under all that gunk.
Frannie pulled on her eyeglasses and stared out at Main Street, noting that there seemed to be more traffic than usual. Three yellow dump trucks cruised slowly past in single file, heading toward the resort and casino construction site.
She was following their progress when a small black-and-white object on the sidewalk across the street caught her eye. It was a dog, Frannie realized—an adorable, tiny dog with a puglike face and long, fluffy hair, probably a Shih Tzu. As Frannie watched in horror, the little dog wandered into the street and narrowly missed being hit by a passing blue van. The animal headed back to the curb, but a white Chevy cruised by, forcing the dog into the center of the road. Turning, the little dog skulked down the yellow line in the middle of the street, its tail tucked between its legs.
Frannie tensed. The dog was in front of the drugstore window now, directly in her line of vision. Judging from the rhinestone-studded collar and red bow, it was obviously someone’s pampered pet.
The little animal timidly started across the street again, heading right into the path of a red sports coupe. Frannie gasped as the driver swerved and honked. She didn’t realize she’d shut her eyes until she opened them a second later to see the little dog cowering in the street, its tail tucked, as the red car zoomed past.
Before she had time to consider her actions, Frannie flew off the stool, dashed through the drugstore and ran out the door. She stood on the sidewalk for a second, scanning the street for the little dog, then spotted it standing in the middle of the eastbound lane. The creature’s big brown eyes gazed at her pleadingly as it cringed in the road, directly in the path of a sleek black Jaguar rapidly barreling toward it.
“Stop!” Frannie yelled, waving her arms and stepping toward the road. The car showed no signs of slowing. The driver honked, but continued to speed toward the little dog.
“Don’t hit the dog!” Frannie screamed. The driver either didn’t hear or didn’t care.
There was no time to waste. Frannie dashed into the street, the black plastic cape flapping wildly around her. She threw herself headlong at the little dog, clutched it to her chest and rolled onto the pavement, praying she was rolling out of harm’s way.
She heard the squeal of brakes and smelled the burn of rubber. When she opened her eyes, she was facedown on the pavement, so close to the concrete that the pebbles in it looked like boulders.
She slowly lifted her gaze to see the bumper of the Jaguar less than a foot away. It was a good thing she was lying down. Otherwise, she surely would have fainted.
The driver’s door jerked open, and an angry man climbed out. His face was so mottled with rage that it took her moment realize that it was Lyle Brooks, the owner of the Whitehorn-based construction company building the resort and casino.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, running in front of my car like that?” Lyle demanded.
Frannie gazed down at the black and white dog wriggling in her arms. “I was saving this dog.”
“To hell with the dog! He’s not big enough to have caused any damage to my car. You, on the other hand, are a different story. Do you have any idea what it would have done to my insurance premiums to have an accident like that?”
Frannie gasped. She knew who Lyle was—his picture had been in all the papers when he won the contract for the casino and resort—but she’d never met him before, even though he was a distant Kincaid cousin. She’d heard he was callous and hard-hearted, but she’d always figured the stories were exaggerated. She was beginning to think differently.
“Your insurance premiums wouldn’t have been nearly as high as your court costs and bail bond,” said a low male voice from behind her, a familiar smoky voice, full of unfamiliar, barely controlled anger. “I saw the whole thing, and it looked to me like you were speeding. And I’d testify to that in a court of law.”
Frannie turned to see Austin Parker behind her, his eyes narrowed and his lips set in a hard, ungiving line.
The woman on the pavement stared up at him, her strangely familiar hazel eyes huge in her bright green face. Under any other circumstances Austin was sure he’d be amused, but what he’d just witnessed left him too shaken and angry to feel any sense of humor.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He reached down a hand and helped her up. The moment he touched her, he knew why she looked familiar. This was the woman from the bed-and-breakfast—the one who’d fallen over her chair when he first met her, then spilled egg all over both of them. He peered at her curiously.
“Frannie?”
“Yes?”
How the devil had her face gotten in that condition? “You didn’t just try to serve someone something green, did you?”
She looked at him blankly, then pulled her hand away to get a better grip on the dog, who was licking her cheek with gusto. Comprehension dawned. “Oh. N-no. I was having a facial.”
Austin turned back toward the driver of the Jaguar, a feeling of distaste rising in his throat. Even if he hadn’t just seen the man nearly run down a helpless animal with what looked like cold-blooded deliberation, he was certain he would have disliked him on sight. His lips were set in what looked like perpetual disdain, and he had a foppish, overly groomed look that spoke of self-absorption. His perfectly combed hair was so heavily moussed and gelled that the wind lifted it as a single unit. He wore a Rolex watch on his left wrist and a pinky ring on each hand. A gold chain was visible at the open neck of his custom-made shirt.
Austin looked him dead in the eye. “Looked to me like you were aiming for that dog.”
“It had no business being on the street.” Lyle glared at Frannie. “And the same goes for you.”
Austin took a menacing step forward. “Well, now, I believe you have that all wrong. Frannie here has as much right as anyone to be anywhere she pleases. You’re the one who was out of line. You owe Frannie an apology, and I’d like to hear you make it.”
“I’ll do no such thing. I had the right of way. I was driving along, minding my own business, when she recklessly threw herself in front of my car.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘your own business’ when you’re behind the wheel of a car,” Austin said sharply.
The man stared at him coldly. “I know who you are. You’re that racing hotshot that just moved here, aren’t you?” He pulled himself up to his full height, but Austin still towered over him. The man puffed out his chest and scowled. “Maybe you don’t know who you’re dealing with here. I’m Lyle Brooks, the owner of one of the biggest construction companies in Montana, and I don’t need lessons in how to drive a car.”
Austin glared at the man. “Well, then, maybe you need lessons in how to read street signs, because you were clearly exceeding the speed limit. You were racing down Main Street as if it were the final lap at Winslow, and I’ll have no problem telling that to the police.”
“The police?” Lyle’s eyebrows shot up. His brow furrowed, and his eyes widened in apprehension. “Hey, now, there wasn’t an accident. There’s no reason to get the law involved.”
Austin
