“Did you quit or get fired?” Garrett grunted when the wheels of the Rabbit dipped into a pothole.
Murphy felt his gaze on her. He was waiting for an answer she didn't want to give. It felt funny to be the one answering questions instead of asking them. She was much better at drawing information from people—young people—than she was at divulging any about herself. “Neither,” she replied vaguely, “yet.”
Leaning forward, she scrubbed the fresh layer of frost off the inside windshield. While she doubted he was satisfied with her answer, she was thankful he didn't push.
“I'll bet you're good at it.”
“At what? Social working?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. She shrugged, and suddenly wished the radio was working. The noise would have been a better, safer distraction than talking.
“Well?” Garrett asked when she didn't answer.
“Well what?”
“Were, or are, you good at it?”
“I used to be.”
“‘Used to'. Past tense?”
“Yes,” she answered flatly.
A few seconds passed before he said, “Do you want me to stop asking you questions?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
While he graciously dropped the subject, he hadn't lost interest in it. She could feel his curiosity like a crackle of static electricity in the cold, breath-misted air. Yet he stopped interrogating her…because she'd asked him to.
Under Murphy's guidance, the Rabbit crept another quarter of a mile down the road. At this rate, they might get to Greenville by New Year's, but she wasn't counting on it.
She was staring to get worried. In the ensuing silence, she had too much time to think. The path her thoughts took worried her. All the questions she'd refused to ask before they'd left the warm, relative safety of her brother's house now came back to haunt her.
What happened if the Rabbit got stuck in a snow drift? Or if they came across an obstruction in the road? Or if the car's battery died again? Or the starter conked out? Or the fanbelt broke?
“Six years.”
Garrett's sudden cryptic disclosure, startled Murphy. She took her attention off the road long enough to send him a curious glance. And immediately wished she hadn't.
He was staring at her mouth, staring at it hard, and his eyes had darkened to a lusty shade of midnight blue.
She felt a shiver of excitement trickle warmly down her spine as even the most minuscule memory of his kiss—the taste of him, the spicy male scent, the feel of her softer, smaller body pressed against his solid chest—came back to her with nerve-shattering clarity.
Swallowing hard, she tore her gaze from his and shifted it back to the road. The windshield had fogged up again. Wiping it vigorously with her sleeve turned out to be a good diversion from her otherwise disturbing thoughts.
“That's how long I've been with the EHPD. East Hartford Police Department,” he explained. “Six years. Seven come February.”
“Oh,” Murphy said, still not sure she believed him about that. Logically, she had no reason not to believe him. Except a duffel bag crammed full of unexplained money and jewelry. And a gun she'd purposely left behind. “It must be an, um, interesting job.”
“That's one word for it. Boring would be a better.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “You can only write out so many speeding tickets before the novelty wears off, Murphy.”
She grinned despite herself. “Ooo, you're modest! Garrett, I'm familiar with cops, remember? Comes with my"—she'd been about to say job, but quickly changed her mind—"with the territory. I know you do a lot more than write out speeding tickets. The life of a cop is anything but boring.”
From the corner of her eye, Murphy saw him grin. It took a second for her breathing to resume, and for her to realize exactly what that breathtaking smile of his meant.
A trickle of unease iced down her spine. The fingers of her left hand gripped the steering wheel, while her right balled into a fist. It was the fist Murphy smacked into his unbelievably hard shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, flashing accusation. “You rat! You tricked me!”
Garrett sneezed twice, then sniffled loudly. “Yeah, I did. Sorry, sweetheart, but I had to know.”
Murphy's posture became rebelliously straight. “You couldn't have just asked me whether or not I believed you? What you just did, Garrett Thayer, was unnecessary, underhanded and…well, it was just plain low!”
“Hey, calm down. I said I was sorry.”
“Sorry isn't good enough! I like it when people are up front with me. I don't like being baited, and I sure as heck don't like it when—!” Murphy stopped yelling abruptly. The cold night air stung her lungs and turned her breath to fog as she sucked in a deep breath, blew it out very slowly, then repeated the process twice more. When she felt sufficiently composed, she said contritely, “My turn to be sorry.”
Garrett glanced at her. “Why? What did you do?”
“I yelled at you, and I shouldn't have.”
“Why not?”
Murphy rolled her eyes. “Knock it off, Thayer. Accept the apology as it stands, no conditions, or I'll be tempted to yell at you again.”
“Fine, I accept it.”
Garrett laughed, a deep, rich baritone that filled the crowded confines of the Rabbit. It was, Murphy realized with a start, a pleasant laugh. One she wouldn't mind hearing again. Often.
THE PAIN WAS starting to get to him. Garrett felt every bump they drove over—and they drove over a lot of them—as though it was a knife cutting through the muscles in his thigh. Murphy had draped a blanket over his lap when she'd come back to the car with his duffel bag and her cat. Garrett now used his good leg to kick the blanket to the floor. He was hot. He suspected he had a fever. That was not a reassuring sign.
Talking helped. It gave him something to think about besides the pain. He found he enjoyed talking to Murphy. She was pleasant, intelligent, polite. Hell, she even yelled nicely…then, just as nicely, apologized for it.
That was rare. And fascinating. Oh, who was Garrett trying to kid? She was fascinating.
He'd had her pegged for a school teacher, but she wasn't. She was a social worker. That had thrown him, but only for a second. Once he'd had a chance to think about it, he decided the profession suited her.
What didn't suit her was the insinuation that she was going to either quit her job or be fired from it. For some reason it didn't sit right. Murphy wasn't a quitter—the way she'd stuck by him proved that. Yet somehow, he couldn't imagine her doing anything so bad that someone would want to fire her for it.
Something had happened at her job to upset her to the point where she was considering leaving it. Something big. He was sure of it. But what?
Whatever it was, he'd hit close to it earlier. Close enough to make the most even-tempered woman he'd ever met yell at him.
Garrett's interest in the matter, in Murphy, intrigued him. Rarely did he care enough about a person to ask what their problems were. Instead, he busied himself with the one thing that was constant, the one thing he could trust: facts. If a situation was none of his business, he butted out. After a week on the force, he'd known he would have his fill of other peoples’ problems; there was no room in his life to go out and court more.
So why did he feel oddly compelled to not only find out what Murphy's problems were, but to help her with them? Why did he want…well, hell, he wanted to know everything about this woman. He didn't know why, he just did.
He turned in the seat until he was facing her. The movement, combined with the front left wheel hitting a rut buried beneath the snow, made him suck in a sharp breath.
She glanced at him, worried, then quickly diverted her attention back to the road. But not before he saw the concern swimming in her pretty green eyes.
He waited until the pain subsided before saying, “You never told me.”
A frown pinched her brow. Did she have any idea how adorable she
looked when her nose wrinkled that way? He didn't think she did. The woman seemed as devoid of conceit as a house with it's paint stripped off. Comfortably baggy clothes, a loose but flattering hairstyle, face bare of makeup. Fresh-scrubbed. That was the word that came to mind as he studied her profile. The tag had a wholesome ring to it.
Ivory Soap. Ninety-nine point forty-four percent pure. And it floats.
When it came to this woman, there was no pretense. What you saw was what you got. What Garrett Thayer saw was an attractive woman with a heart as big as Connecticut. And a problem she steadfastly refused to talk about, but that he suspected was even larger.
Murphy drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, then sighed and shook her head. “You're an aggravating man, Garrett Thayer. Interesting, I'll grant you that, but aggravating.”
Despite the pain throbbing in his leg, he grinned. “I'll take that as a compliment.”
“Take it any way you want. Then you can tell me what you were talking about. What haven't I told you?”
“Your last name.”
“I haven't?”
“Nope.”
“You're sure?”
“Yup.”
“An oversight.”
“One you plan to correct, right?”
She smiled mischievously. If anyone else did that, he would have gotten angry. He wondered why he didn't feel so much as a pinch of irritation with Murphy.
“You aren't going to tell me, are you?” he asked.
It was a statement, not a question. For her own reasons, she graced him with an answer. “I'll make you a deal. Tell me where you came by the money and jewelry"—she nodded to the duffel bag he'd tucked under the passenger seat the second she'd brought it out to the car"—and I'll tell you my last name.”
“And if I don't?”
Her smile broadened. “Let's just say I've always been a sucker for a bad B movie with a good mystery subplot.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Never mind,” Murphy said with a chuckle…a split second before she cursed, and slammed on the brakes.
The car jack-knifed.
Garrett instinctively turned and planted both feet on the floor, trying to brace himself for what may or not be a collision. Christ, not two accidents in one day!
The rear wheels slipped over the snow. The car took a one-eighty turn, with the back wheels finally sliding past the front ones so the car turned around to face their own tire tracks.
After her initial surprise, Murphy pumped the brakes and brought the car under control.
But not before Garrett felt a slicing pain all the way to his right hip, followed by a warm, sticky wetness that said his wound had reopened. Damn! It had only recently stopped bleeding again after his rude acquaintance with Murphy's nephew's floor.
How Garrett remained conscious was something he'd never know. The black edges of pain threatened to engulf him, but he struggled not to let it. In the end, he won…but not until he'd put up one hell of a fight.
He glanced to the left. The car was at a complete stop now, which was probably a good thing, since Murphy had cushioned her forehead against the back of her hands which, in turn, were tightly fisting the top arc of the steering wheel.
“Murphy?” When she didn't answer, Garrett grew alarmed. Had she hit her head? Was she conscious? “Murphy?!”
“What?” she replied miserably.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Fine. Great. Peachy-keen. But I don't think you're going to be when you hear what I have to tell you.”
There was a tightness in his chest that Garrett had never felt before. If he thought his wounded leg would have allowed it, he would have scooted over on the bucket seat, swept Murphy over the stick shift, and lifted her into his arms. “Don't worry about it. Whatever it is, it can't be too important. That you're not hurt is. It's very important.”
“No, you don't understand.”
“Then maybe you should explain it to me?”
She didn't. Instead, Murphy showed him. Bracing her forehead on the back of one hand, she gestured with her the thumb of her other behind them.
Moonshine had slid onto the floor near Garrett's feet. The cat now jumped onto Garrett's left leg and meowed loudly. Without thinking about he was doing, Garrett scratched the cat behind the ears as, scowling, he tracked the path Murphy indicated.
His heartbeat accelerated. The back window was foggy, but not foggy enough to prohibit him from seeing the tree trunk laying at an angle across the narrow, snow-strewn road. “Son-of-a—!”
As though in mockery, the car engine cough, sputtered and died.
Chapter 6
Murphy's Law #6: Two wrongs…are only the beginning.
MURPHY LOOKED at Garrett. “What now?”
“Damned if I know,” he admitted, then sighed. “I guess I could try to move it.”
“Move what? The tree?!”
He nodded.
“You?” Murphy shook her head. “Don't even think about it. You're the one who needed help getting dressed and into the car only an hour ago, remember?”
Moonshine meowed, as though to reaffirm Murphy's reminder should Garrett decide to argue.
Garrett split a frustrated glare between woman and cat. “We can't just sit here and freeze to death. What do you suggest?”
Murphy debated for a second. “The only thing we can do.”
“What's that?”
“Turn around and go back.” With trembling fingers, she twisted the key in the ignition. The engine ground and choked. For a few tense seconds she was positive the car wasn't going to start—it would be just her luck. Oh, yes, this was a bad-B movie scenario that her brother would have loved.
Finally, when she'd given up hope, the motor turned over. The engine hacked its way conscious like a heavy smoker in the early morning.
Murphy's cold fingers curled around the stick shift. She was in the process of pushing the lever into first gear when she felt Garrett's palm cover the back of her hand. His fingers settled naturally, warmly, between the webbing of her own. His big hand dwarfed her smaller, softer one.
Slowly, her gaze slipped up to his.
“We can't turn back,” Garrett said. The raspy whisper of his voice barely overrode the howl of the wind outside. “We've come too far to even consider it.”
Was he talking about turning the car around and heading back for the house…or was there a hidden meaning in his words? She didn't know, and his stony expression gave her no clue.
“I can't lift that tree trunk, and there's no way I'm letting you out of this car to try it,” she said sternly, correctly assessing the glint in his eyes. “If we stay parked here too long, there's an excellent chance the snow will get too deep for us to drive through. It's almost too deep now.” Her sigh was equal parts frustration and resignation. “Think about it, Garrett. Wouldn't it be better to get stuck at the house rather than here? As long as the electricity doesn't go out, the house has heat. And even if the electricity does go out, there's plenty of firewood, blankets, and food.”
“But no doctor.”
“Right. No doctor,” Murphy echoed flatly. She shook her head, wondering how she could ever have thought this man was a thief. Sheesh, he seemed more determined to reach a town and the authorities than she was—and that was saying something! Of course, Garrett had a good reason; he was the one in pain, with a chunk of metal embedded in his thigh. “Let's go back to the house, and you can let me try to take out that—”
“No.”
“Garrett, be reasonable!”
“Damn it, I said no!”
Murphy wasn't the only one startled by the anger in his voice. Moonshine scrambled off of Garrett's lap with a hiss and glare, bounding over the seat and disappearing amongst the shadows on the floor behind them, where it was quiet.
“You're acting like a child,” Murphy said sternly.
He glared at her. “No, I'm not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Am not.�
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“Will you listen to yourself?!” One dark eyebrow lifted as she returned his glare with a level one of her own. “Pouting isn't going to move that tree.”
“And neither are you,” he growled as, crossing his arms over his chest, he shifted his gaze, staring moodily out her side of the breath-fogged windshield.
Pursing her lips, she instantly reassessed. “Moody” wasn't the right term. “Disappointed” would be a more accurate way to describe the frown creasing Garrett's brow.
That he'd taken a huge gamble on the Rabbit making it to town before the roads were closed by the storm was obvious. It was a wager he'd lost. Didn't he have a right to be upset and disappointed? Of course.
On the other hand, Murphy was also right when she'd said he was acting like a child—whether the reaction was justified or not. The observation gave her a starting base. Her job, after all, involved working with children. Usually abused, abandoned, reluctant and stubborn children. Why should the tactics she used on them be any less effective on Garrett Thayer?
Her eyes narrowed, and her gaze raked him. In one sweeping glance she took in his broad shoulders—they looked wider beneath the leather bomber jacket—and his lean, denim-clad hips. She'd pruned away the right leg of his jeans so the snug fitting cloth wouldn't aggravate his wound. The white gauze wrapped around his thigh couldn't conceal the bands of sinew playing beneath. His shins were covered with a dusting of thick, dark gold hair.
With effort, Murphy forced her gaze back to the road. Okay, so he didn't look like any of the kids who trooped through her office every day. Still, he was acting like one of them. That in mind, she softened her tone, edging it with what she hoped was the perfect touch of authority. “The way I see it, our choices are limited. Neither of us can move that tree, and we can't go around it.”
Garrett opened his mouth to argue. A quick glare from Murphy had him snapping it closed so quickly his teeth clicked together. There was no arguing with logic. Apparently, he knew that, although his expression suggested he conceded to the fact only with great reluctance.
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