Wednesday's Child. Gayle Wilson

began to limp over to the Toyota. As he approached, he realized that she’d been right to call a tow truck.

      Any idea he might have had that he could maneuver the Camry out of the ditch himself was discarded as he surveyed the situation. It was obvious someone had tried to drive it out, causing the wheels to sink even farther into the mud.

      Still looking down at the back tires, now buried up to their rims, Jeb opened the driver’s door. The overhead light came on, making it obvious there was no note on the dash or in the seat. And no sign of Susan Chandler.

      He blew out an exasperated breath before he straightened to look over the top of her car. He had left his headlights on, and the twin beams cut a swath through the rain and darkness into the area beyond the telephone pole. As he watched, a figure materialized out of the bushes along the side of the road, stepping forward into their illumination.

      He recognized Susan immediately, despite her bedraggled appearance. Her clothing was soaked, making her cotton blouse cling revealingly to her body. The strap of her leather purse still hung over her shoulder, however, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

      He refrained from asking any of the obvious questions as she approached, shoes sloshing with each step. When she rounded the car, he could see that her eyes were wide and dark in a face that was far too pale. Strands of hair were plastered to her cheeks and neck, water streaming from them.

      He couldn’t imagine why she’d gotten out in the rain rather than waiting inside the Toyota for the wrecker. Not unless—

      The thought was sudden and disturbing. A concussion might create enough disorientation to cause that kind of behavior. He’d seen men with head wounds do some bizarre things.

      “You hurt?” he asked as she stopped in front of him.

      Wordlessly she shook her head.

      “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

      “I didn’t know who it was.”

      Not the most rational answer, he decided, considering that she was supposed to be waiting for the wrecker. There was no way she could have been certain he wasn’t the tow-truck driver, considering the poor visibility. Or had she been planning to hide in the bushes even after they’d arrived?

      Hide. That was exactly what she’d been doing, he realized. For some reason, Susan Chandler had been hiding.

      “Who did you think would be out here in a downpour calling you by name?”

      She pressed her lips together as if deliberately refusing to respond to his sarcasm. With as much dignity as she could manage, considering that water was dripping off her chin, she pushed a piece of hair off her cheek before she shook her head.

      “What’s wrong?” he demanded, knowing there was something else going on here. It would have taken more than a minor accident on a rain-slick road to rattle her this badly.

      “Nothing. I…” Again she closed her mouth, cutting off whatever explanation she’d been about to make. “Nothing.”

      “You did call a wrecker, didn’t you?”

      She nodded, her eyes holding on his face. Seeing what was in them, something that looked very much like fear, he found that he had to resist the urge to put his arm out to draw her to him. He would have done that to Lorena or almost any other woman of his acquaintance. Susan Chandler, however, had given no indication she would welcome that kind of comfort.

      Not from him or anyone else. The aura that surrounded her was one of unapproachability. Even now.

      “They said it would be about an hour.”

      Obviously not local. “They’re coming from Pascagoula?”

      She nodded, pushing her dripping hair out of her eyes with the spread fingers of her right hand. Through her thin cotton shirt, he could see the outline of lace on the top of her bra. And under it, the too-rapid rise and fall of her breasts. As if suddenly aware of how revealing the wet fabric might be, she put that hand on its opposite arm, running her palm up and down.

      Despite the Indian-summer temperatures of the morning, this rain felt winter cold, and she was soaked to the skin. He needed to get her somewhere warm and dry, or she was liable to end up with pneumonia. If she did, he’d never hear the end of it from Lorena.

      “Come on,” he said, turning to head back to the pickup. The cab should still be fairly warm.

      “Where?”

      “To Lorena’s.” As he looked back at her, he raised his voice to make sure she could hear him over the downpour.

      “What about the wrecker?”

      “Leave them a note. Tell them they can take the car to Reynolds.”

      “Reynolds?”

      “It’s the service station on the square. He’ll pay them tonight. You can pay him tomorrow.”

      “But…will he be open on a Sunday night?” she asked as she walked over to where he had stopped.

      Probably not, Jeb realized. Like it or not, they were stuck here until the tow truck from Pascagoula showed up.

      “I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s a lot dryer inside my truck than it is out here.”

      He automatically put his hand in the small of her back, urging her toward his vehicle. This time she cooperated, walking ahead of him as he made his slow and careful way over the uneven ground. As he neared the passenger side, he looked up to find she’d been watching him as she waited. Without meeting her eyes, he reached out and opened the passenger door.

      “There’s a handgrip,” he said, gesturing toward it. Although she was tall for a woman, probably five-seven or five-eight, she used it to climb up into the high cab. As soon as she was settled, he slammed the door and started around the back. Now that he knew she couldn’t see him, he held on to the enclosed bed of the truck for balance.

      The dull, familiar ache in his leg had already started. Susan wasn’t the only one who needed to get in out of the cold.

      He opened the driver’s-side door and, gritting his teeth against the pain, climbed into the seat. As soon as he closed the door, killing the interior light, he became aware of the intimacy of their situation.

      The intensity of the rain would hold them prisoner as they waited for the arrival of the wrecker. Something over which they had no control.

      “Did Lorena send you to find me?”

      He debated telling her the truth. His great-aunt’s anxiety had been a factor, of course, but she would never have asked him to go out in this, no matter how worried she was. That had been his decision. Given what he’d discovered, it was one he couldn’t regret, even knowing what it would cost him tomorrow.

      “Lorena takes her responsibilities seriously,” he said. “You’re her guest. That makes you hers to look after.”

      Her laughter was a breath of sound. “I was thinking on the way home how unaccustomed I am to having someone worry about me. And how welcome her solicitude would be,” she added softly. “I didn’t expect it to extend to rescue missions, however.”

      “Did you need rescuing?” He hadn’t forgotten that she’d been hiding when he’d arrived.

      “A figure of speech. I didn’t mean to sound melodramatic.”

      “It’s obvious you weren’t trying to avoid the tow truck by hiding in those bushes, Ms. Chandler, so I’m curious as to who you were avoiding.”

      The rain seemed to beat down with renewed force as he waited for her answer. Or maybe in the sudden silence after his question he was simply more aware of it.

      “Someone in an outsized pickup,” she said finally.

      Since the description was a little too apt, he turned to look at her. She was staring out the windshield,