Bea Read Free

would be to know he was thinking of her as helpless.
    They all were. Till they got what they wanted. Take Lurlene, for instance. His wife down in LaBelle, Florida. Well, she used to be his wife. She wasn’t anymore. Not since he’d walked in and found her on their four-poster bed with the B-Quick Man. It was right funny now that it was all over and he could think about it without wanting to take his shotgun and blow them to Kingdom Come.
    Wormy little old Horace Clemmens had been thought of as the B-Quick Man because he ran a printing shop in Labelle called by that name. It had taken on new meaning the day Russ had come in from his orange groves and seen old Horace, skinny bottom and all, showing that two-timing Lurlene a trick or two.
    And to think Russ had once felt sorry for her with her story of having no place to go. He’d even been willing to give up his wandering ways and settle down in a white-washed house and two hundred acres of orange groves. It probably wouldn’t sound like much to most folks, but it was more than he had ever had. Lurlene, too.
    Thank goodness he’d never been foolish enough to believe he loved her. But it was the closest he’d ever come, and he’d paid the price. He never wanted to see LaBelle, Florida again.
    But that was all behind him now. And so was that woman on the road in her fancy broken-down car.
    His key was in the ignition when he heard the music. He cocked his head, listening. It was drifting his way from both ends of town, “Almost Persuaded” from one side and “Pass Me Not” from the other.
    The truth dawned. That’s where everybody was, Sunday-night church services. As the words came faintly to him, wafting on the mountain breezes, he smiled. The woman had powerful allies. How could he turn his back on her when guardian angels were urging her rescue?
    Shaking his head at his own foolishness, and still grinning, he turned his truck around. He was going back for the tiger lady.
    o0o
    Bea heard the rattle before she saw the truck. She had almost resigned herself to spending the night locked in her car. Shading her eyes against the glare of approaching headlights, she peered into the darkness. He had come back, her blond rescuer. The wheezing, clanking truck was unmistakably his.
    He climbed from his truck and tapped on her window. She eased it down.
    “Where’s the tow truck?”
    “At your service.” He waved his arm toward the ramshackle vehicle.
    “You must be joking. That truck looks as if it will barely carry you, let alone tow a car.”
    “I’m afraid it’s your best bet under the circumstances. The town is locked up tight as a drum. From the looks of things, everybody has gone to church.”
    “It’s Sunday... of course.” Bea got out of her car to assess the situation. She walked around his truck, kicking the tires and pressing her weight against the fenders.
    “Maybe you’d like to check my chassis, too.”
    Her rescuer was leaning nonchalantly against the fender of her Jag, the glow in his eyes announcing very plainly that what he did best was have women check his chassis.
    “In your dreams!”
    “You’re not even tempted, I guess.”
    “You couldn’t tempt me if your chassis was solid gold.’
    “Good.” He unfolded his long legs and began to unload gear from the pickup. “Now that we don’t have to worry about that , we can get on with this tow job.” He uncoiled a length of chain. “The name’s Russ Hammond, and if you want to get into that little burg they call Pearcy before next Christmas, you’d better get a move on, tiger lady.”
    “The name’s Beatrice Adams, Bea for short, and we might as well get one thing clear—I’ll do whatever it takes to get into Pearcy save one thing. I will not grovel on my knees in your stunning male presence, nor will I kiss your chauvinistic boots.”
    He propped one foot on the tailgate of the truck. “So you noticed. Genuine snakeskin, taken right off the hide of an ornery old python that