CHAPTER 5
Evander
Anyone who drives like that has no business visiting Sweetbriar in December. Overflow tourists from Tahoe might be good for the local economy, but dealing with these idiots on the roads is a pain in my ass.
At least this driver wasn’t going fast enough to injure themselves. I didn’t even see the airbag deploy.
It takes my brain a few seconds to register what I’m seeing. It’s Phoebe Travis. But she’s wearing antlers and what looks like a fake fur chipmunk onesie.
Also, she’s pretty shaken up.
“Come on out. Let me help you. Turn off the ignition first, okay?” I offer her my hand and she nods, sniffling, and climbs out of the car. The front left panel of her Ford is banged up, but she looks fine. Except for the tears. And the trembling.
And the antlers.
“Hey. You’re okay, Phoebe. It’s going to be all right.”
Only then does she look up at me. Those golden eyes of hers fly wide and her mouth opens. “Evander?” The antlers slide down her nose and hitch on her lips.
I can’t help myself. I laugh. I’ve always appreciated that the untouchable Phoebe Travis had a nice rack—because I’m a man with two functioning eyeballs—but not this kind of rack.
I gently remove the headband from her face and toss it into the passenger seat. I run my hands along her furry upper arms.
This girl cracks me up. My guess is she was dressed up for something at the hospital. She’s always doing something extra for her patients, including me.
“Do you feel any pain? Did you bang your knee against the dash?” It might be days before she knows whether her neck or back got jolted.
Phoebe shakes her head and looks away. I think she’s embarrassed. But there’s no need to be. We’ve known each other since we were kids, though she’s a few years younger than me.
Besides, this is the same woman who sliced off my pants in the emergency room. She’s probably seen me naked more times than I realize. Maybe she’s worried that I’ll see her as less than professional.
“Hey, come on. It’s gonna be fine.”
I pull her into me and feel the weight of her soft body press against my chest.
“I hate it that someone had to rescue me, since I’m the one who’s usually doing the rescuing.” She mumbles this as she sniffs directly into the vest of my three-piece suit. I don’t mind. I plan to take it to the cleaners tomorrow, anyway.
“Shit happens, Phoebe.”
“I think black ice happened,” she says.
“You’re probably right.” I look up and down Main Street. We had a thaw while I was out of the country and now we’re seeing a refreeze.
The sun is out, but it’s cold as penguin pussy this morning.
“Thank you, Evander,” she whispers.
I’m jarred by the sound of my name on her lips. Her voice is sweet and husky.
And then I get a whiff of her scent. It’s something mellow and feminine, but nothing meant to draw attention. It got mine, though.
Next, I become aware of the warmth of her curvy flesh. I’m not sure what to do with my arms and hands. Do I pull her closer? Pat her back in a brotherly way? Pick her up and crush my mouth against hers?
What the fuck?
Where did that come from?
“Uh…” I gingerly remove her from contact with the front of my body and guide her up onto the sidewalk. “Wait here. Be right back.”
I walk to my SUV, grateful for a moment to get my shit together. I open the trunk and grab the crowbar from my toolbox. By the time I get back to Phoebe, I’m in control of myself.
I’ve willed the blood flow to reroute from my junk to my brain. I’m thinking straight again. I use the crowbar to pry the dented panel from the wheel. The tire isn’t punctured, fortunately.
I set the crowbar down and brace the heel of my loafer against the curb, then push her car into the street. Next, I check the rest of the vehicle to make sure it’s safe to drive.
Then I glance her way.
Phoebe has wrapped her chipmunk arms around her torso, hugging herself tightly. Her chin is lifted and she’s looking down the street to avoid my gaze.
I’m simultaneously in awe of her and angry with her. How strange.
She’s too pretty, I decide. Since when did she get too pretty?
Those messy brown waves are pulled back from her angelic face. A sprinkle of freckles are scattered across her nose. Her mouth is a soft pink pout.
She makes a seriously cute gerbil, even if she’s supposed to be a reindeer.
Snap out of it, MacLaine.
Why am I suddenly seeing little Phoebe Travis so differently? Why am I allowing myself to see her as a beautiful woman? I’ve only ever seen Phoebe in one of two ways. Either as the kid from the next ranch over or the competent nurse with the reassuring smile.
I need to go back to that.
Because I absolutely don’t want to see what I’m seeing. It pisses me off.
She’s not my type. Not that I have a type. But if I did, she would definitely not be it.
Phoebe Travis is the most cheerful human being I’ve ever known. She’s freakishly perky, really, and I’ve never understood how someone can go through life the way she does, or why they’d even want to. How does a person stay this damn positive all the time?
If I’m pathologically particular, then she’s pathologically pleasant.
It would never work.
Of course, it wouldn’t. Why would I even think that? What the hell is going on with me right now?
I have to get out of here.
“Are you okay to drive?”
She returns her attention to me and nods. “I’m fine. Sorry that your shoes got all messed up.”
She doesn’t look fine. She doesn’t sound fine, either. She’s not her usual self. And that’s not okay. I don’t like that shit one bit.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the need to protect her, bring her back to her baseline level of happiness, even if it’s abnormal for most of us mere mortals. “Let me drive you home.”
“No. I’m good. Thank you for all your help. I hope my carelessness hasn’t stopped you from getting wherever you were going.” She steps off the curb and slides into the driver’s seat. “Sorry, Evander.”
“Sorry for what?” I hold the edge of the car door while she starts up the engine. “Stop apologizing. And put on your seatbelt.”
The hurt in Phoebe’s eyes tells me I was a little too brusque with her. And now I’m the one who should apologize. But I don’t, because this encounter has knocked me off balance so badly that I just want it to end.
I close the car door and make sure Phoebe gets safely turned around and on her way. I watch her slowly apply the brakes as she approaches the stop light.
I need to apply the brakes, too.
When I head across Main Street to my SUV, I see someone walking my way. Ah, shit. It’s Melissa. And she’s smiling like a woman who’s about to reel in a big fish.
“Well lookie who decided to bless us common folk and come into town,” she says. Her smile doesn’t spread to her eyes. She’s angry. Fine.
I keep walking and make sure my voice remains neutral when I reply. “Nice to see you, Melissa. Sorry, but I’ve got to head out.”
She spins around on the heel of her boot and follows me. “You said you’d call.”
Inside my head, I groan. This is my fault. I know better than to hook up with anyone within a hundred-mile radius, even if that someone is a hard-bodied party girl like Melissa.
But one night a couple of months back, I let the isolation get the better of me. After a few beers at the bar and grill, I went home with her.
Old habits and all.
I admit that I was a real horse’s ass back in high school, and I made the rounds of the available female population—including Melissa. I earned my reputation for being a “hit-it-and-quit-it” douchebag.
I’m not that guy anymore. In fact, women are few and far between for me these days. I keep myself busy with the ranch and StellaR Tech and that’s pretty much it.
I might want a relationship someday, someday far off into the future. I’m in no hurry. And anyway, any partner would have to be okay with living out here in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, which certainly whittles down the number of eligible bachelorettes.
I reach the door of my SUV and pull it open. “I apologize for not calling,” I tell her. “I’ve been traveling a lot for work. And to be completely honest, I’m not interested in starting something right now.”
She laughs. “You seemed plenty interested when you were pushing me up against the refrigerator and screwing my brains out.”
Ouch.
I turn to look at Melissa. She’s a year older than me, and life hasn’t been easy for her. The last thing she needs is more bullshit put in her path. I’ve hurt her, and nobody deserves that. “Please accept my apology, Melissa. It won’t happen again.”
I slide into the driver’s seat, close the door, and continue on my way.
In the rearview mirror, I see her flip me the middle-finger salute as she yells, “You’re damn right it won’t happen again, asshole!”