Running Scared by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online

you’ve got yourself a flat.”
    “What?” she said, but her face fell. Quickly she walked around the front end of her car and her lips tightened in disgust as she spied the deflated tire. “Oh, great. Just great!”
    “Need help?” He slid out from his truck’s cab.
    “Oh, no, I couldn’t—” Shaking her head, she turned to face him and again their eyes met. The breath caught in the back of his throat for a second at the depth of her gaze—intense and suspicious.
    “I’m used to this,” he said. He motioned to her trunk. “You got another tire?”
    “Yes, but…” She eyed him with more than a glimmer of distrust. “I’ve changed a tire before.”
    “Just an offer.”
    “But I don’t even know you—”
    “Daegan O’Rourke,” he said, managing a grin as he extended his hand. She clasped his palm briefly.
    “I’m Kate Summers, and thanks, it’s nice of you to offer, but if worst comes to worst, I can always run down to the service station and—”
    “No need,” he said and leaned a hip against the back fender. “I do this kind of thing for a living.”
    “You’re a mechanic?” Again the tone of skepticism. She stood, hands on her hips, glaring murderously at the car. Black jeans, matching belt and boots, white blouse, and a scowl that was all business.
    “No, I’m just a rancher—new around here. But I’m used to fixing broken-down equipment. Afraid it comes with the territory.”
    “Fine, Mr. O’Rourke—”
    “Daegan,” he cut in.
    She hesitated a beat. “Daegan, then.” Still wary, she used her key to open the trunk, shoved some books and paper bags aside, and pulled off the mat to uncover a dusty whitewall that looked underinflated as well.
    “Wonderful,” she mocked, blowing her bangs out of her eyes and checking her watch.
    “It might hold,” he said though it was all he could do to concentrate on the conversation when he had a hundred questions he’d rather ask her—a hundred questions about her and her son. Gritting his teeth, he hauled the jack and spare tire from the trunk. “Nothing worse than a car hassle.”
    “Look, you don’t have to—”
    “No problem.” He flashed her a half-smile. “I’m not in any rush.”
    Nervously, she waited and he assembled the jack, secured the wheels, loosened the lug nuts with a wrench from his toolbox, and eventually raised the front quadrant of the car. Within ten minutes the Buick was resting on the soggy spare, the jack and flat tire were in the trunk, and Kate was groping for words.
    “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, squinting against the lowering sun. A dry wind blew down the dusty street, scattering a few leaves and papers and lifting her hair from her shoulders. A few people hurried past, casting only mildly interested glances in their direction.
    “No thanks needed.”
    “But…” Shading her eyes, she stared at him as if memorizing the planes of his face. “These days a Good Samaritan is hard to find.”
    “Believe me, I’m not that good.” At least that wasn’t a lie. A pang of guilt twisted his gut as he slammed the lid of his toolbox closed and set the battered metal crate in the bed of his truck. “If it would make you feel any better, someday you can buy me a cup of coffee—or a beer. Whatever.”
    A rattletrap of an old truck passed, windows down, heavy-metal music throbbing. A couple of teenage boys, three sheets to the wind from the looks of them, laughed over the pounding beat of hard rock. Kate watched them drive by and her lips clamped a little tighter.
    “It’s a deal,” she said, glancing back to him.
    “Good.” He managed half a smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
    “Maybe,” she replied as if she didn’t mean it, her intense eyes scrutinizing his for an instant. “Thanks again.”
    “Anytime.”
    She climbed behind the wheel of her station wagon, slid a pair of sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose, and after one quick, intense glance in his direction, drove