And it wasn’t, not since he’d put his jacket around her. The warmth—his warmth—seeped into her.
He continued to look at her, and then spun around to make his way to her car. “You said you have a flat. Do you have a spare?”
Joining him, she pulled the coat closer, wishing she didn’t need it. It smelled like Nick. The Nick she remembered. Nick, with his dark hair, dark eyes and a face that could have been chiseled by a master.
She chased the thought from her mind to answer him. “In the trunk. The jack, too. But I don’t know if the spare has air.”
“No way of knowing until we check it out,” he said, opening the noisy car door and reaching for her keys in the ignition. The dome light shed a golden glow over his face when he turned to look at her. He wasn’t happy. “Do you have a flashlight in here?”
She shook her head.
He grunted. “I’ll get mine out of the truck.”
While he was busy retrieving the flashlight, she wondered what he was doing so near to Katyville and decided he was probably back to visit his family over the holidays. She knew he had moved to Denver years ago. She also knew he was married. After she’d learned that, she hadn’t heard anything else.
“Let’s take a look at that spare.”
His voice jolted her back to her senses, and she followed him to the rear of her car. But she kept her distance. Opening the trunk, he gestured for her to come closer and handed her the light. “Shine it in here.”
Scrambling to stand beside him, she shone the light where he pointed. She had forgotten that the trunk light no longer worked. Inside, the baby stroller took up a large portion of the trunk, along with a few boxes. “I’ll just move these,” she murmured and tugged at a box with one hand.
“I’ll get it,” he said, and she stepped aside to give him space.
With the stroller and boxes out of the way, he found the tire, lifted it out and examined it. “It’s almost as flat as the other. No reason to take the time to change them. I’ll take care of them tomorrow.”
“No!” She bit her lower lip, shocked at her vehemence. But she didn’t want to be beholden to Nick Morelli. If it had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have protested. But it was Nick. “I’ll take care of it.”
He took the light from her and helped return the boxes, and then he shined the beam in her direction. “I’ll have Tony come out here and get it, first thing in the morning.”
“But your brother—”
“On the house.” Pocketing her keys, he slammed down the trunk lid. “If you have anything in the car you need, get it and lock the doors. I’ll give you a ride home.”
Since her only other choices were to stay out here on a deserted road all night or walk however many miles it was into Katyville, she didn’t argue. Enough time had been wasted. Raylene would be wondering why she hadn’t picked up the kids yet.
“If you can drop me at Raylene and Jeff’s…” For a moment, after she had said it, she thought she had seen him raise one eyebrow, but she decided it had been nothing more than her imagination. “You remember Raylene, don’t you?”
“Just give me directions when we get into town,” he answered as he turned to walk away.
Opening the door to her car, she grabbed her purse and the new vaporizer, and locked up. Nick waited in his truck with the engine running, and she wondered if he still looked the same when he smiled. He hadn’t smiled yet. But who could blame him? Finding a grown and weary version of a girl who had once wounded his ego wouldn’t exactly make him grin.
GLAD THE LIGHTS of the small town of Katyville were in view and they were nearly there, Nick glanced at Becca beside him. He was more than surprised to see her again. And if he didn’t know better, he would have thought she was scared to death of him. She sure hadn’t changed much. She had always seemed so down-to-earth, and at one time, he had thought she was something special—so special that they had planned a future together. But he had learned the truth about her a long time ago. The hard way.
“Somebody sick?” he asked, nodding toward the box she held on her lap in a death grip.
“Um, yes,” she said in the quiet voice he remembered all too well. “Daisy. My baby.”
Of course, she had a baby. More than one, from what he’d heard. His mother had mentioned that Becca had married some hotshot businessman her father had picked out for her. Leave it to Jock Malone to marry his daughter off to inflate his ego and raise his importance in the community even more.
He glanced at her again. “What’s wrong with her? With, uh, Daisy?”
Becca shifted in the seat, hugging the box closer. “A cold.”
He didn’t miss the “I hope” she added under her breath, and he wondered what was going on. Nick hadn’t missed the poor condition of the spare or the other tires on her car. No man should let his wife drive around in a car with bad tires. Maybe he should say something to the guy if he ever had the misfortune to meet him.
Then again, maybe he should just mind his own business. He didn’t owe Becca Malone or Becca Whatever-Her-Name-Was-Now anything. He’d been in love with her once and had thought she had loved him, too. But that had been years ago, and she had managed to completely douse his ardor one late spring evening. He should’ve known better. At nineteen, his hormones had led his life. No more. Not only had she taught him a valuable lesson, but he’d also gone on to learn many more. Most of them had left their mark.
“Which way?” he asked, pulling onto the main street that ran the length of the town.
“Left at Drury, then all the way to the end of the last block.”
He turned to look at her. Streetlights illuminated a face that was still young, in spite of the worry lines between her eyes and the hint of dark circles beneath them.
Not liking what he saw, he forced his attention back to the street ahead. Becca was still more than easy on the eyes, and he knew better than to get hooked on the sight of her. But the worn knees of her blue jeans and the loose edge of the shirt she wore hadn’t escaped his notice. So, okay, maybe she was cleaning the bathroom or something when she hightailed it to wherever she was coming from. Or maybe she had gotten tired of dressing up for the folks in Katyville. Or maybe—
“What’s your husband do for a living?” he asked suddenly, turning the corner to head down the familiar street.
“He…He’s a stockbroker. Why?”
A quick glance told him that her suspicions were aroused. His damn sure were. A stockbroker made good money, and nothing about her shouted that she was living all that well, considering the well-used car she drove. If she lived in Katyville—and he guessed she did, or she wouldn’t be headed in that direction so late at night—her husband probably commuted to his job in Wichita. Most people did.
“Just making conversation,” he answered with a shrug.
He remained silent for the next two blocks. He hadn’t done much poking around since returning to Katyville two weeks ago. Most of what he’d
