Secret Agent Dad. Metsy Hingle
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nerves twisted like knots in her stomach, because judging by the amount of water already in the normally dry creek bed, she could very well be facing a flood by morning unless this stopped.
Leaning forward to peer through the windshield, Josie tried to see the road between the swipes of the windshield wipers. Up ahead she could make out the arm of a windmill lying smashed in the middle of the road. A prickle of uneasiness skipped down her spine.
As she approached the broken windmill blade, a glimmer of light to the left caught her eye. Her heartbeat tripled at the sight of a car pointed nose down toward the rising creek bed. Then she spied a body sprawled next to it. “Oh, my God!” Pulling her Explorer off to the side of the road, Josie set the emergency brake and quickly released her seat belt.
Not bothering with an umbrella or slicker, she shoved open the truck’s door and broke into a run down the incline toward the wrecked car. Before she’d gone three feet, she was soaked to the skin and shivering from the cold. Slapping hair out of her eyes, Josie clamped her chattering teeth together and dropped down beside the man’s body. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer as she pressed her fingers to the pulse in his neck. Relief shot through her when she found it strong and steady.
“Can you hear me?” she yelled to be heard above the wind. When he moaned, she tilted his head toward the light shining down from her truck. Josie’s breath caught as she saw him. Oh my. What a face. The face of a golden prince. High cheekbones, sharp jaw, sexy mouth. Even unconscious and with a nasty cut on his forehead, the man would make grown women drool. He stirred, moaned again, then his eyelids fluttered. Brown eyes with flecks of gold stared up at her.
“Wh-what happened?” he asked, his voice as rough as sandpaper and barely audible above the roar of wind.
“You’ve had an accident,” she fairly shouted, trying to make herself heard. Although the rain seemed to slacken, the wind had picked up considerably. “You must have hit that broken windmill blade in the road. Judging by that nasty cut on your forehead, you probably hit the windshield.” She glanced over at his car, then back at him. “It’s a wonder the air bag didn’t inflate,” she said and wondered if he had disconnected it.
He looked at her as though he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Then he lifted his hand to her face.
The unexpected touch of his fingers on her face sent a shock through Josie. Her stomach tightened. She wasn’t used to being touched—especially by a man, and it had been a long time since she’d responded so strongly to a man. Ben’s philandering and his catalog of her shortcomings had long ago killed any secret cravings she had to be touched by a man. An hour before she would have sworn that that part of her femininity had died long before her husband had. Evidently she’d been wrong, because her skin tingled where he’d touched her. Feeling foolish and embarrassed by her thoughts, she began checking him for other injuries.
“Wh-who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Josie. Josie Walters.”
“I didn’t know angels had last names.”
Josie’s hands stilled on his ribs. She shot her gaze back to his face. “I’m not an angel,” she told him.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she assured him.
“I always pictured angels with eyes like yours—the color of summer grass.”
The conversation was absurd, Josie told herself. She was kneeling on the side of the road in a storm with an accident victim discussing the color of her eyes. Still, she couldn’t stop that fluttery sensation in her stomach. Noting the way he was watching her, she swallowed. She had to be imagining things, Josie told herself. Men didn’t look at her like that. Most men didn’t even look twice—at least not men like this one. There were too many beautiful women in Texas to settle for one with skinny curves, unruly hair and a forgettable face. Evidently the bump on the fellow’s head had affected his eyesight. “Sorry to disappoint you, cowboy, but I’m no angel.”
“I guess that means that I’m not dead, then.”
Josie bit back a smile. She swiped the sopping hair from her eyes again. “Nope. You’re not dead. And as far as I can tell, you don’t have any broken bones, either.” Still kneeling, she sat back on her heels. “You’ve got a few bruises and a knot the size of a lemon on the back of your head. But that cut on your forehead looks like it’s going to need stitching. Do you think you can sit up?”
“Yeah.”
She slipped one arm behind his neck and eased him up to a sitting position. As she did so, her breast brushed his arm. A flicker of heat licked through her at the innocent contact. Surprised and confused by her reaction, Josie bit back the urge to jerk away. But as soon as he was sitting up on his own, she dropped her arm and eased back a fraction. “Even if your car will still run, I don’t think you’re in any condition to drive. My truck’s parked up there on the road.” She motioned to where she had left the Explorer running with the lights on. “I’m no lightweight, but I doubt that I can carry you. Do you think if I help you that you can make it up to my truck? We need to get you to a hospital.”
The dazed look in his eyes cleared for a moment, then sharpened. A fierce scowl transformed his face from the GQ label she’d pegged him with, to someone dangerous, untamed, a man who defied any label. His response to her was quick and razor edged, but it was lost in another rush of wind.
“What?” she asked, leaning closer.
“No hospitals.”
“But your head—”
As though he’d forgotten the mjury, he pressed his fingers to his forehead. They came away with blood, which the rain quickly washed away. When he looked up at her again, a frown lined his brow. “I’ll be okay. No hospitals.”
“But you’re hurt.”
His dark eyes grew clouded. He looked confused for a moment, then the GQ pinup was back. A lopsided grin curved his lips. “Just a scratch,” he insisted. “I bet a kiss would make it all better.”
Josie blinked rain from her eyes. Her stomach dipped. “You’re crazy,” she told him and started to stand.
His hand shot out and he captured her wrist. Before she could stop him, he tugged her toward him, and sent them both toppling back to the muddy ground. Then his mouth—that wet, sexy mouth of his was covering her own—kissing her with a skill and a gentleness that made Josie’s head spin. She forgot about the rain. She forgot about the cold. She forgot about the fact that she was on the side of a deserted road sprawled atop a stranger—an injured stranger—with the eyes of a dark angel who kissed like a fairy-tale prince.
Suddenly, as though by magic, the wind’s angry hiss lost some of its bite. Even the rain slowed. And that’s when she heard it. A baby crying—crying at the top of its lungs. The sound slashed through Josie’s kiss-dulled senses like a scalpel. She jerked her mouth free and scrambled back from him quicker than a snap. She gave her head a shake to clear it. Lord, now she was imagining she heard babies.
“I was right. I don’t need a hospital after all. All I needed was a kiss. I’m feeling a lot better,” he told her, pushing himself up to his elbows as though he were stretched out on a couch and not on the side of a road in mud.
Feeling foolish for her reaction to him, she shoved herself to her feet. “Obviously, you’re not hurt as badly as I thought.”
Turning her back on him, she started for her truck. Then she heard it again—a baby crying. She stopped, looked back. “This is going to sound crazy, but—”
He was right where she’d left him—only now he was lying flat on his back, his eyes closed. She hurried over to him, discovered him out cold. And once again she heard the baby crying—only this time it was louder. Pushing to her feet, Josie stepped past the unconscious stranger and headed for his wrecked car. Her boots slid in the mud as she sought purchase on the incline where the car rested at an angle. He’d shut off