Nora Roberts: Best Laid Plans

Before Abra could speak, Cody had her by the elbow and was leading her out. They were in front of the elevators before she managed to jerk away. "I don't need to be shown the way," she said through clenched teeth.

"Well, Ms. Wilson, looks like we disagree again." He strolled into the elevator with her, then punched the button for the parking garage. "In my opinion, you could definitely use some guidance-in how to handle birdbrains."

"I don't need you to…" She let her words trail off, glancing over at his face. The hint of amusement in his eyes matched the reluctant smile in hers. "I assume you're referring to Tim."

"Did I say that?"

"I have to assume you were-unless you were talking about yourself."

"Take your choice."

"That leaves me with a tough decision." The elevator shuddered slightly when it reached the parking level. Abra put her hand out to keep the door from sliding shut again as she studied him. There was a sharp intelligence in his eyes, and an easy confidence around his mouth. Abra nearly sighed as she moved through the doors and into the garage.

"Made up your mind?" he asked as he fell into step beside her.

"Let's just say I've already made up my mind how to handle you."

The slap of their boots echoed as they walked between the lines of cars. "How's that?"

"You've heard of ten-foot poles?"

His mouth quirked at the corners. She was wearing a braid again. It gave him the urge to loosen it, strand by strand. "That's downright unfriendly."

"Yeah." She stopped in front of a compact station wagon. Its white paint was scarred and dusty, and its windows were tinted violet to combat the merciless sun. Thoughtfully she dug out her keys. "Are you sure you want to go to the site? I could drop you by your hotel."

"I do have a mild interest in this project."

She moved her shoulders in a quick, restless gesture. "Suit yourself."

"Usually do."

Once in he cocked his seat back and nearly managed to stretch out his legs. When she turned the key, the engine coughed, objected, then caught. The radio and air conditioner sprang to life. Music jangled out, but she didn't bother to turn it down. Scattered across the dashboard were a family of decorative magnets- a banana, an ostrich, a map of Arizona, a grinning cat and a lady's hand with pink fingernails. Scribbled notes were Held in place by them. As far as Cody could make out, she had to pick up milk and bread and check on fifty tons of concrete. And call Mongo? He narrowed his eyes and tried again. Her mother. She was supposed to call her mother.

"Nice car," he commented when it shuddered and bucked to a stop at a light.

"Needs a tune-up." She shifted into neutral to let the engine idle. "I haven't gotten around to it."

He studied her hand as she jammed the car into first and accelerated. It was long and lean and suited her build. She wore her nails short and, unlike the plastic depiction of a lady's hand, unpainted. No jewelry. He could imagine those hands serving delicate cups of tea-just as he could imagine them changing spark plugs.

"So how would you handle Tim?"

"What?" He'd been lost in a quiet little fantasy about how those narrow, competent hands would feel stroking along his skin.

"Tim," she repeated. She gave the car more gas as they headed south out of Phoenix. "How would you handle him?"

At the moment he was more interested in how he was going to handle her. "I take it you two don't always see things the same way."

"You're the observant type, Johnson."

"Sarcasm, Red." He didn't ask permission to smoke, just rolled the window down an inch and began to search through his pockets for matches. "Personally, I don't mind it a bit, but when you're dealing with Thornway you'll find oil does better than vinegar."

It was true, absolutely true. It annoyed her that she'd put herself in a position where she'd had to be reminded of that. "He doesn't recognize sarcasm if you pour it over his head." She punched in the car lighter for him.

"Not nine times out of ten, maybe." He touched the tip of the lighter against his cigarette. "It's that tenth time that could get you in trouble. Before you say it, I already know you don't mind a little trouble."

Despite herself, she smiled, and she didn't object when he turned the radio down. "You know those horses, the parade horses that wear blinders so they'll follow the route and not look around and get spooked by crowds?"

"Yeah, and I've already seen that Thornway wears blinders so that he can follow the route to profit without being distracted. You want better working conditions for the men, a higher grade of material, whatever, you've got to learn how to be subtle."

She made that quick, restless movement with her shoulders again. "I can't."

"Sure you can. You're smarter than Thornway, Red, so you sure as hell ought to be able to outwit him."

"He makes me mad. When I think about-" She shrugged again, but this time there was sorrow in the movement. "He just makes me mad. When I get mad, whatever I think comes out."

That was something he'd already figured out for himself. "All you have to do is use the common denominator. With Thornway, that's profit. You want the men to have an hour lunch break in the heat of the day, you don't tell him it's for their benefit, you tell him he'll get higher efficiency and therefore higher profits."

She scowled for a minute, then let out a long breath. "I suppose I'll have to thank you for talking him into it."

"Okay. How about dinner?"

She cast him a short, level look. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because you've got a pretty face." When he grinned, she granted him the briefest of smiles. "I don't trust men with pretty faces."

"You've got a pretty face. I don't hold it against you."

Her smile widened for a moment, but she kept staring at the long road ahead. "There's the difference between you and me, Johnson."

"If we had dinner, we could find others."

It was tempting. And it shouldn't have been. "Why should we want to find others?"

"Passes the time. Why don't we-" He broke off when the car swerved. Abra swore and wrestled the car to the shoulder of the road.

"A flat," she said in disgust. "A lousy flat, and I'm already late getting back." With that, she slammed out of the car and stomped around to the back, swearing with admirable expertise. By the time Cody joined her, she'd already rolled out her spare.

"That one doesn't seem to be in much better shape," he commented, eyeing the tread.

"I need new ones all around, but this one should hold a while." She hauled out the jack and, still muttering curses, hooked it under the bumper. It was on the tip of Cody's tongue to offer to change it himself. Then he remembered how much he enjoyed watching her work. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and stayed out of her way.

"Where I come from, engineers do pretty well for themselves. Ever think about a new car?"

"This one does the job." She spun the lug nuts off. With easy efficiency she pulled off the flat and rolled the spare into place. The breeze from a passing car fluttered through her hair.

"This is bald," Cody said when he took a look at the flat.

"Probably."

"Probably, hell. I've got more tread on my sneakers. Haven't you got more sense than to drive around on bald tires?" Even as he asked he started around the car to examine the tread on the remaining three. "These aren't much better."

"I said I needed new ones." She brushed the hair out of her eyes. "I haven't had the time to take it in and deal with it."

"Make time."

He was standing behind her now. From her crouched position, she aimed a look over her shoulder. "Back off."

"When I work with someone who's this careless personally, I have to wonder how careless they might be professionally."