"What does she want? Why didn't she call me?"
"I don't know. I'm just the messenger. " And he knew what often happened to the messenger. "I told Larry, and he's helping the last couple of stragglers. So he's on it. "
She started to lever herself off the stool, and though his hands itched to help her, he imagined she'd chomp them off at the wrists. "I can walk. "
"Come on. Jesus. " He jammed his hands in his pockets and gave her scowl for scowl. "Why do you want to put me on the spot like that? If I let you walk, my mama's going to come down on me like five tons of bricks. And after she's done flattening me, she'll ream you. Let's just go. "
"Fine. " The truth was, she didn't know why she was feeling so mean and spiteful, and tired and achy. She was terrified something was wrong with her or with the baby, despite all the doctor's assurances to the contrary.
The baby would be born sick or deformed, because she'd. . . She didn't know what, but it would be her fault.
She snatched her purse and did her best to sail by Harper and out the door.
"I've got another half hour on the clock," she complained and wrenched open the door of his car.
"I don't know what she could want that couldn't wait a half hour. "
"I don't know either. "
"She hasn't seen that genealogy guy yet. "
He got in, started the car. "Nope. She'll get to it when she gets to it. "
"You don't seem all that interested, anyway. How come you don't come around when we have our meetings about the Harper Bride?"
"I guess I will, when I can think of something to say about it. "
She smelled vivid, too, especially closed up in the car with him like this. Vivid and sexy, and it made him edgy. The best that could be said about the situation was the drive was short.
Amazed he wasn't sweating bullets, he swung in and zipped in front of the house.
"You drive a snooty little car like this that fast, you're just begging for a ticket. "
"It's not a snooty little car. It's a well-built and reliable sports car. And I wasn't driving that fast. What the hell is it about me that makes you crawl up my ass?"
"I wasn't crawling up your ass; I was making an observation. At least you didn't go for red. " She opened the door, managed to get her legs out. "Most guys go for the red, the flashy. The black's probably why you don't have speeding tickets spilling out of your glove compartment. "
"I haven't had a speeding ticket in two years. "
She snorted.
"Okay, eighteen months, but - "
"Would you stop arguing for five damn seconds and come over here and help me out of this damn car? I can't get up. "
Like a runner off the starting line, he sprinted around the car. He wasn't sure how to manage it, especially when she was sitting there, red in the face and flashing in the eyes. He started to take her hands and tug, but he thought he might. . . jar something.
So he leaned down, hooked his hands under her armpits, and lifted.
Her belly bumped him, and now sweat did slide down his back.
He felt what was in there move - a couple of hard bumps.
It was . . . extraordinary.
Then she was brushing him aside. 'Thanks. "
Mortifying, she thought. She just hadn't been able to shift her center of gravity, or dig down enough to get out of a stupid car. Of course, if he hadn't insisted she get in that boy toy in the first place, she wouldn't have been mortified.