Ryan's Hand Read Free Page B

leaping flames. “You’ve made a believer out of me,” he remarked as he accepted a goblet of chilled wine.
    “You must take home half of what we collected today,” Cara said, sipping her wine comfortably beside him. “These colors will be dramatic in your white marble fireplace.”
    “Only if you promise to come to my town house next Sunday and share the fire with me. I won’t promise to cook, but I know an excellent caterer.”
    Cara had been surprised that Ryan would extend an invitation to her so soon. He was in great demand by Boston society hostesses, and she was also aware of his reputation as a ladies’ man. She was definitely not in his social circle, nor was she like the glamorous, leisured women he was accustomed to seeing. They had met when Ryan came into the library to research a legal matter.
    She had recognized him immediately as the popular young attorney the society columns linked with the names of some of her former school friends. She supposed it was a form of self-torture, but she could not resist reading the social news that not so long ago had occasionally featured the names of her own family members.
    When Ryan Langston asked at the reference desk for help in finding a certain volume, Cara had been impressed by his manners, his soft Texas drawl, and his clean-cut, boyish good looks. She went off duty at five o’clock, and, as she came out of the library, the sleek red Ferrari parked next to her secondhand Volkswagen told her that Ryan Langston was still inside working on his research.
    Cara did not notice that her right front tire was flat until she attempted to drive out of the parking space. There was no mistaking the significance of the peculiar list on the right side, so she reparked to assess the damage.
    By the time she had cut the motor, Ryan was standing beside his Ferrari. “You have a little problem there, I see,” he said, indicating the tire. “Do you have a jack?”
    Cara not only did not have a jack, she did not have a spare tire.
    It had been one of those days when everything had conspired to remind her of the losses she had suffered in her short twenty-four years. She longed to put an end to the day, to get to her apartment and build a fire, have a light supper, and maybe play the piano until she was too sleepy to lie awake with her memories.
    Now, sitting behind the wheel of her shabby car, hearing the voice of a man who had easy access to the world that had turned its back on her, she felt the sudden horrifying urge to burst into tears. She controlled her emotions by rigidly gripping the wheel and staring straight ahead, but the handsome dark-blond head of the man had bent down to peer at her through a closed window. “Are you all right?” he asked, and she could hear the sincere concern in his voice.
    She had swallowed hard and given him a polite smile while praying that she wouldn’t cry in front of a stranger, especially not this stranger.
    “I’m fine,” she assured him, opening her door. The night had folded about the neighborhood very thick and cold, and she drew her brown coat closer. “I thank you for your concern,” she said to Ryan, “but you needn’t bother. I’ll go back inside and call a garage.” Not for the world would she have him know that she did not have a spare tire or money to buy one. She would figure out what to do when she got rid of him.
    “That won’t be necessary,” he insisted, looking very affluent in his tailored overcoat. “I can have the tire changed in a jiffy. If you’ll just open the trunk—”
    “No, please—” she protested, raising delicate hands in a gesture of panic.
    “Look, young lady,” Ryan said, brushing aside her protests. “I’m not about to let you wait alone in this parking lot when I can change that tire for you in a few minutes!”
    There was nothing to do but yield as gracefully as possible. “Well, but you see, I…don’t have a spare tire—” She could feel the heat flooding her face.
    “I