She winced. Okay, it was a big fat lie. A horrendous, ridiculous lie that made her squirm with shame.
But if it worked...
The door to the diner opened. Brooke straightened, her gaze glued to the man emerging into the sunshine. He paused as if to study his surroundings—and turned in her direction. Her breath caught, then rushed out in a whoosh of disbelief.
He wasn’t young, as she expected.
He wasn’t scruffy, as she’d imagined.
And he wasn’t handsome, as Dee described.
No, he wasn’t any of those things.
The man made every fantasy every woman had ever had about a man pale in comparison.
And he acted as if he knew it.
A square, stubborn jaw shadowed by a day’s growth of beard thrust upwards as he squinted at the sun. Even from a distance of twenty yards or so, Brooke could see the black fringe of his lashes. His dark, wavy hair, cut in a careless style that screamed sexy, brushed the collar of his hunter-green shirt. His rolled sleeves revealed more dark hair along his arms, and Brooke knew with a certainty his chest would be a temptation of soft, matching curls that would dwindle in a provocative line to his—
Her bulging gaze dipped, focusing on muscled thighs and a prominent crotch outlined by his jeans, before returning hastily to the relative safety of his face.
He was big, tall, and drop-dead gorgeous.
Her heart sank. This man would probably consider Dee a snack in between meals, for it was clear by his arrogant, self-assured stance that here was a man used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it, how he wanted it—and without even trying he’d make the woman love it.
Good grief, even her heart was beating like a wild thing, and she didn’t even like the man! Had no reason at all to admire his fantastic looks, or to note the confident way he moved.
“Oh, Dee,” Brooke whispered, surprised at the dry, croaky sound of her voice even as her anger toward this careless heartbreaker rose. “You’ve gone and done it this time. It would take a dedicated nun or a blind woman to resist a man like this one, and you’re neither.”
She wasn’t, either, but righteous anger was her weapon, and she felt confident it would be more than enough to keep her head clear and her libido in cold storage.
Ignoring her pounding heart, Brooke took a deep breath and reached for Hugo on the seat beside her. She curled her fingers around the smooth, hard plastic base of the test model. Disguised by her jacket pocket, she hoped it would make a convincing weapon.
It was time to force the piper to pay.
Chapter Two
Quicksilver turned out to be a friendly little town, and the food wasn’t bad, either, Alex decided as he stepped from the cool air of the diner into the warm June sunshine. If nothing else good happened as a result of his stop, he’d walk away with the memory of the best peach cobbler he’d ever tasted—and a copy of the recipe.
Alex smiled faintly, giving his shirt pocket a satisfying pat where the recipe lay neatly folded. The owner of the diner, a forthright, earthy woman who had reminded him of Gloria, had assured him the recipe was as simple as one-two-three. In return, Alex had left her a twenty-dollar tip.
Yes...Quicksilver was a warm, friendly—
“See that blue Pinto over there? I want you to walk very slowly to the driver’s door and get inside.”
The low, menacing voice that came from behind startled Alex. Something hard probed his spine, halting his impulsive turn before he could get a glimpse of her face.
“Don’t try anything funny. This isn’t a screw driver in my pocket, lover boy.”
After his initial surprise, Alex realized it had to be a joke. He was standing in full daylight outside a busy diner, a highly unlikely time and place for a robbery.
Of course it was a joke.
Then he remembered his father didn’t have much of a sense of humor, and that his grandfather didn’t, either. They would never pull a stunt of this magnitude. It was a waste of time and money—two of the things they valued most.
On the heels of that uneasy realization was the memory of Gloria’s warning: rats can be dangerous when cornered. Just remember that. Had someone from the factory discovered he was in town? Had he been too hasty in dismissing the possibility of danger?
“You thought you were going to hear a hot story, didn’t you?” the voice continued to rasp as they inched across the parking lot of the diner toward a dented, rusted old Pinto. She continued to hold the point of her weapon firmly against his spine. “Well, I’ve got a hot story for you, but I don’t think you’re going to like it, and I’ve got a hunch the only person you’re going to be telling it to is a judge.”
Alex got his first glimpse of his kidnapper as she reached around him to open the car door. The word danger suddenly seemed ludicrous.
She was small—incredibly small. Her head barely reached his shoulder.
She didn’t look big enough to harm a flea.
“Don’t be fooled by my size,” she snapped as if she’d read his mind, tossing her short, strawberry blonde hair aside to reveal glittering, whiskey-colored eyes. “I know how to use this.” She wiggled the pocket of her jacket up and down, drawing his gaze to the outline of the weapon.
It looked like the barrel of a gun, all right.
Alex felt his eyebrow climb, and quickly put a halt to the motion. Until he found out what she wanted, he figured it might be safer to keep his amusement to himself. Instead, he said, “If you plan to rob me, I think it might interest you to know that my credit cards are in my briefcase, and my briefcase is in my hotel room.”
“I’m not interested in robbing you, lover boy.” Her contemptuous gaze crawled slowly along his body, pausing on his boots. Her lip curled. “You’ve got nothing I want, but apparently some poor family of lizards had something you wanted. Get in.”
“Rattlesnake.”
She blinked up at him. “What?”
“Rattlesnake. The boots are rattlesnake skin.”
“Oh, well, in that case...it’s a shame some poor rattlesnake had to die so that you could wear his skin,” she amended sarcastically. “Now get in the car.”
Alex sat on the seat, swiveled around, and drew his legs up. His left knee barely fit between the steering wheel and the door panel...if there had been a door panel. It was gone, revealing the rusty inner workings of the door. In fact, he didn’t see a door release, either, which meant escaping while she scurried around to the passenger’s seat wasn’t an option. So he settled his hands on his knees and waited as she climbed into the passenger seat.
Her knees had plenty of room, Alex noticed.
Gloria would probably call him crazy, but he was more intrigued than frightened. The woman had an agenda, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was. She wasn’t altogether as cool as she’d like him to think, either, because he could see her free hand trembling as she pulled the creaky car door closed.
“Start the car and get going,” she ordered.
Alex turned the key and started the engine. He pressed his foot hard on the accelerator, figuring he’d have to give it a goose to get the old thing going. Gravel spun beneath the wheels; the car backfired with a loud pop. She shrieked and glanced at her jacket pocket.
Alex prudently turned his face away to hide an involuntary smile. Whoever she was, it was becoming clearer with each passing moment that kidnapping wasn’t her forte. He just hoped she didn’t accidentally shoot herself or him before they reached their destination.
Speaking of which...”May I ask you where we’re going?”
“You can ask, but that doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” She shot him a glowering look that completely mystified Alex before adding, “You’ll find out soon enough. Just keep driving.”
A black pickup pulled onto the road in front of them, forcing Alex to slam on the brakes and quickly swerve around it, narrowly avoiding a very nasty rear-end crash. The accident wasn’t nearly as shocking as the sound of her furious voice.
> “Moron!” she shouted at the vehicle, leaning over and slamming the heel of her hand against the wheel. The warbling sound the horn made resembled a groan more than a honk, which didn’t surprise Alex. If anything, he was amazed the horn worked at all after suffering that type of abuse.
This time he didn’t hide his smile in time.
“You think this is funny?” she demanded, pressing her foot on top of his and pushing hard.
They accelerated at the speed of light, and Alex couldn’t help but be impressed with the old car’s performance. When she finally removed her foot, he said, “What amuses me is your aggressive driving. Did you know they have classes you can take?”
The glance she cut his way should have sheared him in two. She carried a lot of heat in those whiskey-colored eyes, he decided, his gaze dropping to move along her body. A hunger pain tightened his groin.
“Take my word for it; the only thing you get from those classes is a serious case of heartburn—stop looking at my legs!” She yanked ineffectively at her short denim jumper, aiming her jacket pocket at him again.
Her tanned legs were shapely and interesting to look at, but they weren’t to die for, he decided hastily, glancing away. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”
He could clearly hear the sound of her teeth grinding as she said, “I should stop the car and shoot you right here and now. It’s scum like you who give other men a bad name, you know.”
No, he didn’t know. In fact, he didn’t have a clue as to what she meant by that low-voiced, contemptuous remark. He didn’t get the opportunity to ask, however.
“You want a hot story? Well, I’ll give you one. You, Mr. Hotshot, are not going to get away with it. No, sirree. You are going to own up to your part in this little adventure. You are going to pay, and you are going to pay for a long, long time. Eighteen years, in fact. Maybe longer if the kid decides to go on to college.”
Okay, so this was not a simple robbery. The woman was obviously delusional—quite possibly insane—therefore more dangerous than he’d first thought. Alex was embarrassed for not realizing it sooner. Those amber eyes had distracted him, along with her bare legs.
He cleared his throat and asked, careful to keep his voice neutral, “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”
She ignored his question, glancing instead at the speedometer. Alex followed her gaze; the needle hovered around seventy. Where were the cops when you needed them? he wondered. And what in the hell did she have beneath the dented hood, a racing engine?
Her next statement wiped his mind clean of all thoughts with the exception of one, and that one thought was clear and precise.
“We’ve got condoms lying all over the house, and you just had to pick the one with a hole in it.”
The vote was in; the woman wasn’t just delusional, she was certifiable.
****
He didn’t even have the decency to be embarrassed by her bald statement, Brooke fumed. Just as he hadn’t been afraid when she pressed Hugo into his back and demanded he get into the car.
He thought it was amusing—that she was amusing. He probably thought getting Dee pregnant was a joke, as well. And then to have the utter gall to stare at her legs as if he were eyeing a juicy leg of lamb! He was scum, all right. Engaged to one woman, impregnating another, and ogling her.
She almost wished she had a loaded gun.
Brooke took a slow, measured breath and forced her anger just below the exploding point. There was nothing handy to break, so she would just have to ride this one out.
Eventually, rational thought returned.
Thank God she didn’t have a loaded gun. Kidnapping was serious enough without adding homicide to her list of crimes. She shuddered to think what would happen if her plan backfired and the couple didn’t work things out. He could—and probably would—press charges against her. She would go to prison, and Dee would have to raise the baby alone. Maybe she could convince Logan and Dean Jr. to move back to town and keep an eye on their baby sister.
“I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”
His calm announcement made her jaw drop. She snapped it closed long enough to swallow a ball of raw fury. In all of the scenarios she pictured in her mind about what might occur when she came face to face with Mr. Sure Shot, she hadn’t once considered that he might deny knowing Dee at all.
She squeezed Hugo so tightly she imagined she heard the plastic crack. If it had been a gun, and her finger had been on the trigger, she would have put this—this womanizer—out of his misery.
Despite several attempts, she couldn’t will the shaking from her voice. “Do you have any idea how many children are raised without fathers these days? Do you have the slightest inkling how difficult it is to raise a child single-handedly? Well, let me tell you, Mr. Sure Shot, it’s damned hard. I’m a supervisor at a factory, as you probably know from Dee, and there are about two dozen women who work under me. Out of those two dozen, at least half are single mothers.”
“You—”
“I’m not finished.” Brooke struggled for control. “Those women will do anything for their children. They grab all the overtime they can get to buy those special gym shoes or to pay for those dance classes—and those are just a few examples—while at the same time suffering enormous guilt for the hours they’re not spending with their children. I’ve seen women come to work and stumble around all day after being up all night with a sick child. They don’t even come close to making production. Exhausted, sick with worry, they end up taking sick leave for themselves.”
“Why don’t they just take it when their child is sick?”
Brooke took a deep breath. He’d sounded almost human, and genuinely concerned. Maybe she was getting through to him. Personal dislikes aside, she had to remember he was the father of Dee’s baby. “Because the company doesn’t pay for sick days unless the employee has a doctor’s excuse.”
“I see.”
He was silent for a moment. When she glanced at him, she was surprised to find him frowning. Rugged, tanned, and far too handsome for comfort, she couldn’t help but notice.
Dee had noticed, too, and look at the mess she was in!
“Has anyone attempted to talk to someone in charge about this?” he finally asked.
As if he cared. Brooke shot him a suspicious, narrow-eyed look. Was he trying to distract her from the subject at hand? Well, it wasn’t going to work. But for Dee’s sake, she answered, “Yes. Kyle Lotus, the plant manager.” Another two-timer—no, make that four-timer—just like you, she wanted to add, but didn’t. “He says the new boss isn’t interested in losing money, only in making it.”
“And this Lotus person, he says he talked to the owner directly?”
“Yes.” Impatiently, Brooke added, “Look, I know what you’re trying to do, so drop the concerned act, okay? Let’s get back to the baby and Dee.”
“Dee.”
“My sister,” she snapped, hearing the question in his voice but not believing it. He knew damned well who Dee was! She wondered viciously if he’d captured the rattlesnake while fighting over the same hole. It wouldn’t surprise her one little bit.
“And you would be...?”
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud! I’m Brooke Welch—same last name, and don’t say that Dee hasn’t told you about me. I know that she has, although I can’t say the same for you. I didn’t find out about you until this morning, and believe me when I say that after meeting you, I wish I hadn’t. The only thing worse than a reporter is a two-timing reporter.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You believe that I’m the father-to-be of your sister’s baby, and you’ve kidnapped me in the hopes of convincing me to accept responsibility.”
“I don’t just believe it—I know it. Dee would have no reason to lie.”
“I’m not saying she lied,” came his surprising answer.
“Then you admit it?” He was silent long enough to elicit a loud, aggravated sigh from Brooke. �
��Well?”
“I’m saying...that you don’t know the whole story.”
“Then please enlighten me, by all means,” Brooke drawled sarcastically. “And while you’re getting your lie straight, make a left at this next road.” She pointed to a dirt road branching from the black top. He slowed the Pinto and made the turn, frowning as he eyed the road.
Grass grew tall in the middle, brushing the underside of the car. Brooke prayed the coat hanger holding the muffler to the carriage would hold. For some odd reason, the possibility of it falling off with him in the car embarrassed her. She’d never cared before, and certainly couldn’t fathom why she would now. If this gold-digger didn’t realize her car was a classic, then it was his loss.
“Why don’t we make a deal? We’ll take turns asking questions. The first one to refuse a question loses a turn.”
Brooke was so stunned by his absurd suggestion, she shifted her foot over and slammed it onto the brake pedal. The Pinto ground to a stop. There was a familiar clatter that made Brooke groan inwardly. She’d been so worried about the muffler that she’d forgotten that damned ornery hubcap!
She pointed Hugo right at his black heart. “In case you’ve missed it, you’re not in a bargaining position, lover boy. Now, get out and put the hubcap back on the wheel.”
His grayish green eyes never wavered from her face; the challenge was clear. “Well, if you’re too chicken...”
“I’m not chicken.” And she wasn’t falling for his childish attempt to dare her into playing his game. Dee’s future and that of her unborn baby were not a game.
But dammit, she was curious. She watched him as he rolled the window down and opened the door from the outside. He was back in the car in a flash, muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he folded himself behind the wheel.
A Perfect Fit Page 2