A Man of His Word by Sarah M. Anderson Page A

she popped the hood, Dan poked around. He’d taken an engine or two apart in his time, but this thing was a dinosaur. The verdict wasn’t good. He could see one belt in pieces and another that looked like it could go at any time. When he had Rosebud try to turn over the engine, the whole thing clicked. The starter sounded deader than a doornail and he was pretty sure the battery was corroded to the car. “When was the last time you had this thing checked out?”
    She shrugged, but he noticed that she bit her lip. That was her tell. “A few years ago.”
    â€œYears?” He shook his head at her, and she managed to look sheepish. “You’re probably lucky you got here.”
    She stuck out her chin, a move he recognized as defiance now. But she also stuck her hands into her back pockets, which emphasized her chest. “I’m lucky you were able to come get me.”
    Dan had long prided himself on reading the signals from the opposite sex, and he’d be damned if that particular signal didn’t say “Saturday night on the town.” “I guess we’re both lucky, aren’t we?”
    Her gaze took its time working over him. By the time she got back to his face, he was working with a whole different definition of lucky. “That remains to be seen.” He swore she purred it.
    He might never figure this woman out, but he was going to have a fine time trying. “Did you call a tow truck yet?”
    That was the wrong thing to say. All that goodness she’d been telegraphing his way died. “No.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    She was right back to looking embarrassed, and he hadn’t even kissed her. Yet. “Joe can tow it home for me.”
    â€œWhen?” She didn’t answer, which was answer enough. This hunk of steel might be here for days before someone towed it—and chances were it would be towed to the impound lot. He got his cell phone out and punched up an entry. “I’ve got Triple A.”
    â€œNo!” She moved lightning-fast. Before he could react, her hand was on his wrist. “I mean…please.”
    Her touch was light, but she had a hell of a grip. That was not a bad thing. “Give me one good reason.”
    He prayed she couldn’t feel his blood pumping as he looked down into her eyes. Then she batted her eyelashes, and he stopped caring about his pulse. “I haven’t allocated the funds for a situation such as this.”
    Allocated the funds? It took a second for him to translate that statement to English. “You don’t have the money to fix your car?”
    She dropped his wrist like it was a hot potato and backed away from him, looking for all the world like a cornered animal. “No, okay? I don’t have the money.”
    A broken copier. One suit. Handwritten notes. Driving an hour south to do “research.”
    She had no money. Period. A true damsel in distress.
    To hell with this. It only took a second before he knew what he had to do. He began to dial. “Actually, you do.” She spun on her heels, looking all sorts of angry. He held up a hand before she could let loose on him. “I’ve been taking up a lot of your time. My lawyer in Texas charges a hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour for consulting. Figure, what? Six hours a day for five days? That’s about four thousand.”
    Her jaw dropped. “Dollars?”
    â€œYup.”
    â€œI can’t—”
    A voice crackled over the phone. “Yeah, I need a tow to a repair shop.”
    By the time he got off the phone, Rosebud was sitting on the curb, her knees tucked up under her chin. She didn’t look happy about being rescued. Instead, she looked nervous. Trapped.
    Dan sat down next to her. “Will you believe me if I tell you that no one knows I’m here?”
    She shrugged, making sure to keep a solid eight inches between them. “Should I?”
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