job, Juliet.”
Juliet jumped, like someone caught thinking naughty thoughts. “Oh.” She gave a guilty giggle. “You surprised me, Jake.”
Flat-nosed Jake’s squashed face wrinkled with amusement. “You surprised all of us, gal. Damn good show.”
“Well, thank you.”
“Thank you,” Jake said. “We can use a real leader around here for once.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Nodding, Jake turned and strolled off down the street toward the ancient green pickup he’d been driving for as long as Juliet could remember.
Juliet stood for a moment more, savoring Jake’s praise, staring at a street she’d known all her life, but which tonight seemed the most beautiful place on earth. And then she turned and headed for McIntyre’s, because she’d parked her car just a few feet beyond the restaurant’s doors.
When she reached her car, Juliet paused once again, as she had outside the auditorium. She gazed fatuously at the automobile. It was a night to feel good about herself, and the car just added to the wonderfulness of it all.
Low, long, and sleek, it was the color of a scarlet flame. The salesman had told her it had eight cylinders, which he had implied was plenty, and which she suspected was probably immoral these days. She certainly felt immoral whenever she bought gas, which was often. It was not a practical car, nor was it precisely new—it had had one owner before her, who’d put quite a few miles on it, actually. But the salesman had assured her that the car was in tip-top condition. And she hadn’t bought it for practical reasons, anyway.
She’d seen it and wanted it, and now it was hers. For Juliet, the car was a symbol, a material representation of the way she was creating a whole new life for herself. So she looked at it awhile, on this special night-of-all-nights, and thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes on in her life.
Still floating on air from her triumph with the merchants’ association, Juliet shrugged out of the gray jacket that went with her suit. She tossed the jacket and her pageant materials in back and slid beneath the wheel. The car was so low and streamlined that Juliet almost felt as if she were lying down when she settled into the driver’s seat. It was a glorious feeling.
Stretching out, sighing a little, she rolled down the window and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her white cotton blouse. The warm night air came in the window and kissed her throat.
Sensuous, Juliet thought. Downright sensuous, just sitting here.
And then she giggled. Sensuous. What a thought. Especially for plain-Jane Juliet Huddleston, who was getting real close to being considered a spinster by everyone in town.
The warm air played on blushing skin now, as Juliet rather primly reminded herself that everyone had sexy thoughts now and then, even thirty-year-old virgins who probably ought to know better.
But then, why should she know better? A woman who could do what she’d done tonight was no doubt perfectly capable of removing all her clothes and having an intimate experience with a man.
Eventually.
…Given that he was the right man, of course.
As she sat up enough to stick the key in the ignition, Juliet considered what the right man might be like.
He’d be good and kind and funny. A steady man, who, like herself, would never waver in his devotion. An attractive man—but not too attractive. Juliet was a realist, after all. She wanted, when the time came, a man to last a lifetime. And really good-looking men—men like Cody, for instance—were forever being tempted by one woman after another.
Juliet turned the key that she’d stuck in the ignition, and then forgot all about her mental shopping list for the ideal man. Because something strange happened when she turned the key, something totally unexpected: nothing. The car didn’t start.
Juliet checked to see that she was in neutral. She was. She shifted it out and then back into neutral again, just to be sure. Then she turned the key again.
And again, it didn’t start.
So she popped the hood latch and went to look at the engine. Which told her exactly zero. Juliet knew nothing about cars, except how to drive them and where to put the gas.
She did notice, however, that it didn’t look quite so spanking clean under the hood as it had when she’d bought the car three weeks ago. There appeared to be oil leaking out in some places. She thought that strange.
“Got a problem?”
Juliet sighed in relief at the sound of the familiar voice. Cody. As always, when Juliet had a problem, Cody just naturally seemed to appear to help her out.
She removed her head from beneath the hood and shyly smiled at him. “Hi.” Her voice did that funny wimpy thing, between the h and the i, that little hitching sound, but she didn’t let it bother her. She went on, more strongly. “My car won’t start.”
For a minute, he just stood there and looked at her. It was odd. She wondered if she had engine oil on her nose or something. She was just about to ask what was wrong, when he added, as if he thought he should explain, “Saw you from the window.” He gestured in the general direction of his restaurant.
She said, “Oh,” and thought about how she’d leaned back in the seat and unbuttoned her blouse and imagined taking off her clothes for a man. Had he watched her through all that? She felt her face flushing.
Which was ridiculous. Even if Cody had been watching her the whole time—which she was sure he hadn’t—what was wrong with leaning back in the seat and loosening her collar? Nothing. What she had been thinking was her own business. He could know nothing of that.
They kept on looking at each other. She wondered about something she’d never wondered about before: What was Cody thinking?
She opened her mouth, planning to ask him what was on his mind and be done with it, when he seemed to shake himself. He blinked and said, “Want me to have a look?”
She almost asked, “At what?” but then remembered. Her car. He would look at her car.
“Yes. Great. Thanks.”
He stuck his head beneath the hood and fiddled with a few of the wires. He took a few caps off of various doohickies in there.
“Battery’s not dry,” he muttered. “Nothing seems to have come unhooked.” He leaned out toward her where she stood on the sidewalk. “Get in and try it again.”
She did as he’d asked. And once more, nothing happened. He fiddled some more under the hood, she tried starting it once more, but still nothing happened.
After the third try, he said, “Was it giving you trouble before this?”
“No, none at all.”
“Just now, did it turn over at all the first time you tried it?”
She shook her head.
“You got
