Kelton's Rules. Peggy NicholsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
up onto its off-side wheels for a heart-stopping moment—then, supported by the bushes, settled back again.
As he braked to a halt alongside, Jack blew out his breath. And thank You! He stepped out and sauntered on shaking legs over to the kid’s window. “That was exciting.” They measured each other solemnly—then grinned from ear to ear. “Well done,” Jack told him, socking his shoulder. “Very well done ind—”
“Sky! Oh, baby!”
And here came Momma at last, panting and wind-torn and half-hysterical, clutching a forgotten bunch of crumpled wildflowers. A small frantic tornado, she roared down the narrow gap between the vehicles and actually bumped Jack aside, getting to her child. “Oh, sweetie!” She wrenched open the kid’s door. Jack winced as the edge of it banged into the Jeep. So much for his paint job.
“Are you all right?” But she wasn’t waiting to hear; apparently touch would tell her faster. Her fingers flew over the boy’s face, his arms, his ribs. Tugging at his clothes, smoothing his hair. “Where does it hurt?”
Jack met the kid’s eyes over her shoulder and gave him a commiserating grin. Sometimes a guy just had to put up with the mushy stuff.
“Aw-ww, Mom! I’m fine.” The boy twisted away as she tried to pull him into a hug, then dived under the wheel. “It’s DC…”
The largest cat Jack had ever seen crouched behind the pedals, tail fluffed to the size of a firehose, eyes like black saucers. Moaning throatily, he slashed at the boy’s outstretched hand.
“Ouch! He’s never done that before!” The boy— Sky?—brought scratched fingers to his lips.
“Reckon you’ve never run him backward down a mountain before,” Jack said mildly. “Give him a minute.”
Momma swung around, registering his presence at last.
And worth the wait, Jack decided as his gaze dropped from wide green eyes still dilated with shock, down over a lush trembling mouth, over a pair of still heaving, just-the-right-size breasts, to—oh, boy, forget it! To a slogan emblazoned across the T-shirt, claiming: A Woman Needs A Man Like A Fish Needs A Bicycle.
Hoo-boy, one of those. A lady with an ax to grind. His eyes flicked back to the bus, filled almost to window level with its assortment of household rubble. Jeez, that thing on its side—could that be a washing machine?
“Been divorced long?” he asked casually.
She blinked. Blinked her long lashes again, grateful smile fading to wariness as she raised her chin. “H-how did you guess?”
Jack threw back his head and laughed.
SHE’D SWORN she’d stand on her own two feet from now on, yet here she was again, letting a man take charge.
Not that it was easy to stand alone when apparently she’d wrecked an ankle, somewhere in that pell-mell, adrenaline-powered chase, Abby reminded herself. Sitting in the topless Jeep, where their rescuer had planted her when he realized—at the same moment she did—that she could barely hobble, Abby clasped still-shaking hands between wobbly knees. She watched with growing uneasiness as he stalked around the bus, hands on lean hips, shaking his shaggy head to himself as he summed up the state of her disaster and decided what should be done about it.
She had a terrible suspicion his conclusions would be the right ones—logical, sensible and therefore impossible to refute, much as she’d rather refute them. She’d already had one sample of his plain-spoken intelligence, with that guess about her marital status.
I don’t need this!
Didn’t need a disastrous setback, just as she was starting to pick up the pieces of her life and think about rebuilding.
Didn’t need someone—another too confident, too brash, too good-looking-for-his-own-good male—telling her what to do and how to do it.
Except that she did. She was utterly exhausted and confused. Overwhelmed. She supposed this was what they called shock. Looking at her son as he smiled wanly up at the man who’d rolled out from under the bus to stand and pat his shoulder, her eyes filled slowly with tears. Oh, Sky, I could have lost you!
Losing the life she’d known since she was nineteen was nothing compared to that.
And being bossed around by another know-it-all man—who’d known enough to save her son—was a small price to pay. A price she’d pay gladly again and again. The bargain of a lifetime.
“I haven’t even thanked you yet,” she said huskily a few minutes later when he came to sit beside her in the Jeep. “That cliff beyond the trees…if Sky’d gone over that…”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I couldn’t have done it without him. He’s a smart kid. Stayed cool when it counted.”
“Yes…” Cool under pressure. Steve and his pilot buddies had valued that quality above all else.
Sometimes she wondered if it signified ice at the center. A basic heartlessness. Easy to be cool if you didn’t really care. When she’d told him she wanted a divorce, Steve had shrugged, given her a rueful grin and merely said, “Can’t say I blame you, babe.”
She shook off the memory with a jerk of her head. Who cared if this man was just one more of that type? It wasn’t as though she was buying him and taking him home. “I don’t understand how this could’ve happened,” she said now, eyes returning to the bus. “I know I left the brake on. And I thought I left it in gear.”
He glanced down at his boots, then quickly up again—and smiled. “Brakes have been known to fail. My name’s Kelton, by the way. Jack Kelton.” He held out a big hand and reluctantly she surrendered her own to its shockingly warm clasp, aware of the roughness of his palm. A carpenter, perhaps? Or out here in cow country, with those boots he was wearing, maybe a cattleman?
“Abby Lake,” she murmured. “And that’s Skyler.” She nodded at her son, who’d climbed into the back of the bus and was apparently searching for DC among the tumbled boxes. In the gathering twilight, she could barely see him moving beyond the windows.
“Good enough. So first question, Abby. Do you have any sort of towing service we can call?”
“I’m afraid I—” She’d had roadside assistance, of course, on her car. But in her scramble to close on the house, then move, since the new buyers had insisted on immediate occupancy… What with all the other details of dismantling one’s life and carting it across country: changing bank accounts, health insurance, credit cards, mailing address… “I forgot to get it. I just bought the bus last week.”
“Ah,” Kelton said neutrally, although she could hear his disapproval. No doubt he would have remembered. “So question two. I take it money’s an issue here?”
A sensible deduction—prodding old bruises and a still-simmering indignation. Three months ago, money wouldn’t have been an issue. Now it was survival itself. “It’s tight.” Budgeted to the penny and now, looking at the bus, she realized her budget was blown. What am I going to do?
“Okay, so hiring a tow truck to come out from Durango, then haul a bus forty miles back, isn’t practical. And once you get it to a garage, it may need a new transmission, definitely a new exhaust system. I’m not sure about the axles, though they might be intact… Repairs are going to be costly, if you can even scrounge the parts for this old girl. And meantime, while somebody’s fixing it for a week or more, I suppose you’ll have to stay in a motel. Unless you have friends in Durango?”
“No…” Abby threaded a hand through her disheveled hair. Tried to find a smile. “We’re from New Jersey. At least lately…” It was one of the things she’d hated most about being a military wife all those years. The repeated uprootings. The constant farewells. A shy woman like her needed to nest in one place, where she could build and nourish long-term friendships. The kind of support system that sustained you through disasters such as this.
“Anyway,