“Are you okay?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, making her wonder if he was in shock.
“I’m calling 911. I’ve seen a lot of accidents and you could have whiplash.”
“I don’t need an ambulance.” His voice was steady and deep, but the way he put a hand on the back of his neck made her wonder if he was more shaken than he was admitting.
“It’s best to err on the side of caution,” she insisted. “Adrenaline and shock can mask an injury like whiplash or a spinal column misalignment.”
With a grimace, he said, “My back is fine. And I don’t have whiplash.” In his early thirties, he had short, sandy-blond hair and wore a gray dress shirt, the sleeves rolled partway up his forearms.
“You just never know,” she argued. “The stiffness wouldn’t necessarily set in until later.”
He circled his car, his face impassive as he ran his hand over the Mustang’s hood.
“Trust me. I’m fine.”
“If you say so, but if I were you, I’d be stomping my feet and shaking my fist and swearing at that jerk who ran you off the road. You could have been killed! The creep had no right to drive like some bat out of hell. Jerks like him think they own the road and everything in their path.” Catching him looking at her, she said, “Some women cry at emergencies. I get mad. I have a temper. And don’t tell me it goes with my hair.”
“I won’t.”
She thought he might smile. When he didn’t, she heard herself say, “It’s what my boyfriend used to say. My ex-boyfriend. Peter. Cheater Peter.” She had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from continuing. What was wrong with her?
“That explains the ex,” he said in a deep, smooth voice that gave little away. As he examined his loosened mirror, he asked, “Are you an EMT?”
She’d been in the process of smoothing her hands down her shorts and straightening her tank top, and had to stop for a moment to wonder at his question. “Oh,” she said. “You mean because I said I’ve seen a lot of accidents. No, my most recent career jag was driving a tow truck for my dad’s wrecker service near Traverse City.”
She didn’t bother telling him that prior to working for her dad she’d spent three years with a trendsetting marketing firm in L.A. This stranger didn’t need to hear how much trouble she’d had deciding what she wanted to do with her life. Reverting to small talk, she asked, “Do you live in Orchard Hill?”
“A mile from here.” The breeze ruffled his blond hair and toyed with the collar of his shirt.
“I just moved here two days ago,” she said. “In all likelihood, my mother is rearranging the furniture in my new apartment as I speak, while my father adds to his ever-growing list of all the reasons buying a tavern in this college town is a mistake. So, did your life pass before your eyes?”
* * *
Reed did a double take and looked at the talkative woman who’d stopped to make certain he wasn’t hurt. She wore shorts that fit her to perfection and a white tank top that made her arms and shoulders appear golden. A silver charm shaped like a feather hung from a delicate chain around her neck. Her hair, long and red and curly, fluttered freely in the wind. When he found himself looking into her green eyes, he wished he’d have started there.
His gaze locked with hers, and the air went oddly still. In the ensuing silence, he wondered where the birds and the summer breeze and the traffic had gone.
Her throat convulsed slightly, as if she was having trouble breathing, too. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she finally asked.
“Normally,” he said, “I’m the one asking the questions.”
She took a backward step and said, “Are you a lawyer?”
“Why, do I look like a lawyer?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s just that lawyers tend to ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m not a lawyer.”
“A journalist, then?”
“No.”
“A Virgo?” she asked with a small smile.
He had to think about that one because astrology was hardly something he put stock in. “My birthday’s November sixth.”
“Ah, a Scorpio. You water signs are deep. And moody. Obviously.” She shook herself slightly and said, “If you’re sure you aren’t hurt, I’ll be going.”
The smile she gave him went straight to places that made a man stop thinking and start imagining. It was intimate and dangerous, not to mention off-limits, given his present situation.
She glanced back at him as she opened her car door, and said, “Two-X-Z-zero-three.”
“Pardon me?”
“The Corvette’s license plate number.” She started her car, and through the open window said, “It’s two-X-Z-zero-three. I happened to notice it when the jerk flew by me at the city limit sign.”
“You happened to notice it.”
“I have a photographic memory for those kinds of details.” With that, she drove away.
Reed got back behind the wheel of his car, too. When the coast was clear, he made a U-turn and continued toward home. He drove more slowly than usual, the entire episode replaying in his mind, from the uncanny near miss, to the chance encounter with the modern-day Florence Nightingale along the side of the highway. He wondered if he’d ever met anyone with a photographic memory.
The woman had asked if his life had passed before his eyes as he’d spun out of control. He hadn’t seen the images of either of his brothers or his sister, or of their parents, killed so tragically years ago, or the first girl he’d kissed, or even the most recent woman. He hadn’t seen his oldest friend or his newest business associate. The image in his mind as he’d spun to what might have been his death had been Joey’s.
Sobered further by the realization, he pulled into his driveway and parked in his usual spot beside Marsh’s SUV. He cut the engine then felt around on the floor until he located the test kit.
For a moment, he sat there looking at the sprawling white house where he’d grown up. Beyond the 120-year-old Victorian sat the original stone cider house his great-great-grandfather had built with his own hands. Ten years ago Reed and his brothers and younger sister had converted the sprawling old barn into a bakery, where they sold donuts and baked goods, and fresh apple cider by the cup or by the gallon. There was a gift shop, too, and sheds, where their signs and equipment were stored. Behind them was the meadow where thousands of customers parked each fall. From here Reed could see the edge of the orchards, the heart and soul of the entire operation.
He hadn’t planned to move back to Orchard Hill after college, but life had a way of altering plans. Reed wasn’t a man who wasted a lot of time or energy wondering what he’d missed. Bringing the family business into the current century was one of his proudest achievements. His brother Marsh knew every tree on the property, every graft and every branch that needed to be pruned. Reed knew all about business plans, spreadsheets, tax laws, health inspections and zoning. He’d been the one to have visions of expansion.
Already he could picture Joey following in his footsteps one day. What was shocking was that he wanted Joey to follow in his footsteps. Until they’d discovered that little kid on their doorstep ten days ago, Reed hadn’t realized how much he wanted to pass on the legacy of Sullivans Orchard and his business acumen to another generation.
He would be proud if Joey was his son.
With that thought front and center in his mind, he went up the sidewalk and through the unlocked screen door.
Copyright © 2014 by Sandra E. Steffen
ISBN-13: 9781460334874
READY, SET, I DO!
Copyright © 2014 by Cynthia Rutledge
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Ready, Set, I Do! (Rx for Love) Page 21