It didn’t help Victoria’s mood when Jeff Hobbs’s silver Blazer buzzed right past them with an arrogant honk of the horn. Jerk. Didn’t he notice they were having car trouble? He could have at least stopped to see if there was a problem.
At last signs of civilization began to materialize—a billboard here, a building there. “I see a gas station up ahead,” Roan said.
Victoria expelled a long breath, releasing an almost palpable tension. “Thank God,” she murmured.
Haynie, Oklahoma, was the epitome of a one-horse town. It sported a main street with two flashing yellow lights and one bona fide stoplight. When Victoria was forced to brake for the light, the van died and refused to start again.
“All, hell,” Roan muttered. They were half a block from their destination, and he was going to have to push.
“Maybe they’ll tow it from here,” Victoria ventured to say.
Roan unfastened his seat belt. “This’ll be faster. Just put it in neutral, and keep your foot off the brake.”
Roan was an old hand at pushing cars. He’d once owned a Jeep that had to be push-started at least once a day. But the full-sized van was considerably heavier than a Jeep, and Roan thought he was going to have a heart attack as he heaved against the back of the vehicle with all his might. Finally it budged, never mind that they were running through the red light. It didn’t matter, since there wasn’t another moving car in sight. Some metropolis, this Haynie.
It seemed an eternity before he felt the van turning toward the right and into the gas station. He let up, and Victoria edged the van neatly into a parking place. Roan wiped his sweaty face with the bottom of his T-shirt as Victoria emerged from the driver’s seat, looking cool and regal as always.
“Thank you, Roan,” she said earnestly. “You’ve certainly earned your keep today.”
He felt grungy and unkempt standing near her. He took a reflexive step back, away from her freshness, her springlike scent, wishing suddenly for a shower and some decent clothes. He’d never felt uneasy about his casual dress before, not for a woman, not for anyone. Lord, what was she doing to him? “No charge,” he managed to say, still catching his breath.
“Something I can do for you folks?” The man who spoke was small and wizened, wearing bright red overalls over a clean work shirt. A clashing neon-greengimme cap sat atop his grizzled hair. His cheek bulged with a wad of tobacco, and as he waited for them to answer, he turned his head and spat.
Lovely. Roan felt suddenly less disgusting, by comparison.
“Our van quit,” Victoria said. “We need a mechanic.”
“That would be me, Leon Hornbostel at your service. Lucky for you it’s a slow day. Seein’ as I’m the only decent mechanic in these parts, sometimes it gets pretty backed up.” He took a long, slow look at the van, then asked suspiciously, “What’s all them antenneys for?”
Victoria clearly was not interested in jawing with Leon about her business. “Weather-sensing equipment,” she said dismissively. “I’m with the Weather Service out of Lubbock. Before you tow the van into the garage, I need to do something. Excuse me.” She climbed into the van through the side door.
Leon stuck his thumbs in his pockets and looked at Roan. “That’s quite a little spitfire you got there. Wouldn’t want to try to get nothin’ past her, no sirree.”
Roan held his hands up defensively. “She’s not my spitfire. I’m just along for the ride.”
Leon’s eyebrows flew up, but he said nothing.
“I’m a photographer,” Roan added. “I’m documenting her work.”
“Is that so?” Leon glanced at the van again. “What’s she doing in there?”
“Playing with her computer,” Roan replied, figuring anything more technical would go right over the oldman’s head. “She won’t be long. Got any cold drinks around here?”
“There’s a machine inside the garage.”
Roan found the ancient
At last signs of civilization began to materialize—a billboard here, a building there. “I see a gas station up ahead,” Roan said.
Victoria expelled a long breath, releasing an almost palpable tension. “Thank God,” she murmured.
Haynie, Oklahoma, was the epitome of a one-horse town. It sported a main street with two flashing yellow lights and one bona fide stoplight. When Victoria was forced to brake for the light, the van died and refused to start again.
“All, hell,” Roan muttered. They were half a block from their destination, and he was going to have to push.
“Maybe they’ll tow it from here,” Victoria ventured to say.
Roan unfastened his seat belt. “This’ll be faster. Just put it in neutral, and keep your foot off the brake.”
Roan was an old hand at pushing cars. He’d once owned a Jeep that had to be push-started at least once a day. But the full-sized van was considerably heavier than a Jeep, and Roan thought he was going to have a heart attack as he heaved against the back of the vehicle with all his might. Finally it budged, never mind that they were running through the red light. It didn’t matter, since there wasn’t another moving car in sight. Some metropolis, this Haynie.
It seemed an eternity before he felt the van turning toward the right and into the gas station. He let up, and Victoria edged the van neatly into a parking place. Roan wiped his sweaty face with the bottom of his T-shirt as Victoria emerged from the driver’s seat, looking cool and regal as always.
“Thank you, Roan,” she said earnestly. “You’ve certainly earned your keep today.”
He felt grungy and unkempt standing near her. He took a reflexive step back, away from her freshness, her springlike scent, wishing suddenly for a shower and some decent clothes. He’d never felt uneasy about his casual dress before, not for a woman, not for anyone. Lord, what was she doing to him? “No charge,” he managed to say, still catching his breath.
“Something I can do for you folks?” The man who spoke was small and wizened, wearing bright red overalls over a clean work shirt. A clashing neon-greengimme cap sat atop his grizzled hair. His cheek bulged with a wad of tobacco, and as he waited for them to answer, he turned his head and spat.
Lovely. Roan felt suddenly less disgusting, by comparison.
“Our van quit,” Victoria said. “We need a mechanic.”
“That would be me, Leon Hornbostel at your service. Lucky for you it’s a slow day. Seein’ as I’m the only decent mechanic in these parts, sometimes it gets pretty backed up.” He took a long, slow look at the van, then asked suspiciously, “What’s all them antenneys for?”
Victoria clearly was not interested in jawing with Leon about her business. “Weather-sensing equipment,” she said dismissively. “I’m with the Weather Service out of Lubbock. Before you tow the van into the garage, I need to do something. Excuse me.” She climbed into the van through the side door.
Leon stuck his thumbs in his pockets and looked at Roan. “That’s quite a little spitfire you got there. Wouldn’t want to try to get nothin’ past her, no sirree.”
Roan held his hands up defensively. “She’s not my spitfire. I’m just along for the ride.”
Leon’s eyebrows flew up, but he said nothing.
“I’m a photographer,” Roan added. “I’m documenting her work.”
“Is that so?” Leon glanced at the van again. “What’s she doing in there?”
“Playing with her computer,” Roan replied, figuring anything more technical would go right over the oldman’s head. “She won’t be long. Got any cold drinks around here?”
“There’s a machine inside the garage.”
Roan found the ancient
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