Gina thought was heartless cheerfulness. “If your car gets found, it’ll be the state police who do it.”
Gina grimaced, not feeling any better about having her suspicions about Mygold’s incompetence confirmed. “If he can’t solve crimes, then why is he the sheriff?” she asked in exasperation.
“Because he’s the local undertaker.” Nick unlocked the passenger door of his battered pickup. “You will note that I locked my door?”
“I did, too, for all the good it did me. Besides, who in his right mind would steal this…thing? They’d be afraid it would break down before they made their getaway.”
“Don’t malign the wheels that are providing your transportation. I’ve had Old Octavius since I was sixteen.”
And he hadn’t been able to afford to replace it yet? Gina wondered as she climbed onto the front seat, being careful to avoid the rip in the upholstery. If he was that short of cash, how could he afford to pay a housekeeper’s salary? Even a temporary one like hers. But on the other hand, if he didn’t have the money to pay for one, why had he offered her the job?
Could he have felt sorry for her? The appalling thought made her feel faintly ill. No! She refused to even consider the idea. She might not have much in the line of sex appeal for men, but neither had she ever noticed that they pitied her. Mostly they ignored her.
It was probably just as he’d said. He’d seen a chance to have someone take care of the household chores while his arm was in a cast, and he’d grabbed it.
She studied him in the dim light from the truck’s dashboard, wondering exactly what he did for a living. He’d said he was a technician, but that could mean anything.
Her eyes lingered on his left hand where it gripped the steering wheel. His fingers were long and powerful-looking with neatly trimmed nails that were immaculately clean. There were no little cuts and scrapes that one would expect on a man who earned his living working with his hands. Although, since she had no idea how long it had been since he’d broken his arm, any abrasions could have healed. Maybe his employer had laid him off when he’d broken his arm. She had no idea what the labor laws regarding accidents were. That could be why he was so reticent about his work. He might be embarrassed about being unemployed.
Gina rubbed her forehead, which was beginning to ache from stress. It had been a long day even before the crowning finale of getting her car stolen.
“You okay?” Nick shot her a quick glance.
“Just confused. Tell me, why would being the undertaker make Mygold the sheriff?”
“Small town, not too many deaths, so he has the time. And he could use the extra money.”
“Oh.” Gina considered the words. “Isn’t there a potential conflict of interest there?”
“Only if Mygold had a very Machiavellian turn of mind, and believe me, his mind only turns on his dinner and his bowling average. You must not be familiar with small towns?” Nick slipped the question in.
“No.”
Nick waited, but she made no attempt to elaborate on the single word. Was it because she didn’t want to talk about her past or because she was a naturally reticent woman? Just because he’d never run across one before didn’t mean they didn’t exist.
It figured, he thought in frustration. Usually he couldn’t get a woman to shut up. But let him find one who promised to be interesting, and he couldn’t get the first personal fact out of her.
“Where do you live?” Gina asked as they left the village behind.
“About a mile outside of town. It’s a vacation cottage my great-grandfather built, and my parents gave it to me.”
“Oh?” Gina let her voice rise questioningly. Nick Balfour sounded like an educated man. And he had excellent manners when he cared to use them. She flushed slightly as she remembered how he’d rescued her from that guy in the bar. He clearly hadn’t wanted to be bothered, but he’d done it anyway.
But he also gave her the impression that he didn’t suffer fools gladly. That attitude might not go over well in a work environment. Every office she’d worked in during the past four years had had at least one pompous fool in a position of authority, so it made sense that a factory would be the same. Had Nick run afoul of someone like that?
To her disappointment, Nick didn’t add any facts, and Gina pressed her lips together to hold back the personal questions she wanted to ask. It’s none of your business, she told herself. Just because she was intensely curious about him didn’t mean she had any right to keep prying into something he obviously didn’t want to talk about.
Gina jerked upright as she suddenly realized something.
“What’s the matter?” Nick hastily scanned the road for suicidal wildlife.
“I haven’t got any clothes,” she blurted out.
Nick’s fingers involuntarily tightened around the steering wheel as the most incredible image of Gina lying naked in his bed suddenly filled his mind. He took a deep breath, hastily banished the intoxicating image, and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. I don’t know why I didn’t remember till now, but all my clothes were in the car. All I have is what I’m wearing. I haven’t even got a nightgown.”
And if there were anyplace around here open at this time of night, he’d turn around and buy her a nightgown himself, Nick thought. A satin one. A pale rose satin nightgown with ecru lace around a bodice cut low enough to offer tantalizing glimpses of her breasts. And a midthigh slit up the side so that he could catch glimpses of her long legs as she moved.
“Is there any place I could buy something to wear?” Gina asked with a hopeless look around the wooded area he was driving through.
“Nothing closer than Vinton, which is twenty miles away. Except for the convenience store, all the local shops are geared to the tourist trade, and they close at five. I’ll take you to Vinton first thing tomorrow and buy you some clothes.”
“You can take me, but I’ll buy my own,” she said firmly. “My credit card was in my purse so I still have it.”
“Consider it an advance on your salary,” Nick said.
That certainly sounded as if he could afford to pay her, she thought. Or was it a case of him doing without something in order to come up with her salary? She instinctively rejected the idea.
“About this job…”
“You can’t weasel out now,” he said, suddenly afraid that she might have changed her mind.
“I’m not trying to ‘weasel’ out of anything! I was simply going to say that I would prefer a trade to a salary.”
“A trade?” he asked cautiously.
“I’ll do some housekeeping chores in exchange for room and board for a few days.”
Nick gritted his teeth in frustration. He hadn’t even gotten her home yet, and she was already making plans to cut out as soon as she could. Where was she in such a
