Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend

A low cry tore from her throat as she turned tear-stained eyes to him. “I’m so-o-o sorry.”

Relief surged through him. A red lump protruded on her forehead, and her glasses hung askew, but, thank God, she was okay.

“Are you hurt?” He waited, his heart pounding when she simply stared at him with glazed eyes.

“Rebecca, please answer me. Where are you hurt?” He quickly surveyed her with his eyes to check for blood or protruding bones, but didn’t spot any major injuries. She hadn’t been wearing her seat belt though. Not a good sign. “Rebecca—”

“I’m such an idiot.”

He eased her back to rest against the seat, gently removed her glasses, then, with a finger below her eyes, checked her pupils. “Did you hit your head hard?”

She shook her head, her wide-eyed gaze full of shock.

“You weren’t wearing your seat belt?”

She glanced down in a daze. “Was…going to.”

“Your ribs? Did you hit the steering wheel?”

She nodded dumbly, her expression lost. “I…your car.”

“Forget about the damn car, just tell me if you’re hurting somewhere.” He reached for the front of her billowy bridesmaid dress to check for injuries to her chest, but she pushed his hands away in horror. “Rebecca, I’m just trying to examine you.”

“I’m fine.” She sniffled, her body shaking. “But I ruined your…your Porsche. I meant to go forward, but I forgot to shift gears and then the car shot back so fast—”

“I said to forget the car. Now if you won’t let me check you here, I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No.” She grabbed his hands and clung to him. “I’m okay, but I feel so stupid…” A wail escaped her, long and quavery.

His heart squeezed at the misery in her voice, so he cupped her face in his hands. “Stop worrying. I have insurance.”

That luscious lower lip of hers trembled again, the color draining from her face. He couldn’t stand it, he pulled her against the crook of his neck and rocked her, murmuring soft words of comfort. She felt fragile and small and more womanly than he’d expected. Protective instincts kicked in, warring with a sudden realization that her minty breath was tickling his neck, and the subtle scent of her feminine perfume was awakening sensations better left dormant.

“What was that noise?” Shouts erupted behind them and he could hear footsteps beating a path down the graveled drive. He pulled away, standing by the car and turning to face Rebecca’s relatives. Hannah, Jake, and Wiley Hartwell jogged down the path, Wiley heaving as he pushed his way to the front.

“Everyone okay?” Wiley yelled.

“I think so.” Thomas frowned at Wiley’s taxed breathing. The last thing he needed was the man to have a heart attack and send Rebecca into full shock.

“Rebecca, baby, are you all right?” Wiley leaned his hands on his pudgy knees, peering into the car. Jake and Hannah approached, Mimi, Seth, and Grammy Rose behind them, their faces full of concern.

“Mercy me,” Grammy Rose murmured.

“Becca, are you all right?” Hannah and Mimi both asked at once.

“Yes.” Rebecca wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, slipped her wire-rimmed spectacles back on her nose and grabbed the door to pull herself out. Thomas slid a hand in to help her. She was still shaking but managed to get out of the car, not meeting his gaze.

He silently surveyed her again and was thankful not to see any blood.

“But I ruined Thomas’s car.”

The entire family pivoted, each gaping at the mangled metal with various stunned looks. She had collided with the driver’s side, smashing the front door like a piece of cardboard. The windshield and windows had imploded with the impact, and glass pellets covered the beige leather. Her own station wagon had suffered as well. The bumper was warped, the tailpipe bent at an odd angle. But the clunker had already seen its better days; the faded green paint was chipped and peeling off in strips.

“It is kind of dented,” Mimi said in a low voice.

“The passenger side is still intact,” Hannah added cheerfully.

As if to mock her, the hub cap from the right-front tire fell off, rolled toward her and settled into a spin at her feet.

“Mercy me,” Grammy Rose whispered.

“You can still open the door,” Jake offered, obviously trying to be optimistic.

But when he yanked on the door handle to prove his point, the wretched metal came off in his hands with a crunch. The left tire let out a whooshing sound, then popped and the tire deflated right in front of their eyes.

Rebecca’s sob caught in horror.

“But you’re all right?” Hannah inched forward as if to emphasize that Rebecca’s safety was more important than the automobile.

Mortification stung her face as she pointed to the broken piece of metal. “I can’t believe I did all that.”

“Shh, now, don’t fret.” Grammy Rose patted Rebecca’s back. “We all have accidents, sweetie. I’ll never forget the time I ran my car into the front porch. Broke up a hornets’ nest. Those dad-gummed bees attacked me, almost bit me in the behind.”

“Yeah, I’ve had some fender-benders myself,” Mimi chimed in. “Even worse than this. Right in our own driveway.”

“I can vouch for that,” Seth added.

Mimi poked him with her elbow. “It wasn’t my fault that garbage can jumped in the way. Or that you parked the minivan so close to my Miata.”

Seth opened his mouth to argue, but Mimi’s mutinous glare stopped him. Thomas almost laughed at Jake and Wiley’s skeptical expressions. Apparently Rebecca and Mimi had a reputation for freak crashes.

“Well, it’s just metal,” Grammy Rose said, smacking her lips.

“Pricy metal.” Jake whistled, propping the door against the side of the car.

This time Hannah’s glare cut across the crowd. “Fixable metal,” Hannah added. “All it needs is a good body shop mechanic.”

“Or a miracle worker,” Rebecca muttered between sobs.

“Nah, baby, it’s fixable.” Wiley hugged her to his side. “It’s just not drivable now.”

“He’s right.” Thomas’s gaze flickered to the customized paint chipping off from the collision.

Mimi bounced the baby on her shoulder. “You want Seth to call a tow truck?”

Thomas nodded. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

“Nonsense.” Wiley waved a beefy hand. “I’ll phone my service to tow it. You can borrow a car from my used-car lot till yours is fixed. Now, pull yourself together, Bec, darlin’.”

Rebecca sniffed as she accepted her uncle’s handkerchief and swiped at her nose.

“That would be great, Mr. Hartwell.” Thomas cast another look at Rebecca, grateful she’d stopped crying. What had she expected him to do? Turn into a tyrant because she’d totaled his car?

REBECCA DABBED AT HER EYES with her uncle’s hankie. How could she have done such a stupid thing?

And how could Thomas stand there so calmly when she had destroyed what must have been his dream car, a Porsche that cost more money than she earned in two years. Men usually obsessed about their automobiles. They worshipped them more than their women, more than the remote control.

Worse, now her insurance would skyrocket, she’d probably have to take a second job to pay her bills, and everyone in town would talk about her klutzy ways, just as they had in high school years ago.

Thunder rumbled above, the darkening sky hinting at a winter storm. Rain began to drizzle and chaos erupted, everyone suddenly racing for the house.

Grammy Rose hugged her one more time. “Don’t fret, everything will work out all right. At least the hope chest wasn’t damaged.”

Rebecca bit the inside of her cheek. Great. She had a hope chest but no man. And the only man she’d wanted since her dating disasters in high school was standing beside her, his car crunched like a tin can because she lost control of her senses every time he was near.

For all she knew, the crash could have broken some of the things in her chest, too. She was too afraid to look.

Lightning streaked through the cluster of pine trees, another clap of thunder booming closer. “I’ll make sure the tow truck picks up the car,” Wiley offered. “Bec, you wanna give the doc a ride back to town?”

Rebecca’s face blanched.

“Good idea,” Thomas said with a grin. “You don’t mind taking me home, do you?”

Rebecca gaped at him in surprise. She couldn’t very well turn him down when she was responsible for his dilemma.

“I…sure.”

Thomas pointed inside the station wagon. “It looks like some of your stuff spilled out. We’d better put it back before we go.”

The bride’s book lay on the floor, a blue garter belt beside it.

“No, it’s all right.” She pushed Thomas toward the car. “Let’s go before the storm gets any worse.”

And I do anything else stupid. Rebecca ran to the other side and jumped in. Thomas took the passenger seat, buckled his seat belt, then stretched his left arm along the back of the seat, calm as a cucumber.

Darn him.

Rebecca glanced at her clenched hands, then slowly met his gaze. “I’m surprised you’d want to ride with me. Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you on the way home?”

THOMAS CHUCKLED. Hell, yeah he was, but he couldn’t admit it without seeming like a coward. “No, of course not.” He shifted, but the broken springs from the tattered seat protested, then jabbed him in the behind. Rebecca glanced his way and nearly ran off the road.

The deep dropoff on his side swam before his eyes. “Rebecca!”

She 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 her mind, trampling her mood altogether. Memories of men who had used her to get to Suzanne.

No, Thomas wasn’t like those men. He was trustworthy and sincere and helped women through his work. He would never use a woman. Although, she had overheard him asking Hannah about Suzanne when she’d gone for punch.

She veered onto the interstate toward his house, grateful for the soft jazz music filling the tense silence. Once she dropped him at his house, she wouldn’t have to face him again. She could handle the insurance information over the phone and never have to look into those startling green eyes again. As long as she didn’t see him, she could put him firmly out of her mind.

Then she wouldn’t have to drool over him and want the man so badly.

After all, she was a realist. She refused to torture herself and dream about things she could never have.

Like Thomas Emerson.

Chapter Three

Thomas shook his head as Rebecca drove away. She was an enigma. He’d finally grown tired of the strained silence in the car and had ventured into asking her about a book he’d ordered that hadn’t yet arrived.

She had transformed into an intelligent, well-spoken woman.

The past half hour they’d enjoyed a long discussion of various popular titles as well as nonfiction topics. Rebecca was well-read and insightful, and had even argued with him about the authors of some hard-to-find classics. But when he’d suggested they stop by her place so he could help her unload that chest full of garage sale items, she’d grown flustered again. She’d claimed her neighbor, Jerry Ruthers, would assist her instead.

Was this guy Jerry her boyfriend? Was he the reason she’d rushed to get home and had refused Thomas’s offer of coffee?

An odd feeling pinched his gut. Maybe it was from the chocolate groom’s cake he’d eaten at Alison’s wedding. No, probably from the jostling his body had been subjected to on the harrowing ride home.

He walked inside his house, smiling at the expanse of polished hardwood and detailed molding. As a child, he’d never imagined owning a house like this, one with space and class. He tossed his keys onto the marble table in the foyer and stopped in the den, his gaze riveted to the Palladian glass window overlooking his backyard. A cluster of oaks so ancient the branches swayed with age provided shade while a fish pond added more visual interest.

Pride swelled in his chest at his accomplishments.

Still, material things weren’t enough. His thirst for knowledge couldn’t be quenched. He’d vowed to learn everything he could about high-risk deliveries. A child’s life might depend on his skill and expertise.

The key to reaching his goals lay in that job in Atlanta.

Now he just had to devise a plan to see Rebecca again and swing an invitation to her grandmother’s surprise birthday party so he could meet Bert Hartwell.

REBECCA HURRIEDLY PLACED the bride’s book and a book on dream analysis back into the chest and shut it, not wanting any of her neighbors to see the contents of her hope chest. Ignoring the growing chill in the air, she tugged and pulled at the hope chest, trying desperately to remove it from the back of the station wagon, but the bumps she’d taken had wedged the corner of the chest into the side by the spare tire, and it was completely stuck. The effort made her already sore chest ache even more. She felt a sharp pain in it each time she took a deep breath, too. She must have bruised her ribs. They couldn’t be broken or she would be in much worse pain. Right?

She shoved again, and mashed her finger. Why hadn’t she had the courage to accept Thomas’s offer of help?

She couldn’t ask him to assist her when she’d already inconvenienced him. No telling how long it would take to repair his car. Granted he could borrow something from Uncle Wiley’s lot to drive in the interim, but she had no idea what kind of vehicle he’d get for a loaner.

Uncle Wiley did not have any brand-new silver Porches on his used-car lot.

“Yo, Becky.” Jerry Ruthers, Rebecca’s neighbor who’d dogged her for a date ever since she’d moved into the small duplex next to his, loped toward her, pulling baggy jeans up beneath his sagging belly. “Need a hand?” He flexed his muscles, the bulge shoving the short sleeve of his white T-shirt up, revealing arms layered in thick, dark hair and a cigarette pack.

Rebecca cringed. “Thanks, but I can—”

He pushed her aside, yanked out the hope chest much the same as Thomas had done, except Jerry added a melodramatic grunt, and sweat poured down his unshaven face. He thundered toward the front door, his jeans slipping down his backside.

She hurried after him, deciding to buy him a belt to hold up his pants in exchange for his good deed.

“Where do you want it, Becky?”

She hated being called Becky, but she unlocked the door and ignored the nickname, not wanting to prolong their conversation. “The den is fine.” She gestured toward the blue ruffled sofa and watched him heave as he lowered the chest to the faded beige carpet.

He whistled, wiped at his forehead with his arm, then grinned. “What you got in there, sugar cakes?”

“Some things from my grandmother.” She inched back toward the door, hoping he would follow. She didn’t intend to discuss the hope chest with him any more than she had with Thomas.

“Dang it, you look pretty today.” His gaze traveled over her dark green bridesmaid’s dress, lingering at her cleavage before dropping in appreciation to her silver spiked heels. “Where you been? You look like a Christmas tree, all lit up and sparkling.”

“My cousin’s wedding.” Rebecca ignored his come-hither grin. “She got married at my grandmother’s house.” Jerry was the only man who’d shown an interest in her recently, Rebecca thought morosely. She should try to see him in a romantic light. After all, she never stuttered or had klutzy attacks when he was around, but she couldn’t muster up an ounce of attraction toward him. She yawned, her chest pinching again, and hoped he’d take the hint.

He didn’t. He stood with one leg cocked sideways as if waiting on an invitation to stay. “Wanna get some dinner? They got chili burgers on the special at Pokey Slims tonight.”

Pokey Slims was a biker bar on the other side of town. Lots of beer drinking, tattooed men and cigarette smoke. “No, thanks. I’m exhausted.” She yawned again, making a ceremony out of the movement. She really was tired, she realized. Wrecking cars and holding conversation with Thomas had completely drained her. “But thanks for bringing in the chest. I’d really like to just kick back and go to bed.”

A lazy grin curled his mouth. “Sounds good to me. I could rub your back.”

Rebecca silently chided herself for stepping into that one. Why did the one man she didn’t want fawn all over her, and the one she did barely notice her?

Oh, he noticed you tonight, Bec. How could he miss when you smashed his eighty-five-thousand-dollar car? Or before that, when you almost ran over him? Or when you almost ran off the road into the hollow and killed him?

“Not tonight, Jerry. I don’t want to keep you from your dinner plans.”

“Uh, yeah.” He rubbed his protruding belly. “I am kind of hungry. A man can’t go without his food. And Pokey makes the best onion rings this side of the Chattahoochee.” He slapped his chest. “Gives me gas, but all good things come with a price, right?”

“Right.” She smiled sweetly, pushing images of him and chili and greasy onion rings out of her mind.

He dragged his feet toward the door. “Just let me know when you want to take a spin on my Hog, baby.”

“I’m not really a Harley girl.” Not that he actually had a Harley, anyway, although he told everyone he did; he had an imitation Harley.

He whistled through his teeth. “Just call me if you need anything.”

Rebecca nodded and locked the door behind him, then changed into flannel pajamas. She did have several bruises on her chest, the skin was already turning an ugly purple. With a cup of hot chocolate in hand, she headed toward her bed when the hope chest drew her eye, beckoning her as if it had some kind of hypnotic spell on her.