her seat belt. The stranger got behind the wheel, stuck the keys in the ignition, and then paused and turned to face her. “I’m Gabriel Cain, by the way.”
She smiled, because it was so ludicrous that they hadn’t even exchanged names until now. “Carrie Overton.” She clasped his hand, and it was warm as it closed around hers. Big, too. And strong, his grip firm and sort of lingering. “Thanks again for the help today.”
“You’re more than welcome.” He looked at their clasped hands for a moment, a frown creasing his brow, and she felt uncomfortable enough to break the contact. There had been a little hint of attraction just then, she thought. And this guy was not even close to her type.
He started the engine and backed out of the parking spot.
“Gabriel Cain,” she said as he drove. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
He shrugged. “So how does a kid your son’s age—what is he, seventeen?”
“Sixteen,” she said.
“Sixteen.” He nodded. “So how does a kid of sixteen rate a gift like this? You’re quite a generous mom.”
“No way did I buy this for him. It’s worth three of what I drive.”
He looked surprised. “His father, then? Let me guess. He’s trying to earn brownie points to make up for the divorce.”
She frowned at him.
He shot her a sheepish look. “Sorry. Too personal, huh? I just noticed you aren’t wearing a ring, so I figured—”
“You figured wrong. And if you’re thinking my son is a spoiled rich kid, then you’ve got that wrong, too. He’s a great kid. Exceptional. And believe me, he earned this baby, or I wouldn’t have let him accept it.”
He swallowed hard. Then he said, “Sorry if I hit a nerve. You’re right, that was what I was assuming. I, of all people, should know better than to judge anyone by appearances. You have my apologies.”
She blinked, realizing she’d been judging him by his appearance from her first glimpse of him. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s been a long week. The truth is, he saved a woman’s life. She gave him the SUV to thank him.”
“That sounds like a fascinating story.”
“It is. Olivia—God, I’ll never get used to not calling her that. Sarah was probably a little too generous. But she really wanted him to have it, and I couldn’t say no.”
He paused for a long moment, then cleared his throat and said, “You’re talking about Sarah Quinlan, aren’t you? The professor who’s been living as Olivia Dupree for the past sixteen years.”
She shot him a quick sideways glance.
“Sorry. It was all over the news. Pretty hard to miss.”
“Probably.”
“So you know her, then? The professor?”
“I know her pretty well, yes.”
He compressed his lips as if in thought, and then said, “I don’t suppose you could introduce me? I’d really like to talk to her.”
She lifted her brows. “God, don’t tell me you’re another reporter!”
“No, I—”
“Do you actually write for that rag I saw you reading at the soccer match?”
“No! No. That’s not it at all.”
“No? Then why do you want to meet her?”
He shrugged. “It’s personal.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, it’s impossible, anyway. She’s on her honeymoon. Sam and I are keeping an eye on her place while she’s away. She took her horse-sized dog with her, thank goodness.”
He blinked twice, then looked at her. “Sam?”
“My son.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Is that a…family name?”
“It’s just a name.” She lowered her eyes. “You know, the tabloids have it all wrong. Oliv—Sarah is a terrific person. She had a good reason for using a dead woman’s identity all that time. Her own life was in danger.”
“Yeah, but the dead woman whose identity she stole had left a baby behind, somewhere. Didn’t she even consider she might be robbing some family of all they had left of a loved one?”
“She didn’t know about the baby until a few weeks ago. All she knew was that the real Olivia was alone in the world.”
“I see.”
She drew a breath and tried to calm her racing nerves. God, if anyone ever found out that her Sam was the long-dead woman’s missing child, she would lose him. She would lose the most precious thing in her world, and no doubt her job and probably her medical license along with him. Not that those things mattered. Without Sam, she wouldn’t have anything, anyway. He was everything to her.
And this man seemed far too curious about local gossip for her peace of mind. He pulled into the school parking lot, which was abandoned by then, with the exception of a VW Bus with an insane paint job. The soccer match had long since ended, and she didn’t even know which team had won.
She looked at the bus, with its wild swirls and crazy colors, and said, “I take it that’s yours?”
“Mmm-hmm. You like it?”
“Is Scooby-Doo waiting inside?”
He smiled at her, a genuine smile that made her catch her breath as the dimples in his cheeks deepened. “I haven’t found a dog yet that likes to travel as much as I do.”
“So you’re a drifter.”
“If you want to call it that.”
She looked at him curiously. “Just what do you do, Gabriel Cain?”
“I’m a songwriter,” he told her. And then he got out of the SUV and walked toward his bus. When he opened the driver’s door she glimpsed a guitar resting on the passenger seat and a GPS on the dashboard. He lifted a hand to her just before getting in. “I’ll see you around, Carrie Overton.”
She paused, then got out and went over to his van. He’d closed the door, but the window was down. “Folks have been gathering at the old firehouse three times a day to go out searching for Kyle Becker, the missing boy. Next shift gathers at four. I’m sure they’d welcome another volunteer.”
He nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
He started his motor and put the bus into gear as music spilled from its speakers. James Taylor. Good stuff. Then he drove away and left her wondering why she’d delivered the spontaneous invitation.
A
