Smilow?"
Everyone laughed, but Smilow's terse, "No, I
didn't," spoken as though he'd taken her question
seriously, ended the laughter as abruptly as it had
started.
"Excuse me, Mr. Smilow?"
Standing in the open doorway was Smitty. Smilow
checked his wristwatch. It was after midnight. "I
thought you'd be anxious to get home," he said to the
shoeshine man.
"They only just now told us we could go home,
Mr. Smilow."
"Oh, yeah." He hadn't thought of hotel fixtures
like Smitty being detained for long hours of questioning,
although he had mandated it himself. "Sorry
about that."
"Never mind, Mr. Smilow. I was just wonderin',
did anybody 'round here tell y'all about those folks
that were taken to the hospital yesterday?"
"Hospital?"
CHAPTER 6
The capital letter E on the instrument panel of her
car flashed red.
She groaned with frustration. The last thing she
wanted to do was stop and pump gasoline, but she
knew from experience that when the gauge on this
car said empty, it was dangerously accurate.
Service stations were scarce on this stretch of rural
highway, so when she came upon one only a few
miles after seeing the warning light, she pulled in and
lethargically got out of her car.
Ordinarily when she pumped her own gas she paid
by credit card at the pump. But technology hadn't
stretched this far into the boonies. As a matter of
principle, she disliked having to pay in advance. So
she removed the nozzle from the pump and flipped
down the lever. She twisted off her gas cap and set it
on the roof of her car, inserted the nozzle in the tank,
then waved at the attendant in the booth, motioning
for him to engage the pump.
He was watching a wrestling match on his black
and white TV. She could barely see him through the
neon beer signs and the posters taped to the window
announcing outdated events and lost pets. Either he
hadn't
noticed her or he was standing on his own
principle of not turning on the pump until the customer
paid in advance, especially after dark.
"Damn." She relented, walked to the office, and
slid a bill into the dirty tray beneath an even dirtier
window.
"Twenty dollars' worth? Anything else?" he asked,
his eyes remaining glued to the TV screen.
"No, thanks."
The rate of flow was a trickle, but the pump finally
clicked off. She removed the nozzle and replaced it
on the pump. As she was reaching for the gas tank
cap, another car pulled off the road and into the station.
She was caught in the bright headlights and
squinted against the glare.
The car rolled to a stop only a few feet from her
rear bumper. The driver turned off the headlights but
didn't kill the engine before opening the door and
stepping out.
Her lips parted in wordless surprise. But she
didn't move or speak. She didn't berate him for following
her. Or demand to know why he had. Or insist
that he get lost and leave her alone. She didn't do
anything but look at him.
His hair looked darker now that the sun had gone
down, not as tawny as it appeared in daylight. She
knew his eyes were grayish blue, although now they
were deeply shadowed. One eyebrow was slightly
higher and more arched than the other, but this asymmetric
quirk added interest. His chin had a shallow
vertical cleft. He cast a long shadow because he was
tall. Weight would never be a problem; he didn't have
the frame to carry much extra poundage.
For several seconds they stared at each other
across the hood of his car, then he stepped around the
open door. Her eyes followed his progress as he came
toward her. The determination with which his jaw
was set said a lot about his character. He wasn't easily
discouraged, and he wasn't afraid to go after
something he wanted.
He didn't stop until he was standing directly in
front of her. Then he cupped her face between his
hands and lifted it toward his as he bent down and
kissed her.
And she thought, Oh, God.
His lips were full and sensual, and they
Everyone laughed, but Smilow's terse, "No, I
didn't," spoken as though he'd taken her question
seriously, ended the laughter as abruptly as it had
started.
"Excuse me, Mr. Smilow?"
Standing in the open doorway was Smitty. Smilow
checked his wristwatch. It was after midnight. "I
thought you'd be anxious to get home," he said to the
shoeshine man.
"They only just now told us we could go home,
Mr. Smilow."
"Oh, yeah." He hadn't thought of hotel fixtures
like Smitty being detained for long hours of questioning,
although he had mandated it himself. "Sorry
about that."
"Never mind, Mr. Smilow. I was just wonderin',
did anybody 'round here tell y'all about those folks
that were taken to the hospital yesterday?"
"Hospital?"
CHAPTER 6
The capital letter E on the instrument panel of her
car flashed red.
She groaned with frustration. The last thing she
wanted to do was stop and pump gasoline, but she
knew from experience that when the gauge on this
car said empty, it was dangerously accurate.
Service stations were scarce on this stretch of rural
highway, so when she came upon one only a few
miles after seeing the warning light, she pulled in and
lethargically got out of her car.
Ordinarily when she pumped her own gas she paid
by credit card at the pump. But technology hadn't
stretched this far into the boonies. As a matter of
principle, she disliked having to pay in advance. So
she removed the nozzle from the pump and flipped
down the lever. She twisted off her gas cap and set it
on the roof of her car, inserted the nozzle in the tank,
then waved at the attendant in the booth, motioning
for him to engage the pump.
He was watching a wrestling match on his black
and white TV. She could barely see him through the
neon beer signs and the posters taped to the window
announcing outdated events and lost pets. Either he
hadn't
noticed her or he was standing on his own
principle of not turning on the pump until the customer
paid in advance, especially after dark.
"Damn." She relented, walked to the office, and
slid a bill into the dirty tray beneath an even dirtier
window.
"Twenty dollars' worth? Anything else?" he asked,
his eyes remaining glued to the TV screen.
"No, thanks."
The rate of flow was a trickle, but the pump finally
clicked off. She removed the nozzle and replaced it
on the pump. As she was reaching for the gas tank
cap, another car pulled off the road and into the station.
She was caught in the bright headlights and
squinted against the glare.
The car rolled to a stop only a few feet from her
rear bumper. The driver turned off the headlights but
didn't kill the engine before opening the door and
stepping out.
Her lips parted in wordless surprise. But she
didn't move or speak. She didn't berate him for following
her. Or demand to know why he had. Or insist
that he get lost and leave her alone. She didn't do
anything but look at him.
His hair looked darker now that the sun had gone
down, not as tawny as it appeared in daylight. She
knew his eyes were grayish blue, although now they
were deeply shadowed. One eyebrow was slightly
higher and more arched than the other, but this asymmetric
quirk added interest. His chin had a shallow
vertical cleft. He cast a long shadow because he was
tall. Weight would never be a problem; he didn't have
the frame to carry much extra poundage.
For several seconds they stared at each other
across the hood of his car, then he stepped around the
open door. Her eyes followed his progress as he came
toward her. The determination with which his jaw
was set said a lot about his character. He wasn't easily
discouraged, and he wasn't afraid to go after
something he wanted.
He didn't stop until he was standing directly in
front of her. Then he cupped her face between his
hands and lifted it toward his as he bent down and
kissed her.
And she thought, Oh, God.
His lips were full and sensual, and they
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