like a calf out of the chute, sugar.”
But Flynn thought he saw a flicker of dismay behind her brave smile. “Now what?”
“Now I’d like to go someplace quiet, please.”
“I’ll give you cab fare.” Flynn dug into the pocket of his jeans.
“Cab fare! What kind of Sir Galahad are you?”
“The kind who plays it safe.”
She flared like a Roman candle. “New York men! Honest to Pete, I don’t know how you could be genetically related to our Texas fellas! Why, you’re all a bunch of nervous old biddies—afraid to take a risk and never once thinking of a lady’s feelings!”
She was a piece of work, all right—coquettish one minute and capable of lambasting him the next. A fire seemed to burn inside her. Was it possible that she was related to all the other women in the city? Those cool, well-dressed executives who marched the streets in their sneakers at lunchtime, each one looking much the same as the next? But Dixie Davis seemed so much more than anyone else. The gleam in her blue eyes filled Flynn with a powerful tingling sensation.
It had to be fear, he told himself. Here was a woman who could cause a hell of a lot of trouble.
“What’s the matter?” she demanded. “Scared?”
“You would be, too, if you had any brains.”
“You calling me dumb?”
“Let’s be polite and call you impulsive.”
Dixie Davis looked up into the frowning face of her rescuer and felt a wave of consternation. Maybe he was right. Lately her impulses seemed to be getting her into one jam after another. Seemed like she was snakebit.
Dixie’s life hadn’t made much sense to her, let alone to a perfect stranger. The past few weeks had turned into a kaleidoscope of events—confusing and exciting and sometimes downright out of control. First, there had been the audition and landing of a small part in The Flatfoot and the Floozie. Then she’d met Joey Torrano at a rehearsal and he’d seen stars right away.
After that, everything had happened faster than a DoveBar could melt on a Dallas sidewalk—but Dixie hadn’t been calling the shots at all. She’d been swept up by Joey and the show, and—well, it had been so easy to shoot the rapids and enjoy the ride.
Until she found herself standing at the altar with a man she didn’t even like very much.
“Maybe I am impulsive,” she said musingly. “But I couldn’t go through with the wedding. Not for the wrong reasons. I—I just felt like I better run away before things got any worse. You ever feel like that?”
He looked at her for a long moment. Something seemed to click in his head and then register on the narrow planes of his face. Then he said, “Yeah, I’ve felt like that.”
“Now I don’t know what to think,” she said slowly. “I need some time.”
“Well, we can’t stay here,” said Sir Galahad, suddenly acting as if he was waking from a dream. “The neighbors are beginning to suspect.”
Dixie glanced upward and found several residents of the quiet street hanging out their second-floor windows to get a glimpse of her. One woman seemed to be talking on her portable telephone while pointing down at Dixie as if she’d just discovered Princess Di below her windowbox.
“Uh-oh,” Dixie muttered. “In five minutes there’ll be a dozen photographers here snapping my picture.”
“And mine,” said Galahad, slipping his helmet over his dark hair once more. “Let’s split.”
He climbed onto the bike and started it with a jouncing kick that sent Dixie grabbing for his waist. He turned his head. “Ready?”
“Ready!”
Dixie held on tightly this time as her rescuer guided his motorcycle around the streets, winding through traffic with smooth expertise.
You haven’t put yourself in another man’s hands, Dixie told herself sternly. It just feels that way.
She made a silent vow not to let this one take control of her life the way Joey had.
Of course, this one didn’t act like Joey at all. He was younger—in his mid-thirties, no doubt—and had a sweet face beneath the hard expression he tried to maintain. He looked handsome and laconic—a young Gary Cooper. Only with more hair. She assumed he was some kind of mechanic, judging by his deep feelings for a silly machine.
Right off, Dixie had noticed a distinct gleam of compassion in his dark eyes. When she’d run out of the church, he’d been the only one to pay the slightest attention.
And he hadn’t dumped her on the sidewalk when she’d begged for help. He’d even landed a pretty good punch on George’s chin—George, who prided himself on being Joey Torrano’s invincible bodyguard. He’d knocked George down without even thinking about it. The other bodyguard had been short work for Galahad, too.
He had good instincts, she decided. And a kind heart—even though he didn’t really want one. For a simple mechanic, he seemed to be fighting a gentlemanly side. That thought gave Dixie courage.
She leaned forward. “One question, sugar. What’s your name?”
Tilting his head back so the wind carried his voice better, he answered, “Flynn.”
“Flynn what?”
“Just Flynn.”
She laughed. “What kind of man gives himself just one name?”
“That’s two questions,” he retorted, demonstrating a modicum of humor.
“You keeping secrets, sugar?”
“Let me ask you a question first.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Why did you kiss me?”
Two
“Oh, sugar, I am ashamed of that.”
Dixie didn’t want to explain. How could she, really? What sensible person would believe the power of the famous Butterfield kiss? It had started with Great-Grandma Butterfield and had been passed down through the generations directly to Dixie herself. All her life she’d been warned about abusing her gift. And now she’d gone and done it.
“I’m really sorry, sugar.”
And she was. But Dixie had to know Flynn a whole lot better before she explained herself to him. He just wasn’t going to understand yet. So she said, “Let’s talk about that later, okay? Take me to the Plaza.”
“The Plaza!” he echoed. “Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s the safest place
