Forbidden Temptation. Gwynne Forster

lady. You hit me.”

      “No matter who hit whom,” she said keeping her voice low and calm, “we have to exchange information, don’t we?” She didn’t dare rattle the man, and she wanted to keep him there until the police arrived. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t called Luther, because the man’s belligerent manner suggested that he’d use any excuse for a fight.

      “Look,” she said, “we have to settle this. I’ll write my information out and give it to you.” She reached into the glove compartment, got a small pad and a pencil and handed it to him through the slightly open window. “You write your info out for me on that little pad, and we’ll be on our way.”

      “You’re a slick one,” he said. “I wouldn’t trust a woman as far as I could throw her. It’ll cost me four or five hundred bucks to get my car painted. You can give me the cash or a check, I don’t care which. But if the check bounces, expect to see me again.”

      In spite of the cold wind blasting her through the partly open window, perspiration beaded on her forehead. She couldn’t move the car without hurting him, and he had only to shove her car with all his strength and she’d be lying in the little ravine at the edge of the highway. As her mind raced for a solution, a car pulled up behind hers, but from her rearview mirror, she knew at once that it wasn’t Luther’s car. Her breathing accelerated, and the man at her car window turned to see who had parked behind her.

      She noticed that his hands began to shake, turned around and saw a uniformed patrolman get out of the unmarked car and said a word of thanks.

      “What’s going on here?” the patrolman asked. She jumped out of the car and handed the officer her license and registration.

      “I was in the middle lane going fifty, officer, and he passed me on my left and knocked me all the way to where my car is. I spun around several times, till I thought I couldn’t get control of my car.”

      The officer walked around the car, looked at the tires and the scratches on the left side of the car. He stopped in front of the other driver. “You had to be going pretty fast to do this. Both of her right tires are split. Let’s see your papers.”

      “I…. uh…she hit me, Officer.”

      “Your papers, buddy.”

      “They, uh…they’re in my car.”

      “I’ll walk with you.”

      Luther drove up as the two men walked off, and she didn’t think she’d ever been so happy to see anyone.

      “Are you all right?” Luther asked her.

      “I’m fine,” she said, although she wasn’t. He showed no warmth, neither in his voice nor his demeanor. After walking around the car, he took out his cell phone and called a tow truck. “You can’t drive this till you replace these tires and check the wheel alignment. I’ll bet that joker doesn’t have a dollar’s worth of insurance.”

      The patrolman returned with the man, wrote out a report, handed each a copy and told her, “He doesn’t have any personal insurance, but you may be able to recover your costs from his employer, who owns the car. Here’s the information. I wouldn’t drive your car till it’s checked.”

      “Thank you, Officer,” she said.

      “If you have anything in this car that you don’t want to lose, let’s put it in my car,” Luther said. They emptied her glove compartment and the trunk and put all of it in Luther’s car. “Go sit in my car. It’s too cold to stand out here,” he said.

      The tow truck arrived minutes later. Luther gave the driver instructions, got a receipt and handed it to Ruby when he got into the car. “You ought to have your car back in a couple of days. If you need help, give me a ring.”

      “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

      He didn’t look her way as he started the car and eased into the traffic. “You don’t say.”

      Ruby felt his words like a punch to the stomach.

      It didn’t seem right to be at odds with Luther, the one person who had always been there for her. If only she could think of something to do or say that would get them back to the warm camaraderie she’d had with him nearly all of her life. If only she hadn’t made love with him. No, she couldn’t be sorry for that. He was the man who’d given her her birthright. But she didn’t want it to end there. She was smart enough to know that there was more, and she wanted it. Yet, Luther was serving notice that she wouldn’t get it with him.

      Well, she told herself, glancing at his steely face, we’ll see about that.

      Chapter 3

      Luther could feel the heat emanating from Ruby and knew she sensed the desire that seemed capable of running away with him. “Don’t lose that receipt, now,” he cautioned again, mainly because the silence was almost more than he could tolerate. Unfriendly, abnormal relations with Ruby chilled him like an icy grip on his heart, and he shuddered to banish the feeling. He stopped in front of the big Tudor house, a symbol of the Lockharts’ better days.

      “I’ll take this stuff inside for you,” he said, but he meant to get out of her house quickly. Being alone with her would invite memories of her sweet surrender and reduce him to begging for her love. He was damned if he’d crawl no matter how much he needed her.

      “Thanks,” she said. “Would you please put it over there near the stairs to the basement?”

      He did as she asked and noted that she stood between him and the front door. He didn’t know if she’d positioned herself there on purpose, but it didn’t matter; on his way out, he gave her wide berth.

      “Thanks for helping me, Luther,” she said, and he thought he detected a plaintiveness in her voice.

      “It wasn’t much,” he said as he reached for the doorknob. “You know you’re welcome.”

      For the first time in his life, Luther fled from Ruby. In his preoccupation with her, he’d almost forgotten the woman who was coming to his house for an interview.

      Now that he was sole owner of the dealerships and would make all decisions without his father’s help, he’d probably be at it eighteen hours a day, so he needed a housekeeper or someone who’d take care of his house, do the marketing and at least cook his dinner. He had to get home in a hurry. He had interviewed one on the telephone earlier that day but she lacked good references. The woman coming to his house tonight seemed to have just the right credentials, but he needed to see her and talk with her.

      He opened the door to a middle-aged woman who wore a gray felt hat and a gray coat. No points in her favor; he hated seeing dark-skinned women in grays, browns and blacks. She smiled as if she’d known him all of her life, and he couldn’t help responding to her.

      “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Yates.”

      “Glad to be here. Just call me Maggie, Mr. Biggens. Nothing fancy ’bout me.”

      He walked with her into his living room and asked her to sit down. “I’d like to see your references,” he said, accepted them, glanced briefly at them and put the paper on the coffee table. “I want a woman who will look after my home as if it were her own, and that means cleaning, marketing and cooking. I send my shirts to the laundry.”

      “With just one person to look after in this house,” she said, gazing around, “you better let me iron your shirts. I can do ’em as well as any laundry.”

      “All right. We’ll try it. Punctuality is important to me. Unless there’s a blizzard or a hurricane, I’d expect you to be here on time. You’d have Thursday afternoons and Sundays off. You get five-fifty a week, plus transportation and your meals. I pay all of your Social Security and if you want to wear a uniform, I’ll buy them. If you don’t, fine with me. If we hit it off, you’ll get a raise.” He looked at her for a reaction.

      “Sounds