Bed of Roses Page 0,9
the survey before - no doubt - they told each other how great they looked. You look fabulous. Have you lost weight? I love your hair. From his observations, that particular female ritual had some variations, but the theme remained the same. Then Emma angled herself in a way that put the some guy and the blonde face-to-face. He got it then, by the way she sidled back an inch or two, then waved a hand in the air before giving the some guy a pat on his arm. She wanted to ditch the some guy, and thought the blonde would distract him. When she melted away in the direction of the kitchen, Jack lifted his beer in toast. Well played, Emmaline, he thought. Well played.
H E CUT OUT EARLY. HE HAD AN EIGHT O'CLOCK BREAKFAST meeting and a day packed with site visits and inspections. Somewhere in there, or the day after, he needed to carve out some time at the drawing board to work up some ideas for the addition Mac wanted on her studio now that she and Carter were engaged and living together.
He could see how to do it, without insulting the lines and form of the building. But he wanted to get it down on paper, play with it awhile before he showed Mac anything. He hadn't quite gotten used to the idea of Mac getting married - and to Carter. You had to like Carter, Jack thought. He'd barely blipped on Jack's radar when he and Del and Carter had been at Yale together. But you had to like the guy.
Plus, he put a real light in Mac's eyes. That counted big.
With the radio blasting, he turned over in his head various ideas for adding on the space so Carter had a home office to do . . . whatever English professors did in home offices. As he drove, the rain that had come and gone throughout the day came back in the form of a thin snow. April in New England, he thought.
His headlights washed over the car sitting on the shoulder of the road, and the woman standing in front of the lifted hood, her hands fisted on her hips.
He pulled over, got out, then, sliding his hands into his pockets, sauntered over to Emma. "Long time no see."
"Damn it. It just died. Stopped." She waved her arms in frustration so he took a cautious step back to avoid getting clocked with the flashlight she gripped in one hand. "And it's snowing. Do you see this?"
"So it is. Did you check your gas gauge?"
"I didn't run out of gas. I'm not a moron. It's the battery, or the carburetor. Or one of those hose things. Or belt things."
"Well, that narrows it down."
She huffed out a breath. "Damn it, Jack, I'm a florist, not a mechanic."
That got a laugh out of him. "Good one. Did you call for road service?"
"I'm going to, but I thought I should at least look in there in case it was something simple and obvious. Why don't they make what's in there simple and obvious for people who drive cars?"
"Why do flowers have strange Latin names nobody can pronounce? These are questions. Let me take a look." He held out a hand for the flashlight. "Jesus, Emma, you're freezing."
"I'd have worn something warmer if I'd known I'd end up standing on the side of the road in the middle of the stupid night in a snowstorm."
"It's barely snowing." He stripped off his jacket, passed it to her.
"Thanks."
She bundled into it while he bent under the hood. "When's the last time you had this serviced?"
"I don't know. Some time."
He glanced back at her, a dry look out of smoky gray eyes. "Some time looks to have been the other side of never. Your battery cables are corroded."
"What does that mean?" She stepped up, stuck her head under the hood along with him. "Can you fix it?"
"I can . . ."
He turned his head toward her, and she turned hers toward him. All he could see were those brown velvet eyes, and for a moment, he simply lost the power of speech.
"What?" she said, and her breath whispered warm over his lips.
"What?" What the hell was he doing? He leaned back, out of the danger zone. "What . . . What I can do is give you a jump that should get you home."
"Oh. Okay. Good. That's good."
"Then you've got to get this thing in for service."
"Absolutely. First thing. Promise."
Her