Janet Evanovich: Hero at Large

Standing to his full, imposing height, he cradled his left arm tenderly against his body. “My right arm seems to be okay, but the left is definitely broken.” His voice was quiet, calm. “Is there a hospital near here?”

“There are two hospitals in the area-both about ten minutes away. Maybe a little longer in morning traffic.”

He looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Lady, you just broke my arm. Aren’t you at least going to offer to drive me to the hospital?”

Chris looked at him tentatively, her lip caught between her teeth, while she debated the danger of being alone in a car with him.

“For Pete’s sake, I’m not going to attack you. I’ve got a broken arm.”

“You look disreputable.”

His gaze drifted down over himself in amazement. “I suppose you’re right.” He tipped his head back and laughed softly. “I’ve been called lots of things, but you’re the first person in a long time to tell me I’m disreputable looking.” He motioned to his truck. “I hate to be pushy, but my arm is killing me, and I can’t both drive and shift my truck with only one arm. Since you’re the cause of this disaster, I think the least you can do is drive me to a doctor.”

He was right, she thought dismally. “Okay. I’ll take you to the hospital.” She shook her finger at him in warning. “So help me…if you make one false move I’ll drive you straight to the state police.”

His gaze swept slowly over her, and Chris felt suddenly unaccountably flustered-self-conscious of her tousled curls, her slim, athletic body bundled in her gray running suit and bright red vest. “You’re not a minor, are you?”

Chris pulled a large athletic bag from the back seat of her car and locked it. “I’m twenty-nine, and if you tell me I look like Little Orphan Annie I might break your other arm.”

“There is a resemblance.”

“Don’t push it.” She stood facing his truck. It was a single cab Toyota Tacoma, dark gray with large wheels-and it seemed to be in perfect condition. Sure, it’s easy for him, she thought grimly. He probably knows if it has a glamus. A huge black dog sat behind the wheel. Chris looked at the man beside her. “There’s a dog in there.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the second-biggest dog I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a Rottweiler.”

“It must weigh two hundred pounds. We won’t all fit.”

“Of course we will. This truck seats three.”

“This truck would have to have rubber doors to seat three.”

He swung himself into the truck and settled beside the panting Rottweiler. “Come on,” he coaxed. “He’s a good dog. See? He’s smiling. He likes you.”

Chris set her bag on the floor between his feet and trudged around to the driver’s side. “Why me?” she groaned. “Why do these things always happen to me?” She opened the driver’s side door and slid in next to the mountain of dog, trying politely to nudge him over. He didn’t move. He draped his huge head on her shoulder and drooled down the front of her red vest. Chris rolled her eyes in disgust. “Oh for goodness’ sake. Hey, you!” she called between the dog’s ears. “What’s your name?”

There was a brief hesitation. “Ken Callahan.”

“Ken Callahan, I can’t drive with your dog drooling on me.”

He sighed. “Okay.”

The passenger door opened and slammed shut. Chris watched Ken Callahan jog around the truck. Not her type, she told herself, but she had to admire his style. Even with a broken arm, he moved with the fluid ease of an athlete. He opened the door and jerked his thumb at Chris in an obvious order. “Out!” Maneuvering his large frame behind the wheel, he used his good arm to shove the dog clear to the window. He settled himself next to the Rottweiler and straddled the gearshift. “Is this better?”

“Do you drool?”

“Another ten minutes with you, and I’m going to be drooling and babbling and committing mayhem.”

Chris slid behind the wheel again and found herself pressed thigh to thigh with Ken Callahan. There wasn’t an inch to spare between the dog and the man. And the gearshift was hopelessly lost from sight between Ken Callahan’s legs. I should have left well enough alone -she grimaced- I was better off with the Rottweiler.

“Um…Ken?”-she tried to shift in her seat-“We don’t all fit in this truck.”

“If I’d known you were going to break my arm, I would have left my dog at home.” His voice was rapidly losing its calm modulation.

Wriggling again, Chris shot him a black look. “Don’t get cranky. For two cents I’d leave you stranded here.”

“I’d give you the two cents, but I can’t get into my pocket with my broken arm.”

Chris narrowed her eyes and counted to ten. “Can’t he ride in back?”

“He’ll jump out-and please don’t suggest that I ride in back…it’s starting to rain.”

Chris squinted miserably at the windshield. He was right. It was raining. “Fine,” she said through clenched teeth, “just keep out of my way.” Ken Callahan made a fruitless attempt to move his long legs while she turned the key in the ignition. She switched the lights on, but the interior was barely lit by the glowing dashboard. Pressing her lips tightly together, she reached between his legs in search of the gearshift.

There was a sharp intake of breath, and the man squirmed beside her. “Lady, if you’ll just tell me what it is you’re looking for…I’ll be glad to help you find it.”

She swallowed and willed her voice not to quaver. “I’m looking for the gearshift.”

He took her hand and placed it on the plastic knob. “Maybe you could be careful when you put this thing into second? This is a little cramped quarters.”

She eased the stick back into gear and felt her thumb brush against the inside of his thigh. She closed her eyes in disbelief and scorching embarrassment. “This is impossible! Can’t you scrinch into the seat a little?”

“I’m scrinched as much as I can scrinch. If you’d just get moving, you could put it into third, and we’d all feel better.”

Chris spun the wheel and peeled out into the stream of traffic.

Ken Callahan gripped the dashboard. “Holy cow, now I know how you got all those dents in your car.”

“Do you want to drive?”

“You wouldn’t want to know what I’d like to do,” he returned between clenched teeth.

Chris clutched the wheel with all the desperation of a drowning woman clinging to a leaking life preserver. She couldn’t ever remember feeling so disturbed by a man. Every move she made pressed against hard muscle and sent suspicious sensations fluttering along her nerve endings, resulting in an odd mixture of fear, annoyance, and raw physical attraction. She focused her attention on the road and took a deep breath to steady herself. It was a ridiculous situation, and she knew it was going to get worse before it got better. She was up to fifty miles an hour and still driving in third gear. The motor whined in protest. She had to put the truck into fourth gear, but that meant sliding her hand along the inside of his right leg, again. This is my punishment for neglecting my car, she agonized. I didn’t feed it oil, and I lied to it, and the Car Fairy is getting even.

Ken Callahan cleared his throat nervously. “Uh, you really should put it into fourth.”

“I know that.” She glanced at him in the rearview mirror and realized he was biting back laughter. “Something funny?”

“You’re kinda cute when you’re all flustered.”

She made a grunting sound of pure annoyance. The only thing worse than being flustered was having him know she was flustered. She wrapped her fist around the gearshift and plunged it back with a vengeance.