Jori thumped her palm repeatedly against the steering wheel. Her vehicle had just sputtered, choked, and then rolled to a halt on the half shoulder of a two-lane blacktop in the Boston Mountains of northwest Arkansas.
She twisted the key in the ignition. The dashboard lit up and then her gaze shifted to the gas gauge. It was mostly broken. It had two settings: half full and desert-dry empty. At the moment the little red needle lay flat on its back like a victim of a heatstroke, despite the December chill in the air.
“Crap in a can!”
She reached into the glove compartment for the notepad on which she kept her record of fill-ups. The numbers didn’t lie. She was out of gas.
Jori shook her head in self-disgust. How could she have forgotten to buy gas? Of course. She’d been too busy trying to outrun her anger over her mother’s package to think about filling up.
Not knowing exactly where she was, she pulled out her cell phone to look at her GPS. She had one signal bar that kept winking out. That meant she probably couldn’t make a call, either. Not that she had anyone to call. Roadside service wasn’t in her budget. Calling Battise would be too embarrassing. She was supposed to be coming to help him. It wouldn’t be very professional to begin the other way around.
Muttering, she tucked the phone back into her pocket and got out of her SUV. She was in the hollow of hills surrounded by autumn-striped trees that marched off in all directions. The strip of blacktop, she knew from the printed directions Kelli had given her to Battise’s home, was named High Sky Inn Road. That should have been a warning to stop for gas. The more colorful the name, the more likely the road would be narrow, winding, and a long way from anywhere.
The sky was a high, clear Ozark Mountain blue, but the radio had earlier been filled with predictions of a potentially dangerous cold front headed toward the area over the weekend. The chill in the air was quickly draining the car heat from her body despite her puffy vest.
She plunged her hands into her vest pockets as she stared in first one direction and then the other down the empty road. Though she could see a long way, there wasn’t a single house in view. No traffic, either. When had she last passed a service station? Three, five miles ago? She guessed she’d find out because walking for help seemed to be the only option. She checked her SUV, leaving a window cracked for air for Argyle, and headed off.
She’d walked no more than a dozen yards when she heard a vehicle in the distance coming from the other direction.
The state trooper car pulling up before her SUV seemed a mixed blessing. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with law enforcement. But she did need help.
The man who unfolded from behind the wheel was tall and broad, all crisp uniform, mirrored shades, and trooper hat set at an angle of intimidation.
Jori felt a nudge of unease as she walked back to where he was parked a short distance away. He had paused by his front fender to speak into the radio on his shoulder. As he stood there, she tried to penetrate the impersonal mask formed by the broad brim and opaque shades. Clean rigid jawline, pronounced cheekbones, and a generous pair of lips. Nice-looking man, er, officer. It didn’t stop the jelly feeling in her stomach as she paused within a few yards of him.
“You got a problem?”
His voice, pitched low and penetrating, sent a shiver of alarm up her spine. Badge intimidation? Definitely. Yet he sounded familiar. She was just thinking of Battise. That’s what it was! She supposed all overbearing Alpha males sounded the same when in I’m-in-charge mode.
“You need help?” Obviously he thought she hadn’t heard him.
She swallowed her unease. She was being ridiculous. “I’m out of gas.” Her tone sounded more defensive than she meant it to be. But she was embarrassed by the stupidity of her mistake.
“You call roadside service?”
“Can’t afford it. I was about to walk back to town.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Wherever that is.”
“You’re about to lose a passenger.” A long blunt-tipped finger pointed past her at her driver’s window.
She turned just in time to catch the kitten wriggling through the two-inch breathing space. She hugged the fuzzy animal to her chest. “You’re a menace.”
“Argyle, right?”
Her head snapped around. The officer watched her with the slightest trace of amusement tugging up one corner of his mouth.
“Still don’t recognize me? Maybe if I shucked my pants.”
Her gaze dropped to his legs. The wind was whipping at his pant legs. The left one was suspiciously loose. “Battise?”
“Officer of the Law, to you.” He pulled off his glasses. That high-grade-crude gaze was unmistakable. But the face was that of a stranger.
A stranger she’d done the dirty with.