Baby, Drive South. Stephanie Bond
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“For all the good you’ll do me now, I might as well let you lie there,” Marcus growled, then let loose another string of expletives. “I’ll get Kendall. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Then he disconnected the call.
Porter laid his head back in the deep grass. Marcus was right—they were already short-handed. If his leg was broken, he’d be laid up for at least a few weeks, a liability to his brothers.
And damn, women were coming! Just when there was a good reason to be up and moving around, he’d be relegated to bed…and not for fun.
He pushed himself to a sitting position and eased up the leg of his work-worn jeans. He was relieved not to see bones protruding, but the persistent, shooting pain from his ankle confirmed the injury was more than a bruise. Gritting his teeth against the ache, he inched himself backward to lean against a sapling and swat at gnats until he heard the rumble of two four-wheelers heading toward him.
Kendall came into view first, his face a mask of concern. Marcus followed a few yards behind, his mouth pulled down in annoyance. Porter waved to get their attention. They pulled to a stop a few yards away. For all his irritation, Marcus was the first one off his ride, and the first to reach Porter.
“You okay, little brother?”
“Peachy,” Porter said through clenched teeth.
Marcus glanced up at the water tower, then back to Porter. “Damn fool. Did you think you could fly?”
Anger flashed through Porter’s chest. “Yeah, Marcus, I did a swan dive off the platform.”
“We know it was an accident,” Kendall soothed, crouching to inspect Porter’s leg.
“Doesn’t matter whether it was on purpose or not,” Marcus grumbled. “Outcome is the same—you’re probably out of commission for the whole damn summer!”
“Why don’t we wait to see what a doctor says?” Kendall suggested.
“What doctor?” Marcus said with a snort. “One of us will have to take him to Atlanta. As if we didn’t have enough to do today.”
“Maybe we should call for an airlift,” Kendall suggested.
“It’s not that serious,” Porter protested. “Marcus, if you’ll let one of the workers drive me to Atlanta, I’ll find an emergency room and be back before you know it.”
Marcus gave a noncommittal grunt.
Kendall strode back to the four-wheeler and opened the storage compartment. “I brought a neoprene wrap from the first-aid station, but it’s going to be a bumpy ride on the way down.” He knelt to fasten the wrap around Porter’s ankle, boot and all, then waved for Marcus to get on the other side. When they heaved him to his feet, the flood of pain took Porter’s breath away, covering his face with a sheen of sweat.
“Think about something else,” Kendall urged.
Porter tried to smile. “I’m thinking…about…all the women…waiting…in town.”
“Marcus mentioned you saw some cars headed this way.”
“Dozens of cars,” Porter said, exhaling loudly. “All carrying…hot, young women. We’ll get down the mountain…just in time…to say hello.”
“You’re going to make a hell of an impression,” Marcus offered. “No one’s going to want a busted-up man to take care of.”
“I beg to differ,” Porter said, setting his jaw against the pain. “Women will be…lining up…to take care of me. In fact…that was my plan…all along.”
Marcus handed him a small stick. “Here, bite down on this.”
“For the pain?”
“No, so you’ll stop talking.”
Porter tried to laugh, but getting settled on the four-wheeler was more painful than he’d anticipated. Ditto for the trip down, although Kendall tried to take it easy.
By the time they rolled into the center of town, Porter was ready to be horizontal—and drugged. But the sight of cars of all makes and models pulling to a stop in front of the boardinghouse and diner and all along the narrow paved road sent a shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Blondes…brunettes…redheads…it was a veritable smorgasbord of female deliciousness.
Countless feminine faces peered at them questioningly through windshields and open windows. And from their four-wheelers, the Armstrong brothers peered back. Apparently the workers had noticed the caravan of cars passing by because a rickety supply truck chugged up behind them, with men packed in the back like cattle. The tension in the air was palpable, as if both groups knew the importance of this moment, each side sizing up the other.
Porter shot a glance at Marcus and at the panicked look on his older brother’s face. A pang of sympathy barbed through him. Poor Marcus. He hated situations he couldn’t control. By comparison, Kendall’s expression was anxious. He panned the sea of faces, willing…but wary.
Porter decided it was up to him to show these beauties what Southern hospitality was all about. Summoning his strength, he ignored the excruciating pain and pushed himself to a standing position on the four-wheeler.
“Ladies,” he shouted, lifting his arms, “on behalf of the Armstrong brothers and our friends, welcome to Sweetness, Georgia!”
Suddenly everything started to go dim. He vaguely heard the sound of whoops and car doors slamming just as he tumbled headlong from the four-wheeler. At least this fall wasn’t as far…but damn, his pride would be busted all to hell. Before he hit the hard clay ground, though, something broke his fall…Kendall. He heard Marcus’s voice, cursing, as always, coming to him through a tunnel.
“We need help!” Marcus shouted.
Porter was being laid on the ground. He felt the warm, baked dirt beneath his shoulder blades, sensed the crush of bodies closing around him. His leg was on fire.
“Is anyone a nurse?” Marcus repeated. “My brother fell off the water tower and might have broken his leg!”
Porter felt his equilibrium returning, blinked his eyes open, tried to bring the faces of the circle of women who surrounded him into focus. Alien female scents assailed his nostrils…fruity shampoos, floral perfumes…heaven.
“Will a doctor do?” a female voice said, distant, but strong.
Even flat on his back and fighting unconsciousness, Porter’s pulse spiked in anticipation of seeing his angel of mercy. Would she be blonde? Leggy? Busty? Tall?
The circle of onlookers parted to let her in and when she stepped into his line of vision, Porter fought a stab of disappointment.
None of the above.
3
Dr. Nikki Salinger had wondered how long it would take before she truly regretted this arduous trek to Sweetness, Georgia.
“That would be now,” she muttered under her breath as she crouched to study the rather large man who had delivered a magnanimous welcome to this so-called town in the middle of nowhere, then dropped like a sack of potatoes. She thought she’d imagined the flutter of movement she’d seen at the top of the water tower when she was driving in. Little did she know it was this fool testing gravity.
The day-long drive from Broadway, Michigan, had left her tired, dusty, hungry and irritable. If the travel conditions weren’t wearisome enough, the prattling of the three women who had ridden along in her van was enough to drive her completely mad. Traci, Susan and Rachel could recite the newspaper ad they were responding to by heart: The new town of Sweetness, Georgia, welcomes one hundred single women with a pioneering spirit looking for a fresh start! Blah, blah, blah. The women were particularly excited about the part promising lots of single, Southern men. In fact, Rachel Hutchins, whom Nikki’d had to sidestep to reach