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It was a weird time for somebody to be moving in or out, she thought, but she heard thumps, and a couple of breathless male curses as she came up alongside of it.
She saw the man struggling to get a small sofa into the back. He was well-built, and though his back was to her, she took him to be young enough to manage it. Then she saw the thick white cast on his right arm.
He tried to muscle it up left-handed, using his shoulder, but the weight and angle fought against him, causing the end of the sofa to thump onto the street again.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it.” He took out a white handkerchief, mopped at his face.
She got a look at him now, and thought he was cute. Under his ball cap, curly dark hair—her favorite on a man—spilled out over the collar of his shirt.
She started to walk by. Cute or not, it wasn’t smart to talk to strange men on the street in the middle of the night. But he looked so pitiful—hot, frustrated, and just a little helpless.
Her good nature had her pausing; her New York caution had her keeping her distance. “Moving in or out?” she asked.
He jolted, making her
bite back a laugh. And when he turned and saw her, his already flushed face went pinker. “Ah, looks like neither. I guess I could just leave the stupid thing like this and live in the truck.”
“Did a number on your arm, huh?” Curiosity had her edging a little closer. “I’ve never seen a cast like that.”
“Yeah.” He ran his hand over it. “Two more weeks. Broke it in three places rock climbing in Tennessee. Stupid.”
She thought she’d caught the South in his voice, and edged a little closer. “Pretty late at night for moving day.”
“Well, my girl—ex-girlfriend,” he said with a grimace, “works nights. She said if I wanted my stuff, I had to haul it out when she wasn’t around. Another bad break,” he added with a hint of a smile. “My brother’s supposed to be here, but he’s late. Typical. I want to get this stuff loaded before Donna gets back, and I’ve only got the rental till six A.M.”
He was cute. A bit older than her usual type, but she liked the hint of twang in his voice. Plus he was in a jam. “Maybe I could give you a hand with it.”
“Really? You wouldn’t mind? I’d really appreciate it. If we could just get this bastard in, maybe Frank will show. I think I could handle some of the other stuff.”
“No problem.” She stepped closer. “Maybe if you get up in the back, I could push it, and you could guide it or something.”
“We’ll give it a shot.” He climbed in, hampered somewhat by the cast.
She did her best to lift and shove, but the end of the sofa thudded on the pavement again.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He grinned at her, though she thought he looked exhausted. “You’re just a little thing, aren’t you? If you’ve got another minute, we could try it the other way. I can take the weight. Use my back, shoulders. Maybe you could come up in here, hold it steady, sort of pull while I push.”
There was a vague ring from a warning bell in the back of her mind, but she ignored it. She clambered up into the truck, warmed by his grateful smile as he slid out.
He called out instructions as he grunted and cursed his brother, Frank, in a way that made her laugh. As the sofa began to slide in, she backed up, tugging it along with a fine sense of accomplishment.
“Mission accomplished!”
“Hold on, just a minute. Let me . . .” He boosted himself in, swiping his good arm over his brow. “If we could just shove it, that way.”
He started to point, and though the warning bell had pealed louder when he’d climbed in with her, into the small dark cave, she glanced over at the direction of his finger.
The first blow caught her on the side of the head, and sent her staggering. She saw lights flash, and felt a terrible and confusing pain.
She stumbled, catching her foot on the leg of the sofa and pitching to the left without any idea that the spill saved her skull from a second, brutal blow with the cast.
It smashed her shoulder instead, had her whimpering as she tried to crawl away from the attack, from the pain.
She could hear his voice through the screaming in her head, but there was something different about it. Something ripped—her clothes, her body—as he hauled her back.
No, you don’t. Sneaky little twat.
