Man In A Million. Muriel Jensen

designs.” She jingled the car keys. “I’m off.”

      “I could work until four. Give you time to…adjust.”

      Paris shook her head and slipped behind the wheel. “I’m okay. I’ll probably work late, but if I get tired, I’ll call you.”

      “Paris…”

      “Thanks for this morning. You get to work. I’m going to drive and think about things.”

      “You should drive and think about driving!” Prue shouted over the sound of the motor.

      “I will!” Paris promised as she drove away. “But, first,” she said to herself. “I’m buying chocolate.”

      RANDY AND CHILLY WERE helping shred lettuce for Paul Balducci’s famous taco salad when Kitty came into the firehouse kitchen with the call.

      “Berkshire Cab was T-boned at the northwest intersection of the Common,” she said urgently. “Single occupant, female. Caller says she’s conscious but a little incoherent.”

      Randy and Chilly were already running toward the rig.

      She drove for a living, Randy thought, edgy and anxious as he raced the rig to the scene. You’d think she’d be careful at intersections. And why was his heart thumping? He was always steady as a rock.

      Because he was a compassionate human being, that’s why, and he knew this woman. That was all it was.

      But he felt a great jolt in his chest when they arrived on the scene and found the Berkshire Cab crunched. Fortunately, it was on the passenger side. But he couldn’t see Paris for the people crowded around her. Chilly ran interference for him while Randy got their gear.

      “How you doing, Miss O’Hara?” Chilly asked as he opened the door. Randy knelt on one knee and took her pulse. She was pale and her voice was strained when she tried to grin and said, “I’ll bet the car that hit me was Addy’s. She’ll do…anything to get us together.”

      She sounded as though she was gasping for air, but her vitals were good. Her pulse was a little fast, but her heartbeat was steady and she was awake and responsive.

      “Did you hit your chest against the steering wheel?” he asked as he worked over her arms, feeling for breaks.

      “No,” she replied. “The collision just…jarred me.”

      “Legs hurt?”

      “No.”

      “Can you move them?”

      “Yes.”

      “Do you know your name?”

      The look she gave him was enough to tell him she hadn’t sustained a blow to the head. “I’m the woman who refuses to date you, remember?”

      “Is she okay?” A worried older woman clutching a quilted handbag stood on the other side of the open door. “I thought she saw me. She looked at me, but she kept on going. I couldn’t stop in time.”

      “I think it was my fault,” Paris said to Randy, that tight sound in her whisper. “The stop was on my side. I stopped, but…I didn’t see her.”

      “That’s right,” a young man standing behind the older woman confirmed. “I saw it all. She stopped, but she mustn’t have seen the car coming ’cause she took off again.”

      A police officer had arrived on the scene and was making notes.

      “I’m fine. Really.” Paris used the side of the door to pull herself to her feet.

      Randy reached out to steady her, suddenly understanding the pained voice with no corroborating physical evidence of injury. It didn’t reflect pain, but a strong effort to hold back tears.

      “Chilly’s gone for the gurney,” he said, still holding on to her. “You seem fine, but we’re going to take you to the ER and let them look you over to make sure.”

      “No, I’m…”

      “Rules, Paris,” he said, ignoring her protests. “Just relax. Here’s the gurney. Just sit down and I’ll swing your legs up. Tell me if anything hurts.”

      “Just my insurance premium,” she joked thinly.

      “Well, that’s lucky,” he said as Chilly drew the light blanket over her. “Because we can fix that without surgery.”

      He sat in the back with her while Chilly drove.

      MAYBE IT WASN’T THE WORST day of her life, Paris thought, her head throbbing and her ears ringing as she held her breath, but it was running a close second.

      Randy, leaning over her, frowned worriedly. “Relax, Paris,” he advised, watching monitors. “Breathe. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

      She expelled a breath because she just couldn’t hold it anymore, and as she suspected, a loud sob erupted from her. She burst into tears.

      She’d always scorned weakness in people. She’d loved her mother and her sister, but considered them a little frivolous according to the standards she’d set for herself. She was going to do big things. Go to law school. Defend the friendless.

      Then one piece of bad news had thrown her for a loop. She’d been unable to go back to school, unable to pursue her dream. She’d started Berkshire Cab in an attempt to keep going, to help support the household. But now she’d run a stop sign, hit the car of a poor little old lady and probably damaged her driving record. Not to mention the cab.

      She felt a gentle hand on her cheek.

      “Hey,” Randy said quietly. “It’s going to be all right. I don’t think you’re hurt, and the woman you hit isn’t hurt. That’s about the best outcome you can hope for. There’s no reason to cry.”

      For reasons she couldn’t explain, she began to cry harder.

      “My car!” she wailed.

      “You had a good dent in the passenger side,” he said, that gentle hand stroking her hair. “But it looked like just body work to me. It’s expensive, but I presume you’re insured.”

      “I am.” She sniffled and coughed. “But they’ll probably drop me now. And I’ll have to find something to drive until my car’s fixed.”

      “Doesn’t your sister have a car?”

      She shook her head. “She had a Porsche she sold when she came back home. Mom’s car is at the airport.”

      “Well, I’m sure there’s a solution. You have to look at the bright side. None of the terrible things that could have happened did. You got off easy. And a couple of days’ rest will do you good, I’m sure. When you’re overworked, it’s easy to be distracted.”

      She wanted to take offense, but her attention was diverted by the soothing hand in her hair, the thumb sweeping tears from her cheek.

      “I wasn’t distracted, I was…upset.” She sounded petulant. She hated that. She drew a deep breath and tried to pull herself together.

      “Is it something you need to talk about?”

      She looked into his concerned eyes and considered sharing the strange stuff about her mother and how she kept lying about Paris’s father. But he had his own problems. Also, she’d been trying to get rid of the distracting annoyances in her life. And he was one of them.

      Though it didn’t seem like that at the moment.

      She closed her eyes. “No, thank you,” she said. “It was all my fault because I was going for chocolate and I’m supposed to have sworn off it.”

      She opened her eyes again to see that he was smiling.

      “Right,” he said. “The fashion show.”

      She looked surprised. She tried to sit up but