Babes In Arms. Sara Orwig

imagining things, Whitefeather,” he said aloud to himself while the light changed. He shifted and drove on, looking at the two men as they walked down the street. They didn’t glance to the right or left, and every instinct in him screamed muscle. “Stay out of it.”

      He hunched over the wheel, listening to the clack of the wipers when he turned in front of the fire station and glimpsed the campus. Snow bathed it in pristine beauty, the red brick of Old Central looking warm and solid, its green cupola at the peak of the roof still showing beneath an icing of snow. Boughs of evergreens draped in white dipped earthward and students clad in bright parkas reminded Colin of colorful birds as they crossed the sprawling campus.

      “Oh, hell,” Colin said, signaling at the next corner and circling the block. “You’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he grumbled to himself, yet he couldn’t get the woman’s face out of his mind, the big eyes that looked frightened. Because of one-way streets, he had to drive two blocks to circle back onto Station Avenue again. As he paused at the intersection and glanced up and down, he noticed another burly man in a parka headed toward the bookstore from a block away to the south.

      “Someone should give you guys a lesson in how to blend into your surroundings,” Colin mumbled, shifting and swinging into traffic on Station.

      It was a moment before he spotted her walking toward him on the right side of the street. Except for her height, she would have faded into the crowd. The two topcoats were striding toward her from the north end of the street, so she was boxed in.

      A voice inside him, screaming to stay out of it, lost its battle as Colin swung the car closer to the curb and threw open the door on the passenger side. “Get in. I’m a cop and I’ll get you away from them.”

      Her big eyes focused on him and for an instant he forgot the danger and felt lost in depths of green. The moment became timeless. He became conscious of everything around him, the noise of car engines, the swishing sounds of tires in slush, the swirling snow. She stared back, an unwavering, probing look that narrowed the world into an awareness of just her. Other sounds and sights faded from his mind as he stared at her with as much intensity as if she had reached out and touched him.

      Then she shook her head, her eyes widening while she glanced around, reminding him of a trapped animal. The topcoats had increased their pace and were only half a block away. When Colin looked at her again, she was entering a restaurant. Colin slammed the door and drove past the two men as they rushed toward the restaurant.

      Ignoring gut feelings to stay out of her problem, he turned at the corner and signaled, swinging into the alley. He guessed right. She emerged from the back of the restaurant and hurried toward him. He opened the door again.

      “I’m telling the truth. I am a cop.”

      She glanced over her shoulder as the two men stepped into the alley. With a swirl of her coat, she climbed into the pickup and slammed the door. Telling himself he was every kind of fool, Colin threw the pickup into reverse while a faint, sweet scent of roses filled the interior.

      As soon as the pickup rolled out of the alley into the street Colin accelerated, taking the next corner without slowing. He fished his billfold out and flipped it open, turning to the badge that he carried.

      “Here,” he said, tossing the open billfold into her lap. He turned another corner, sped several blocks down a street and went through an alley. Emerging from the alley, he whipped around the corner, speeding along more streets and alleys until he braked in the middle of an alley and turned into a small garage.

      “What are you doing?” Her voice was low and filled with alarm, the drawl of the South softening the r’s in her speech.

      “Losing them. I’m covering our tracks. Just a minute,” he said, taking the keys and climbing out to push the garage door closed. Two windows in the garage allowed dim light as Colin climbed back into the pickup. Silence enveloped them.

      “Tracks into this garage will show,” she said, sounding terrified. She had unbuckled her seat belt and was against the door, her gloved fingers on the handle as if she were ready to run.

      “After another five minutes our tracks will be obliterated. The flakes are big now and coming down fast.”

      Katherine Manchester was frightened, yet wanted to trust him. If only he weren’t a policeman. And if only he weren’t so big. She eyed his broad shoulders, covered by the shearling coat. He filled the interior of the pickup. One look at his long legs, folded in the narrow space, and she knew he was a tall man. She met a direct brown-eyed gaze that studied her with enough intensity to make her nervous. “Do you live here?”

      “No, this isn’t my home. A friend lives here and he’s on duty now, so he won’t be home. We’ll sit here for a few minutes. I’m Colin Whitefeather.”

      She hesitated, debating whether to give him her real name or not. When she didn’t answer right away, she noticed his eyes narrowed. “I’m Katherine Manchester,” she said carefully, giving her real name and watching him to see if there was any recognition. To her relief, his expression didn’t change.

      “Welcome to Stillwater, Katherine,” Colin said in a friendly tone, and Katherine felt as if something inside her was loosening. She fought against the feeling, knowing she didn’t dare relax. The man was a cop, for heaven’s sake, even if it was only honorary! His long, shaggy hair gave him a wild appearance, and his broad shoulders beneath the thick coat gave an aura of power and command that frightened her, yet at the same time, so far, he had been only kind and helpful. Almost too good to be true, and she waited warily.

      “Just a minute.” Colin climbed out and untied the tarp, rummaging in sacks and finding a package of cookies, a sack of apples and a carton of milk. He climbed back into the truck and held the groceries out to her. “Here are some snacks.”

      “Thank you,” she said, taking them. She pulled out a tissue to polish and clean the apples, handing one to him.

      “They’ll watch your car,” Colin stated quietly.

      Chewing a bite of apple, her gaze returned to him. “Is there an airport or bus station here?”

      “The commercial flights are grounded and the bus station closed a little while ago because of the storm,” he answered, seeing a flicker of worry in her eyes. Was she just going to abandon the car? As he stared at her, looking at prominent cheekbones, a straight nose and full lips that made a man fantasize, he realized she was trying to hide her beauty. Her face was covered with thick makeup, her eyebrows penciled to look heavier. For the first time, he spotted the red roots to the mousy brown hair. She had tried to change her appearance and he realized that she had downplayed her looks, smudging makeup beneath her eyes, trying to change the shape of her brows and mouth. As he looked at her dowdy, nondescript clothing, he remembered her shiny black car.

      He glanced again at the red roots, imagining glossy red hair. He suspected she was tall and willowy and a real looker—with heavy muscle after her. He wondered about Las Vegas and a mob. She was someone’s girlfriend or she had stolen something or knew something. For the kind of muscle involved and her obvious fear, money had to be part of her flight The purse was kept constantly at her fingertips and he guessed she was packing a pistol.

      She opened the carton of milk, taking a long drink, and Colin wondered when she had last eaten.

      The faint rumble of a car motor grew louder. Even beneath the heavy makeup, her face paled. She stopped chewing, inhaling swiftly, and he had the feeling that she was holding her breath. Her hand clutched the purse until her knuckles were white. She wore no rings on her slender fingers with short, neatly clipped nails. The sound of the motor increased. A car was slowly creeping along the alley.

      Colin reached behind his back beneath his jacket to withdraw the 9 mm automatic pistol he carried tucked into his waistband. He watched the door of the garage.

      “Maybe you should get down until they’re gone,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. He glanced in the rearview mirror while she slid down on the floor.

      The