Leaning against a yellow road sign that signaled a curve, she put her head between her knees and tried to catch her breath. Lots of runners ran five miles—and they did it in less than an hour. She’d been out nearly forty-five minutes and was barely halfway.
But those runners probably hadn’t been smoking since they were sixteen.
Rebecca noticed the sound of an engine, which gave her enough adrenaline to get going again. A painful cramp gnawed at her side, and her tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth. But just before she’d left home, she’d called Greta to say she might be a little late, that she was jogging over, and her sister and her sister’s husband, Randy, had immediately laughed her to scorn.
Rebecca had stupidly responded, “You’ll see.” After “you’ll see,” she couldn’t let a member of her family find her sucking wind on the side of the road.
Keeping her head high, she put a bounce in her step through willpower alone and prayed that whoever was coming up from behind would pass quickly so she could collapse. But the vehicle didn’t pass her at all. Slowing, it drew even with her. When she looked over, she saw Josh Hill sitting behind the wheel of a new Ford Excursion, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a forest-green T-shirt that stretched taut across his muscular chest.
His window lowered smoothly. “Something happen to your car?” he hollered.
Rebecca was so out of breath she wasn’t sure she could speak. “No,” she managed to respond.
“You need a ride?”
God, did she ever. Her lungs felt like they were about to burst. She glanced longingly at his leather interior, heard the country music playing on his stereo and could already feel her tired body sinking into his passenger seat. She was desperate enough to agree—until she saw the amused smile playing around his lips. He didn’t think she had what it took to be a jogger; he stood with Greta and Randy.
“I’m fine,” she said, trudging doggedly on.
To her horror, he didn’t speed up. “You going out to your parents’ house?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll drop you off.”
She didn’t answer. It took all her focus to put one foot in front of the other.
“What are you trying to do?” he asked, his voice flat.
She cast him another glance from the corner of her eye. “What…does it…look…”—here she had to break off so she could gasp for air—“…like?” she finally finished.
“Are you sure you want to know? Because it looks like you’re about to faint. I’ve never seen anyone so red in the face.”
That had to be attractive. Plus she’d started her workout regimen before she’d had the chance to shop for some of those cute little outfits. She doubted her torn T-shirt and cutoffs were making much of an impression—a positive impression, anyway. “I’m just out…for a…jog,” she insisted.
She thought her response had done the trick. He sped up, but only so he could cut her off by pulling to the side of the road.
He got out and met her, his smile gone, as she tried to go around his vehicle. “Get in the car,” he said.
“No.” She stopped, secretly thankful for the excuse, and propped her hands on her knees, her chest heaving. “I’ll…take a little…rest and—”
He walked over and opened the passenger door. “And what? Start off again? Quit being so damn stubborn and get in. You’re obviously long past done.”
She shook her head, straightened, and tried to start again, but he easily intercepted her. “Dammit, Rebecca,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and glowering into her face. “You know what’s wrong with you?”
Did he want the long list or the short one? If he wanted the long list, he should probably ask her father.
“You don’t know what’s good for you,” he continued before she could summon the energy to tell him not to bother. “If I were Booker, you’d jump right in. As if Booker’s some kind of wonderful guy. But because it’s me, you’d rather faint on the side of the road.”
“There’s nothing…wrong with…Booker.”
“Then why don’t you explain what’s wrong with me?”
She blinked up at him, surprised by his frankness. How could her opinion possibly make enough difference for him to even ask? He had the unequivocal admiration of almost everyone in town. “There’s nothing…wrong with you. Ask anyone.”
“Right,” he said. “Get in.”
“No! I’m—”
“Get in or I’m going to put you in.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me.” Sweeping her into his arms, he strode to the truck and deposited her in the passenger seat with such quick, powerful movements she knew better than to struggle. He’d made up his mind he was getting her that far, and she had no strength with which to fight him. She could have gotten out again, though. He couldn’t force her to stay inside once he walked away. Except that her legs felt like rubber, and she was afraid she’d fall on her face.
She caught a whiff of his cologne as he climbed into the driver’s seat, and feared she smelled like a locker room. But if he noticed, he gave no indication. Revving the engine, he popped it into drive and peeled out onto the highway.
He drove the next two miles in silence, looking tense and angry and keeping his eyes on the road.
By the time Rebecca’s heart rate had slowed enough to speak normally, he was making the turn into their old neighborhood. “You want to explain your little burst of temper back there?” she asked.
He scowled and jammed a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I could if I tried.”
He dropped her off at her parents’ house without saying another word.
She watched him continue down the street and park in front of the redbrick house where he’d grown up. When he got out, he stared at her for a few seconds, then shook his head and went inside.
And people told her she was temperamental, Rebecca thought.
“YOU LOOK LIKE HELL,” Greta said as soon as Rebecca entered the house.
Rebecca heard Randy chuckle from where he was sitting in the living room, reading the paper. “Shut up, Randy, or I’ll invite another hundred people to my wedding. Then you’ll be helping Greta bake cookies for the next three weeks,” she said as she went to the fridge for a much-needed drink.