Allison Leigh – Tycoon's Temptation: The Truth About the Tycoon / The Tycoon's Lady / HerTexan Tycoon (страница 3)

She peered around Shane again. The driver was watching her and she felt the impact of his striking gaze across the yards. Her skin prickled.

It was a decidedly unusual sensation.

“Stu wants you to be happy and settled.”

“Like the two of you are?” She forced herself to look back at her brother, raising her eyebrows pointedly. “Like Evie is?” She shook her head. Neither of her brothers were married, or currently involved with anyone for that matter. And their sister, Evie, was… well, Evie was another story entirely. “It’s pretty humiliating that my own brothers think I can’t find a man for myself,” she said half under her breath.

Even if it were true.

Not that she intended to admit it. She was already a pathetic marshmallow where her family was concerned. No need to provide them with her more ammunition.

“You’re twenty-seven,” Shane said. “When’s the last time you went on a date?” His pen scratched across the paper. “With someone other than Wendell Pierce.”

One lunch inadvertently shared at the counter of the Luscious Lucius did not really qualify as a date in her opinion, and she hadn’t ever intended to repeat it, not even in the sunny kitchen of Stu’s ranch house. But if she didn’t count that… well then, she really was pathetic.

There was nothing wrong with Wendell, except that she had little in common with the brown-haired, tall, gangly forty-year-old rancher and even less of an attraction for him.

“Maybe I’ve been busy. Watching Evie’s kids. Helping Stu out at the garage whenever Riva’s gone. Doing your filing down at the station.” All when she wasn’t busy with her own responsibilities at Tiff’s, the family’s boardinghouse, and trying to carve out enough time on her own to do what she loved best—writing.

Shane barely gave her a second glance. He finished scratching on his clipboard, and strode across the highway toward her pickup truck, studying the snowy blacktop as he went. A wrecker had pulled up on the shoulder, and Hadley saw Gordon and Freddie Finn get out and slide their way down the embankment.

She closed the door again to preserve the heat and nibbled the inside of her lip as she watched Gordon hook up the wreckage to chains and slowly maneuver it back up the incline. It didn’t seem possible, but the car looked even worse as it peeled away from the tree trunk.

She looked over at the driver again. His expression was unreadable, but a muscle flexed rhythmically in his jaw. She recognized that type of movement, having seen it often enough over the years on Shane’s face.

She sighed a little, hauled in a deep breath and pushed open the truck door. She walked over to him and was grateful when he didn’t just sort of duck and run for cover. He undoubtedly considered her a menace. “I’m sorry about your car,” she offered. It came out more tentative than she’d have liked, but then, so much about her did. What was one more instance to add to a lifetime of them? “Have you had it a long time?”

“Long enough.” His voice was surprisingly neutral, given the circumstances.

“Indiana,” she murmured, spying the license plate on his car. “Where were you heading?”

“Why?” His gaze sliced her way.

She lifted her shoulders, hugging her arms to herself. “Most people come through Lucius on their way to somewhere else. We’re barely a bump in the road.” Maybe that was a slight understatement. Lucius had its own hospital, its own schools and three different churches. There was also a fairly decent crop of restaurants and even a movie theater, complete with four screens. “I, um, have a cell phone if you need to call anyone.” He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that didn’t have to mean anything.

And why she was noticing his ring finger she had no idea. Hadn’t she spent ten minutes that day already railing at Stu that she was not looking for a husband?

His lips twisted a little. She thought he almost looked amused. Almost. “No, thanks.”

Which didn’t exactly say that he’d had no one to call.

She shifted. Pushed her fingers into the pockets of her jacket. Freddie had climbed up on the back of the tow truck and was guiding the chains in some complicated fashion as her brother controlled a lever. The car creaked and moaned as it was pulled upward onto the slanted ramp. She winced a little and looked up at the man again. “Does your head hurt very badly?”

“Not as much as the car hurts.” As if he couldn’t stand to look at it any longer, he turned his attention to her pickup, where a good portion of candy-apple red from his car was decorating the side of her truck. It was the brightest color on what was otherwise pretty indeterminate.

“Is Palmer going to take you in to the hospital?”

“No.”

She was surprised. “Palmer’s a great EMT. The best. So’s Noah. But you should probably still see a doctor about your head.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Are you sure? I thought head injuries were tricky. What if you have a concussion or something?”

“Then I’ll deal with it.”

He didn’t sound as if he were used to being questioned, and she bit back more comments.

Shane had clearly finished looking at whatever he’d figured needing looking at and was heading toward them again. He held out his clipboard to the driver. “Fill that out. I’ll need to see your license, too.”

The man didn’t take the clipboard. “We can settle this matter without all that.” His voice brooked no disagreement, and Hadley mentally sat back a little, curious to see how her brother, I-am-sheriff-hear-meroar, reacted.

“Some reason you don’t want to file an accident report?” Shane’s voice had turned that silky way it did whenever he was really displeased. He knew where Hadley’s distaste for accident reports came from, she knew. But a stranger wouldn’t be accorded a similar understanding.

Nevertheless, the driver looked unfazed, despite the gauze and tape covering half of his forehead. “Just the time it all takes,” he said. “Neither one of us is hurt and we both agree to pay for our own damages.”

Hadley made an involuntary sound, looking pointedly at his forehead. The truth was, they hadn’t agreed to anything.

“My sister pulls out in front of you, and you’re willing to cover the damages on your own car.” Shane’s gaze shifted to the vehicle in question that was now secured atop the flatbed of the tow truck.

“That’s a ’68 Shelby.”

The driver’s expression didn’t change. “I was going too fast. We’re both culpable.”

Shane sighed a little. Settled his snow-dusted cowboy hat on his head a little more squarely. “I can measure the skid marks,” he said, all conversational-like. “To prove the point. But we both know what I’m gonna find.” His smile was cool. “You weren’t speeding. So that just leaves me a mite curious as to why you’re in a such a hurry to go no place.”

“I have business to attend to.” The driver still seemed unfazed, and Hadley had to admire him for it. Not many people could stand their ground against that particular smile of Shane Golightly’s. Even Stu, Shane’s twin, had been known to back down in the face of it.

If the man wanted to claim a share of responsibility in the accident, who was she to argue? After all, she didn’t particularly want that report filed, either.

Shane appeared to be considering the driver’s smooth explanation. “Well. The registration is in order.” He tapped a folded piece of paper that was still in his possession. “Let’s just look at your license for now. Then we’ll see.”

The driver’s expression didn’t change one whit. “I don’t have it on me.”

Oh, dear. Hadley looked down at her boots, scuffling them a little in the skiff of snow.

“Well, that’s kind of a problem now, isn’t it?” Shane’s voice was pleasant.

She closed her eyes. Shane never sounded that pleasant unless he was completely and totally peeved.

The driver didn’t look like a car thief. Not that she necessarily knew what car thieves looked like. But if she were going to write one into one of her stories, she wouldn’t have given him thick, chestnut-colored hair and vivid blue eyes with a rear end that was world class. She’d have given him piercings and tattoos and slick grease in his hair, and he definitely wouldn’t be the hero—

She jerked her thoughts back to front and center. “Shane,” she said in that dreaded, tentative voice of hers. “You don’t have to give him the third-degree, surely. Mister, um—” she glanced up at the driver and simply lost her train of thought when his gaze found hers and held.

“Wood,” he said.

Dear Lord, please don’t let him be a car thief. He’s just too pretty for that. “Pardon me?”

“Wood,” he said again. “Tolliver. Atwood, actually, but nobody calls me that.” The corner of his lips twisted. “Not if they want me to answer.”

There was a molasses quality in his deep voice, she realized. Faint, but definitely Southern. And it was about as fine to listen to as her dad’s singing every Sunday morning. When she was alive, her mother’s voice had possessed a similar drawl.

With a start she realized she was staring at him.

Again. It was even more of a start to find that he was staring at her right back. Her skin prickled again, and it was not at all unpleasant.

“Well, Atwood Tolliver,” Shane said, still in that dangerously pleasant way. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to bring you in. Just till we verify that you really are who you say you are.”