the middle of the teenager’s back. “You might as well lie there and rest awhile,” he drawled. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

  Already, he could hear the wail of sirens drawing closer. He assumed the clerk had calmly pushed a silent alarm when the holdup had begun. He nodded approval to the clerk, who grinned back at him. The fallen teenager struggled in vain for a few moments more, then subsided into disgruntled mutterings, overpowered by Andrew’s weight.

  Andrew glanced at Nicole. “You okay?”

  She was staring at him in obvious amazement. “I’m fine. Andrew, you were wonderful!”

  He shrugged, still irritated, and now embarrassed. “I stay in shape with karate training,” he admitted.

  His defeated assailant groaned from the floor. “I gotta hold up Clark Kent,” he muttered in disgust.

  Andrew settled his foot a bit more firmly, not enough to hurt the kid, but heavy enough to warn him not to try anything more. “Shut up, ”he said. “I’m getting tired and cranky.”

  The kid lapsed into sullen silence.

  “Actually, you’re more like Bruce Wayne than Clark Kent,” Nicole added, the irrepressible humor coming back into her voice. “You handled him without any super powers.”

  Andrew shot her a look that made her go quiet, though she was still smiling.

  It didn’t take the police long to place the young felon in custody and take statements from Andrew, Nicole and the store clerk. Relieved that it was over, Andrew watched the patrol car pull away and turned back to the counter to retrieve his wallet.

  “What’s the total?” he asked the clerk, anxious to be on his way. By now, the cursed dog had probably peed all over his carpet, he thought crossly.

  “Seven ninety-eight,” the clerk replied, and settled back into his former position, the boredom returning to his plain face.

  Andrew slapped a five and three ones on the counter and grabbed the dog food, not bothering to wait for his two cents change. “You get the snacks,” he said, turning toward Nicole. “We’ll—”

  The words broke off in a startled grunt when his right foot came down on something slick, then shot out from beneath him. Caught off guard, he flailed for balance, then fell. His head smacked hard against the metal lower shelf of the still overturned pastry rack.

  He saw stars. And then saw an angel in the center of them. He blinked Nicole’s worried face into focus, realizing that she was kneeling beside him.

  “You’re bleeding!” she exclaimed, touching his forehead. “Oh, Andrew, it’s a nasty cut. It will probably need stitches.”

  Someone had crawled into his skull and was apparently doing some mining, complete with explosives and jackhammers. He lifted an unsteady hand to his forehead in a vague attempt to keep his aching head from falling off. His glasses were missing, he noted.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit slurred to his own ears.

  “You slipped on a Twinkle.”

  “Heel.”

  “You okay, man?” the clerk asked, leaning over the counter. “I only work here, so if you’re going to sue, it’ll have to be the owner.”

  “I just want to get out of here,” Andrew muttered, groping for a support. He found his glasses, folded them and stuck them into his pocket. A trickle of blood rolled down the left side of his face; he smeared it with the back of his hand as he tried to get up.

  Nicole caught his outstretched hand and helped him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed a bit. “Maybe we should call an ambulance,” she fretted.

  “No ambulance. Let’s just go.” Gritting his teeth against the pain in his head, he headed for the door, then paused and turned to snatch the dog food off the floor.

  Still carrying the candy bars and soda cans, Nicole hurried after him. “I’d better drive this time.”

  It was a measure of his discomfort that he didn’t bother to argue with her.

  NICKY WAS ELECTED to drive again forty minutes later when she and Andrew left the emergency room of the hospital. Andrew sported a white bandage over his left eyebrow; fortunately, the cut hadn’t required stitches, and there had been no evidence of a concussion.

  Andrew had taken the treatment stoically, though it was obvious that he hadn’t enjoyed waiting in a large room filled mostly with a motley crowd of patients suffering from an excess of holiday celebration.

  The stray dog greeted them enthusiastically when they climbed back into the Range Rover. Nicky had walked it while Andrew was being treated, so it hadn’t soiled the interior of the vehicle, though the pungent, dirty dog smell was particularly strong now. From the corner of her eye, she saw Andrew wrinkle his nose as he slid carefully into the passenger seat.

  “Are you all right?” she asked him before starting the engine.

  He nodded, then put a hand to his head as if the motion had caused him discomfort. “Fine,” he muttered. “Just dandy. What are we going to do about this dog?”

  “My uncle will take her. He loves animals. His old dog died a few months ago, and he hasn’t gotten another yet.”

  “It’s after 3:00 a.m. He won’t be happy with you bringing him a stray at this hour.”

  “Oh, he won’t mind. Uncle Timbo doesn’t sleep.”

  “You mean, he sleeps days?”

  “No. I mean he doesn’t sleep. Not for more than a couple of hours at a time, anyway. He’s a little...well, eccentric.”

  Andrew leaned his head back against the support and closed his eyes. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he murmured.

  Nicky bit her lower lip. She’d wanted Andrew to meet the real Nicole Holiday this evening; she just hadn’t expected the introductions to go quite like this. It would be a wonder if he ever wanted to see her again once the dog was delivered and he’d seen her to her motel.

  She found that realization more than a little depressing. Unfortunately she was becoming more fascinated by the minute by Andrew Colton Tyler III. He was much more than a pretty face and great body, she’d discovered. And while his money and power didn’t particularly impress her, his quiet competence did.

  He seemed to handle even the most startling development with equanimity, reacting in the most logical and efficient manner. Just look at the way he’d handled the twerp at the convenience store.

  She was still amazed every time she recalled the way Andrew had calmly disarmed and subdued the kid. She’d thought he looked vaguely intimidating before. And then she’d seen the way he’d looked when that hoodlum had started toward her with an unveiled threat in his beady eyes. She had fully realized then that Andrew was not a man one would want to cross.

  She didn’t think Andrew lost his temper often; she didn’t think he would have to. Just a hint of the power hidden behind that cool facade of his would be enough to alarm most people.

  Nicky had always admired peopl
e who didn’t fall to pieces in a crisis. She’d always considered herself to be that type; in her family, she’d had to be the strong one. So, she and Andrew had that trait in common—though she wasn’t sure he would see it that way.

  She’d been driving north for more than fifteen minutes, lost in her own thoughts while the dog dozed on the floor behind her seat and Andrew sat quietly, apparently recuperating. Andrew finally broke the silence. “Where does your uncle live?”

  “Tipton County. The nearest town to him is Munford.”

  “How long will it take us to get there?” he asked, sounding resigned.

  “Another half hour,” she estimated. If I speed a bit, she could have added, but wisely did not.

  Andrew touched his head again, making her wonder just how badly it was hurting him. “You aren’t too tired to drive?”

  She shook her head. “I slept late this morning. I’m not at all tired.”

  He nodded and leaned back against the headrest again. “If you don’t mind, I’ll rest awhile.”

  “Go ahead,” she said generously. “You need it.”

  He glanced over the seat, apparently satisfying himself that their canine hitchhiker wasn’t causing any trouble, then closed his eyes. Studying him in the shadows, Nicky noticed that he had very long eyelashes for a man. His cheeks were firm and lean, his chin strong and just faintly cleft.

  His mouth was delectable. Beautifully shaped, even if it rarely curved in a smile. Two deep vertical creases were carved between his eyebrows, furthering the impression that he frowned a lot—either from displeasure or deep concentration. Perhaps both.

  He would not be an easy man to know or to love, she’d bet. But she couldn’t help being drawn to him. He had looked at her so flatteringly in the club, had danced with her so attentively. He’d left his friends and family without a backward glance when she’d asked, and had mingled among her own uninhibited crowd with patience and civility. He’d allowed a filthy mongrel into his impeccable Range Rover without much protest, and had then relentlessly overtaken a young tough with a gun. Now he was trusting her with his vehicle and his life on the road to a destination unknown to him.