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But he wasn’t a good mark. He traveled light. And he carried a gun.
“I’d offer to let you call your family or a friend or someone else,” he said. “But something tells me you’re not here to use the phone.”
“No.”
“So…what, then?”
She glanced over at the dirty brown minivan he’d picked up at some two-bit used-car lot along the way. He’d fallen asleep at the wheel and wrecked his truck—the only thing he hadn’t given his wife in the divorce.
“Actually, I was hoping maybe we could hitch a ride with you.”
The moment of truth. “Hitch a ride where?” he asked.
“Iowa.”
“What?”
“You’ve got room.” She appealed to him with those incredible eyes, and for the first time, Preston noticed how pale and drawn she was under that tan. “I have family there—in Iowa, I mean.”
“We’re complete strangers!”
“I know.”
She was also too thin. But he couldn’t do anything for her. He couldn’t stand the idea of having her boy in the car. And the loaded weapon was something else entirely. “Forget it. Won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“It takes three days to get there.”
She grew more agitated. “What about Salt Lake City? That’s closer.”
He wasn’t taking her anywhere. He started to shake his head, but she grabbed his arm. “Please?”
Damn it! Preston closed his eyes. Since the tragedy that had changed his life, no one dared approach him, let alone ask him for a favor. He was too filled with rage, too hungry for vengeance; all that negative emotion made others uncomfortable. So how had he suddenly found himself in this predicament?
He opened his eyes to stare down at the hand still gripping his arm so beseechingly—and saw a nasty-looking sore. It was only the size of a nickel, but he was willing to bet it hurt like hell, and it didn’t seem to be healing.
Taking hold of her wrist so she couldn’t immediately recoil, he said, “Where’d you get this?”
Her eyes slid to the injury. “It was an accident.”
He made no effort to pretend he believed her. “An accident?”
“I bumped into my boyfriend when he was smoking a cigarette and burned myself.”
“This isn’t the type of burn you get by accident. It’s too deep.”
When she didn’t answer, he dropped her hand. “Are you going to tell me the truth? Or do we say goodbye right now?”
“Okay.” She seemed to deflate a little more. “He’s got an anger problem.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“He did it on purpose?”
“You already know that.”
“Sounds like quite a guy.”
She said nothing.
“You two split up?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
“Not here, which is all that matters. And I can pay for gas. Surely that’s an incentive to let me ride with you for a few hours. You look like you could use the money.”
“I look like a lot of things,” he said. “A lot of things I’m not.” Remembering the sleeping boy she’d held in her arms last night, the same boy who’d just dashed off to get a soda, he let his breath out in a long sigh. “If it was only you, it’d be different, but you have a kid and—”
“You’re worried about Max?”
It’d been two years, but the sight of a young boy still made Preston feel as though someone had driven a stake through his heart. “Kids don’t do well on long drives. They get bored, they whine, they beg, they have to go to the bathroom every five minutes—”
“Not my kid,” she interrupted quickly.
“Every kid.”
“Max is a good boy. He…he’s very low maintenance. You won’t even know he’s in the car, I promise.”
As if on cue, her son came running back, carrying a diet cola, which he’d already opened. “She had one, Mom,” he said. “She gave it to me. She wouldn’t even take the quarters.”
Preston kept his eyes averted from the boy’s young face. The voice affected him badly enough.
“How nice of her,” Emma said. “I hope you remembered to thank her.”
“I did. She gave me a cookie, too. Can I eat it?”
A frown creased the woman’s forehead as she regarded her son. “You already had a sucker.”
“But we walked a long way.”
She glanced fleetingly at Preston. “Not now. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Pul-leeze, Mom?”
The conversation sounded all too familiar. “See?” Preston said. “It won’t work.”
“He’s only asking me for a cookie!” she said.
“You’d better find someone else to give you a ride.” He backed up and started to shut the door, but she put a hand on the panel before he could.
“Wait! You can’t turn me away. I…I need your help.”
Preston still wanted to refuse. He would have—if not for that damn burn and the desperation in her eyes.
“Please!” she said again and, suddenly, he let go of the door. The opposing pressure sent it crashing into the wall. She flinched; he didn’t.
“Fine,” he snapped, “but you’d better keep that boy quiet.”
The woman grabbed her son’s arm and pulled him slightly behind her. “He won’t make a peep, right, Max?”
Max looked confused, which made Preston feel even worse. He knew he was being harsh and unreasonable. But he couldn’t help it. “If either of you gives me any trouble, I won’t feel the least bit guilty kicking you out at the first town,” he said.
She stiffened but nodded obediently. “I understand.”
CHAPTER FOUR
EMMA KNEW SHE SHOULD test Max’s blood. Soon. Because she was trying so hard to keep him quiet, she’d been giving in too easily whenever he asked for something to eat. With no exercise to compensate, he had to need extra insulin. But after claiming that her son was “low maintenance,” she didn’t dare whip out his testing kit and reveal what a monstrous exaggeration that had been. Preston Holman, who’d introduced himself once they hit the road, seemed to have no tolerance for children. She feared he’d use Max’s special needs as a reason to dump them long before they reached Utah.
