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“Hell,” he muttered, then fell silent.
Taking that as an agreement, Olivia relaxed…a little.
The waitress glanced at both of them. “Who’s buying?”
“I am,” Olivia spoke up brightly. Thanks to a difficult childhood, she’d learned to take care of herself. Adapting to any new situation was lesson number one.
With a trail of unhappy children and broken marriages left behind, Olivia’s mother had spent her life trying to find herself—usually through some man.
Sadly she never had.
For the most part, Olivia avoided the male half of the species. It wasn’t that she didn’t like men; she simply didn’t want one of her own.
However, she’d learned to rely on her intuition when all else failed her. Some basic instinct told her that her rescuer—no matter how reluctant, aloof and unsociable—would do her no harm.
Under the dim lights, his face appeared shadowed; his hair was dark, clipped short. His clothes looked as if they belonged to someone else—someone stockier. He looked down on his luck. Olivia could identify with that. In less than six months, she’d be homeless.
Putting the dismal reality aside, she glanced at his drink, surprised to see it was nonalcoholic.
“I’ll have a Coke,” she said to the waitress, while ignoring the stranger’s lack of enthusiasm about her company. “I’m starved. Can I have some chips with that? I’ve been on the road all day. The weather’s awful! Then, to top it off, my car’s been acting funny since I left Bangor.” Olivia stopped just long enough to take a much-needed breath. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone here who can fix it?”
“Not until morning, I’m afraid.” The waitress took a swipe at the counter with a damp sponge. “A mechanic usually comes on duty at the garage next door at eight. There’s a motel out back. It’s nothing special,” she added.
Olivia could just imagine a seedy motel. They probably charged by the hour. “I was hoping to get home tonight.”
She jumped when the stranger at her side spoke up.
“Where’s home?” he asked.
“Henderson. It’s not far, less than two hours away.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I know where it is.”
“Oh?” When he said nothing more, she spoke again, “By the way, my name’s Olivia DeAngelis. And you are?”
“Drew Pierce.” He seemed to wait for a reaction—obviously assuming she recognized the name.
Returning with Olivia’s order, the waitress provided a distraction. She looked at Drew with interest.
“My husband used to do some logging. You related to them Pierces?”
“Yes,” he responded.
Amused by the terse reply, Olivia raised her glass to her lips, hiding her surprise at his identity. So this was the infamous Drew Pierce. Of course, she’d heard of him.
The Pierce family had once controlled Henderson’s logging and farming economy, before an explosion destroyed the migrant camp. Olivia frowned, trying to recall the details of the trial that followed—something about safety violations. There were also charges of mismanagement. Despite some high-powered lawyers, Drew Pierce was found guilty and sentenced, after which his family had cut their losses and left Henderson. The town hadn’t been the same since.
Olivia glanced at him, taking in the square chin, the full sensuous mouth, the dark hair and eyes. Funny, he didn’t look like pond scum, or any other of the unflattering terms she’d heard used around town to describe him. In fact, he looked disturbingly handsome in a reckless, edgy sort of way.
Then she remembered something else.
His family might have left town, but their house, Oakridge, was still standing. They were practically neighbors! She almost said as much, but his closed expression suggested he wouldn’t welcome that piece of information.
Olivia opened the bag of chips and offered him some.
“No thanks.” Drew tried to ignore her.
He really did try.
Might as well try to ignore a fly buzzing around his ear, he decided. But with her laughter and lightness, she seemed so feminine, so new, reminding him of all the female company he’d missed. If he stayed here one moment longer, he’d be demanding a key to that motel room and trying to lure her out there. But he didn’t do that sort of thing anymore! He was reformed, determined to go straight and avoid any entanglements, even if it killed him. Which meant he needed to rescue her—if only from himself.
With that thought uppermost, he said, “I know something about cars. Let me take a look.”
“Thanks.” She sounded breathless, as if he’d surprised her.
He probably had—he’d shocked himself. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to help her. Maybe it was that vulnerable mouth or the determined cheerfulness…or the way she filled out her jeans. In any case, the sooner he fixed her car and sent her on her way, the better he would feel.
He held out his hand. “Can I have the keys?”
She started to hand them to him, then stopped. “I think I’ll come with you.”
So she wasn’t all that trusting.
Smart woman.
With a tight smile, Drew took the keys from her, got up, then walked out, not surprised when she hastened after him. He didn’t slow down until he reached the parking lot.
The truck stop was all lit up with glittering red and blue neon lights. Rain bounced off the pavement. Within seconds, he was drenched.
Great.
With a grimace of discomfort, Drew turned up the collar of his denim jacket. It wasn’t waterproof.
Through the downpour, he looked around the parking lot. “Which car is yours?”
She pointed to a sedan sandwiched between two eighteen-wheel trucks. “That one.” Her car was small, like her, and a pale powder-blue.
With Olivia looking on, Drew climbed into the driver’s seat, then turned the ignition. Nothing happened.
“When did you first notice something was wrong?” he asked.
In response, she spared him none of the details. “It was running fine when I left Bangor after dropping off my brother and his family at the airport. Then I had lunch and did a couple of errands. It all took longer than I hoped. The car was still fine when I started driving home. Then it got dark.”
“Then what?”
“When I turned on the lights, they were dim. And they got dimmer. I’m lucky I got this far.”
Lucky for whom?
Sorting through all the information, Drew said, “Sounds like the battery might be going. How old is it?”
She looked at the car. “I bought it secondhand.”
“When was that?”
“About four years ago. They said all the equipment was original.” She beamed—as if that was a good thing.
Drew grunted some response. Her optimism was beginning to wear thin. “Let’s have a look.” He propped the hood open, then bent over the engine. “The battery terminals look corroded.”
“Hmm.” She got out an umbrella—a yellow flowered one, then tried to hold it steady over his head while he cleaned the terminals. The wind blew, rain lashed in four directions.
Before long, they were both soaked. She sneezed.
Drew glanced at her. “Why don’t you go back inside?”
“You might need my help.” She smiled at him, her eyes wide and gray, as crystal clear and guileless as a mountain stream.
He stared for a long moment. Something about her seemed familiar. “What did you say your name was?”
“Olivia DeAngelis.”
His gaze skimmed over her delicate flower-face, her pale hair. Irrepressible as her, it curled like a gold halo around her head. “You don’t look Italian.”
In her black leather jacket and jeans, she was an intriguing blend of worldliness and innocence. A wayward angel.
“I’m not. I was adopted.” She didn’t add any details.
“You’re not from around here originally.”
She tilted her head. “How did you guess?”
“The accent gave you away.” He’d gone to college and met people from the West Coast. “California breeze.”
She laughed. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
When he remained silent, her smile faded.
So he’d finally burst her bubble of cheer. In a way, Drew regretted it, but perhaps it was just as well. He didn’t need a woman like her cluttering his life. He had no connections; his family had disowned him. Under the circumstances, he didn’t really blame them. His list of transgressions was long.
He’d hurt some innocent people and served time in an out-of-state minimum-security prison—not his idea of a country club by any stretch of the imagination. Society had exacted a price, and he’d paid. Would that satisfy his detractors and earn forgiveness? He was going home to face the same people who judged him guilty and sent him to prison. Beyond that, he had no plans—except to pick up his few belongings, then head out somewhere.
He had no clear destination in mind—as long as it was as far from his past as he could get.
Only one thing was certain—no one would miss him.
Not a soul.
Did he care?
He wasn’t sure. The admission left him empty.
At his deliberate attempt to distance himself, Olivia shivered in the cold autumn night. She tried to shake off Drew’s easy dismissal. People usually liked her; she worked hard to make sure they did.
Unexpectedly hurt and not willing to examine the reason too closely since all six-foot-two of him was standing less than a yard away, she decided to treat his rudeness with silence. That lasted about a minute.
Now he was glowering at the engine!
Alarmed, she leaned over for a closer look—brushing his hard elbow with her own.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, confused by the mess of greasy gears and wires.
“Nothing.” He inched his arm away, leaving her feeling colder than before. “I just cleaned and reset the wires. With a jump-start, you can be on your way.”
“Oh.” What had she expected?
Surprisingly he gave her a direct glance. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been rude.”
His mouth was set in a rigid line, his brow was furrowed. He didn’t look sorry. His chiseled features looked hard, with deep-set eyes that looked older than the rest of him. Despite that bit of insight, Olivia hardened her sympathetic heart.
She didn’t flinch from the truth. “You think I’m an airhead.” Why did that hurt? Why should she care what this man thought? She’d survived worse.
Drew heard the defensive note in her voice. “I didn’t say that.” All right, so maybe he did think she was a mental lightweight. He couldn’t deny that. But he also thought she was very young—far too young and vulnerable to be out alone, forced to rely on strangers for help.
If she belonged to him, he’d—
He stopped the thought before it went anywhere.
She wasn’t his. There had been many women in his life, but only one had touched his heart and left it permanently scarred. There was no room for another, which was exactly the way he wanted it.
Wasn’t it?
Before they got mired any deeper in this conversation, Drew decided to put an end to it. “Look, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
She lifted her dainty chin. “You didn’t.”
He tried to keep a note of impatience from creeping into his voice. “I don’t know you. I offered to fix your car. That’s it. We’re never going to see each other again, so my opinion hardly matters. Does it?”
Her heart-shaped face, with delicate brows and mouth, remained soft—even though she was visibly annoyed. “No, it doesn’t.”
At her aggrieved tone, he hid a smile.
“Then how about handing me that wrench?” He held out his hand.
“This one?” She slapped the hard metal into his outstretched palm.
The impact stung.
“Thanks,” he said dryly. Despite her diminutive size, Olivia DeAngelis packed a wallop.
