snapped her eyes back to the highway, her mouth dropping open as she jerked the wheel to the left.
“Are you sure you’re all right? I could drive if you’re feeling dizzy from the accident.”
She pursed her lips. “No, I’m f-fine.”
Rain splattered the windshield, and the car windows fogged up, cocooning the two of them inside the vehicle. He wondered if Rebecca had bought this jalopy from her uncle; if so, he hoped Wiley had cut her a good deal. It wasn’t worth a dime.
Was she was always this nervous around men or did her reaction have something to do with him? He’d seen her conversing with customers in the bookstore. She handled herself with grace, her knowledge about the book market extraordinary. And she laughed and joked with her cousins as if she were perfectly at ease.
Maybe she just didn’t find him attractive. The thought smarted. Especially since most of the women in town seemed to like him.
“Rebecca, can I ask you something?”
She winced and slowed the car as if driving and talking weren’t compatible activities. “If it’s about the insurance, I d-do have it. You can get my card from my purse.”
“It’s not about the insurance.” He sighed. “I wish you’d relax and forget about it. I’m not worried.”
“But how can I forget?” She glanced at her tiny silver purse, which lay on the seat, the contents spilled, a tampon poking out of the top, then jerked her attention back to the road, the oncoming lights of a truck glaringly bright. “That car costs a fortune. And I destroyed it in less than a minute.”
“Money isn’t the most important thing in the world,” he said with conviction. Although he was frugal with his money. With good reason. After all, he’d grown up in a fairly low-income family where money was sparse and love even more so. But he couldn’t bring himself to be mad at Rebecca when she was so upset herself.
A nervous flutter of her eyes followed. “I didn’t mean it like that, Thomas. I’m not implying that you’re materialistic….” She let the sentence trail off, obviously shaken by the turn of the conversation.
“I didn’t mean to imply you thought I was—”
“I didn’t think you were.”
His head was spinning. “Well, thanks for that. I was beginning to think you didn’t like me.”
“What?” The shock in her voice surprised him.
“You run every time I get near you.” He pried his fingers off the door handle, forcing his hand to relax on his thigh. “I thought maybe you’d heard some bad things about me or something.”
“Bad things?” Her gaze found him again, her blue eyes luminous in the foggy interior. “No, I’ve only heard good things about you. What bad things would I hear?”
“None.” At least not that he knew of.
His gaze fell to her scalloped neckline, which revealed a hint of creamy skin and rounded breasts. “I’ve heard nice things about you, too.”
She hit a pothole, and the car jerked sideways. An oncoming car blasted its horn. He grabbed the dash, and she swung the car back in line just in time to avoid a head-on collision. “I…good.”
“Well, now we’ve got that settled,” he said, finding the radio. “We can relax.”
Like hell. Maybe some soft music would calm her. He certainly needed something to steady his nerves, considering the way she kept courting the embankment. And that sultry scent enveloping her was rattling other nerves that had no business being awakened.
He simply wanted a friendship with Rebecca Hartwell. An uncomplicated, platonic friendship with no feelings or commitments or expectations to hinder him from his goal of leaving Sugar Hill.
“So, why did you go into medicine?”
His fingers tightened on the knob. “I like the challenge. And no matter how many babies I deliver, the miracle of birth never ceases to astound me.”
“Babies are wonderful.” Rebecca’s voice softened. “I love watching Mimi with Maggie Rose. That little girl is adorable.”
“Both her parents dote on her.”
Rebecca laughed. “I’m glad it worked out for them to be together. I thought Mimi might raise the baby alone for a while.”
Thomas nodded. He’d heard something about that. Once again his thoughts turned to his own mother and how difficult his teenage years had been. “Being a single mom is tough. I admire women who raise children alone these days.”
“Yeah, I miss my mom. She died when I was young,” Rebecca admitted.
Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rebecca. I lost my mom a while back, but she was alive when I was little.”
A few moments of companionable silence stretched taut between them. Then she hit another bump and her purse flew from the seat to the floor. The tampon rolled out. She blushed, then reached for it.
He grimaced. Good grief, he was an OB-GYN.
The car swerved sideways, and he yanked up the purse, stuffed the tampon inside and closed it for her. Her lips snapped shut.
Then she hit another bump in the road, and the chest in the back bounced up and slammed down with a thump. He angled his head to see it. “What’s in that box, anyway?”
Rebecca’s gaze darted everywhere but at him. “Just some junk for a garage sale.”
He lapsed into silence as he remembered the dozens of garage sales his mother had had. She’d sold everything she could stand to part with just to provide for them. He’d hated seeing their things being hocked to strangers for mere pocket change.
Surely Rebecca wasn’t that desperate for money.
If she was, she’d have a hell of a time paying her insurance if the company raised it after they covered the damages to his car.
But her finances were not his problem, he reminded himself, battling a twinge of sympathy. He was not playing Mr. Nice Guy again. He would befriend Rebecca so she could introduce him to her father, then he’d secure the job and move to Atlanta.
Nothing more.
A HALF HOUR LATER Rebecca’s insides still quivered. What had happened to her today? Not only had she ruined Thomas’s Porsche, but she’d damn near run off the road and killed him. Then she’d lied to him about the silly hope chest.
But she didn’t want him to think she was husband hunting, that she would mistake his kindness for an advance. Because Thomas Emerson was the nicest man she’d ever met. And the sexiest. And someone was going to be the luckiest woman alive one day to have him for a husband.
Of course, that someone would not be her.
Memories of at least three painful past relationships traipsed through
