Carol Ericson - The McClintock Proposal

He watched his rearview mirror as a black SUV pulled behind the woman and the motorcycle. Three men tumbled out of the car, clutching bottles. Rod made for the shoulder of the highway and threw his truck into Reverse.

By the time he jumped out of his truck, the three men had formed a circle around the woman, the white wedding dress swirling around her legs. Her long, blond hair whipped in the hot wind from the speeding cars on the highway.

“Hey, baby, did your groom ditch you by the side of the road or something?”

The woman tilted up her chin, digging her fists into her hips. She looked ready to make a run at the guy.

“Take a hike.” Rod stepped between the man and the stranded woman, jerking his thumb toward the idling SUV.

“Are you the groom?” The moron twisted his head over his shoulder and snorted at his two buddies.

Rod grabbed a handful of the man’s sweat-dampened T-shirt and yanked him forward. The man’s head snapped back around, his mouth slack with a dribble of beer at the corner.

“Get moving.” Rod bunched his fist and drew it back to emphasize his point.

The man pedaled backward, bumping into his two friends, already scrambling for the security of the car. “Sure, man. We’re not looking for trouble.”

Only with a little blonde in a wedding dress and…bare feet.

The men piled into the SUV and shot down the highway.

Holding up his index finger, Rod pulled out his cell phone and placed a call to 911, giving them the license plate of the SUV. He snapped the phone shut and dropped it back into his shirt pocket. “Don’t want those guys plowing into a carload of kids.”

She gathered her billowing hair in one hand and twisted it behind her. “Who are you, Sir Galahad?”

“You’re welcome.”

A pink blush washed over her cheeks beneath the grit and grime. “Thanks. I appreciate your help. I was so happy someone pulled over—until I saw The Three Stooges climb out of the car.”

“You’re in a dangerous situation.” His gaze narrowed. “What is your situation?”

“I ran out of gas.” She aimed a dirty, pink-polished toe at the tire of the Honda 550, but stopped short of kicking it.

Running out of gas didn’t tell half the story of a barefoot, bedraggled bride in the middle of New Mexico. He tapped the phone in his pocket. “Do you want me to call a roadside service to bring you some gas?”

The woman laced her hands in front of her and dropped her chin, glancing up at him through lowered lashes.

A practiced look, if he ever saw one.

“Not really. I was kind of hoping for a lift. It’s been a hell of a ride in this wedding gown.”

“What about the bike?”

She shrugged, the strap of her dress slipping off her shoulder. “It’s not mine.”

Rod crossed his arms and dug his boot heels into the gravel. If she stole the motorcycle, he’d turn her in, too, with those jackasses in the car.

She peered at him through the veil of hair that hung over her face, and then jerked her head up. “I didn’t steal the bike. Someone loaned it to me.”

He cocked his head. This one looked like a package of trouble tied up with a white bow; but curiosity nibbled at his gut. He hoped to hell that curiosity wouldn’t land him in the same condition as the cat.

“How are you going to return the bike to your…friend?”

“He told me to leave it on the side of the road when I ran out of gas, and he’d get it back.” She nibbled at her bottom lip and crinkled her brow, as if the logic of this plan escaped even a barefoot woman standing in the middle of the highway in a dirty wedding dress.

His gaze tracked over the motorcycle—no saddlebags, no pouch, no nothing. “Do you have a purse with you? Money? Change of clothing?”

She threw her head back and laughed at the darkening sky. Then she doubled over, her shoulders shaking as she clutched her stomach. Was she having a breakdown?

Rod stepped toward her, his boots crunching the gravel, and her head shot up. Tears streamed down her face, and she swept them away, creating streaks of dirt on her cheeks. But she was still laughing.

“Do I look like I have anything? Just a few bucks and my driver’s license.” She patted the side of her breast, encased in the tight bodice of the wedding dress. “Wouldn’t want to get a ticket for driving without a license.”

A carload of teenagers screamed and yelled out their car window, and the woman rubbed a hand across her nose. “Can we get off of this godforsaken highway now?”

“After you.” In a grand gesture, he swept his arm toward his truck. “Where are you headed?”

Taking a few tentative steps on the chunky gravel, she called over her shoulder, “North is good.”

Rod resisted the urge to sweep her off her feet, which must be hurting. Better to let her tough it out than suspect him of improper designs on her. Although accepting a ride from a stranger didn’t seem to bother her.

Reaching the truck, she grabbed the door handle before he could, and pulled herself onto the running board. Nudging her hand out of the way, he opened the door for her. She launched herself inside, dropping onto the leather interior of his truck with a rustle of silk and a soft sigh.

By the time he slid into the driver’s seat, the woman had adjusted the seat back as far as it would go, stretched her legs out and closed her eyes.

He studied her face in the creeping gloom, the headlights of the passing cars illuminating its planes and curves. She’d obviously ditched a wedding and, judging by her dress, it was her own. But why the full-scale flight in complete bridal regalia? She couldn’t stop to change clothes, grab a credit card, get her own car? The whole thing smelled worse than a truckload of manure.

She opened one eye. “Are you going to put this behemoth in gear and get moving?”

For a woman in her position, she didn’t show much gratitude. He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Rod.”

She placed her delicately boned hand in his and, with the grip of a truck driver, she said, “Callie.”

He extracted his fingers from hers and cranked on the engine, Bach immediately cascading from the speakers. She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and he jabbed the button to turn off the CD player.

Blowing out a breath, he pulled onto the highway. “So, how’d a nice girl like you wind up on the roadside in a wedding dress?”

“Who said I was nice?” She clicked open his glove compartment and rummaged inside with one hand.

“Looking for something?”

“Food. I’m starving. Didn’t stick around long enough for the canapés at the reception.”

Despite being an intruder, she’d made herself right at home in his truck. “There’s a bag in the backseat with some granola bars and beef jerky, and a cooler with some bottled water.”

“Even that sounds good to me right now.” She unsnapped her seat belt and twisted in her seat to paw through the paper bag on the floor of the truck.

Rod shot her a sidelong glance as she ripped into a piece of jerky with straight, white teeth. If he had any sense, he’d turn around and deliver her back to the bridegroom. Poor sap. What kind of woman leaves her man stranded at the altar?

She chugged the water and then rested the bottle against her cheek, staring at the highway as his truck gobbled it up. Her pretty blue eyes, shadowed by the dark interior of his car, had a haunted look. Her porcelain skin stretched too tightly over her high cheekbones, and her full lips pursed into a tight knot.

Okay, maybe she didn’t dump a poor sap. Rod always jumped to the most unsavory conclusions about women and their motives—a legacy from mommy dearest.

He cleared his throat. “Are you hungry? Because I’ve been driving all afternoon, up from Austin, and I could use a meal.”