looked up into the opaque black lenses of his glasses.
“The hose and enough antifreeze to replace what’s on the ground.”
For a long moment she could only stare. “How on earth did you manage that?”
He shrugged. “I used my car phone to call a fellow I know at one of the parts houses in town. Hope you can pay for it when it gets here.”
She bit her lip. “Suppose he’ll take a check?”
Evans Kincaid grinned. “Oh, I think we can persuade him. It’s not like he couldn’t find you if it bounced.”
“I guess not,” she muttered, “living next door to a cop.”
He tilted his head. “Has its advantages.” She opened her mouth to say she was aware of that fact, but he turned and walked away, saying, “Next order of business is to clear this street.”
While she watched, he went to the light pole at the side of the intersection, inserted something from his pocket into a metal box mounted on the side and moved something. The light began to blink red in all directions, bringing traffic to a complete halt. Everything happened quickly after that. Suddenly there were three young men pushing her car through the intersection and onto the parking lot of a car wash. Evans pulled his truck up beside it. The traffic light was reset, and the normal flow of traffic resumed. The man from the parts store came and took Amy’s check without the slightest hesitation, saying that from the looks of the puddle in the street, she had diluted her antifreeze too much. She nodded, wondering how she had managed that, then watched as Evans flushed out the radiator with a water hose borrowed from the car wash before exchanging the new radiator hose for the busted one. When that was done, he poured half a container of antifreeze fluid into the radiator, filled the container with water and emptied the whole of it into the system.
“Now then,” he said, fixing the cap in place and lowering the hood. “Next time it needs more fluid, you mix two parts antifreeze and one part water and put that in. You don’t just add plain water. Understand?”
“I think so.”
“Has it been getting hot fairly often?”
“Occasionally.”
“And when it did, you put plain water in it,” he stated matter-of-factly. “That’s how it got too diluted.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she told him meekly.
“If it happens again, you may want to look into having your thermostat replaced,” he advised. Wiping his small wrenches clean with a handkerchief from his back pocket, he slid them back into the proper pockets, rolled up the leather case and tied it closed. “That ought to do for now.”
Without another word he walked over to his truck and got in. Amy hurried after, catching the door before he could close it.
“Evans!”
He slid his shades off and dropped them into a console between the bucket seats. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I mean, I’m sorry for…well, for everything, and thank you for helping me out today. I don’t know what I’d have done if you had passed me by—and you had every right to.”
He dropped his gaze. “Well, I just always figured that neighbors were supposed help out one another.”
“You’re right, of course,” she told him softly. “I’ve behaved terribly. I hope this means that you’ve forgiven me.”
He flashed her a grin. “I always forgive pretty ladies.” He settled himself behind the wheel then, while her mouth hung open, he said, “I’ve got to run. Got to shave off this sandpaper before I report to the station.” He rubbed his jaw.
She backed up, and he closed the door. Only as the truck was moving did she think to call out, “Thank you!” She doubted that he heard her. The truck had already wheeled out into the street and was accelerating through a green light. In another moment it disappeared over a slight rise in the street.
She stood in the parking lot, her groceries ruining in the back of her car, and wondered if he’d realized what he’d said. He didn’t really think she was pretty…did he?
Chapter Three
Amy stared at the open pack of cigarettes on the coffee table and imagined herself slipping the filter tip between her lips. She could almost smell the oily fragrance of the flame as she struck the lighter. She could almost feel the swirl of smoke expanding in her lungs, the shiver of nicotine euphoria that seemed alternately to tighten then relax her skin. She closed her eyes and pulled again, shocked to feel pressure on the tip of her little finger rather than the soothing inhalation of smoke. With a groan of disgust, she jerked her hand from her mouth and thrust it through her hair as the hard twang of a rock guitar throbbed through the night. Was it her imagination again, or had the volume been cranked up another notch?
Sighing, she leaned forward on the couch, laid her forehead against her knees and folded her arms over the back of her head. Why was she doing this? Why in blue blazes didn’t she just pick up the phone and get Kincaid to come home and take care of this insanity? But she already knew the answer to that. She didn’t want to fight with him anymore. She owed him for fixing her car that afternoon…and he had implied that he thought she was pretty, darn him. But that was just casual talk, the sort of thing an attractive, confident man tossed about whenever a woman was around.
Still, she couldn’t help wondering how long it had been since any man had commented favorably on her looks. Even Mark hadn’t been given to easy compliments. That being so, she would treasure them all the more, he had told her, and of course, Mark was right, which meant that she was being an idiot about this. No meaningless compliment was worth enduring the nerve-jangling blasts from the house next door. She had to do something before she started climbing the walls. It was bad enough to want a smoke at this time of night. No one should have to endure this screeching nonsense on top of that.
She got up off the couch, full of righteous indignation, and marched toward the door. On the way she did something she never did, she glanced in the gold-framed mirror on the living room wall, the one Mark’s aunt had given them. She shuddered at what she saw. Her hair had grown limp with perspiration. Her cheeks were reddened from being out in the sun, and she had no eyebrows or eyelashes at all. Had she been walking around like this all the time? Maybe she didn’t have anybody to impress, but it didn’t hurt to take pride in one’s appearance. In fact, someone had recently told her that it was healthy to do so. Her sister maybe? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she not go out this way, no, not even to put that little freak next door in her place.
She made an about-face and marched straight into the bathroom. By the time she rinsed and dried her hair, slapped on a little foundation, brushed color on her lashes and brows—which turned out to need a little plucking—and stroked on some lip gloss, the music from next door was threatening to break the glass in the windows. What on earth did that child think she was doing? She was practically begging for trouble. Well, trouble was on its way.
Head high, Amy stomped out of the house. This time when she glanced in the mirror, she gave herself a congratulatory nod. Maybe she wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but at least she was relatively well groomed. She walked across the lawn and Kincaid’s drive, then onto the grass in his yard and up onto the porch. She couldn’t help noticing that the lawn was clipped and
