Perfect (Second Opportunities 2)

"East toward Dallas for a long way and then south," Julie said, admiring his easy skill with the heavy vehicle. He had an unusually nice voice, uncommonly deep and smooth, and a strong, square jawline. His hair was dark brown and very thick, but poorly cut, and she wondered idly what he looked like without the concealing barrier of those reflective sunglasses. Very handsome, she decided, but it wasn't his good looks that kept drawing her eyes back to his profile, it was something else, something illusive that she couldn't pinpoint. Julie shrugged the feeling off, and cradling the thermos in her arm, she embarked on polite conversation. "Do you work around here?"

"Not any more. I was supposed to start a new job tomorrow, but I have to be there by seven in the morning or they'll give it to someone else." He finished jacking the car up and began loosening the lug bolts on the tire, then he nodded toward the nylon duffel bags that Julie hadn't seen before because they had somehow gotten shoved under her car. "A friend of mine was supposed to pick me up here two hours ago and give me a ride part of the way," he added, "but I guess something happened and he isn't going to make it."

"You've been waiting out here for two hours?" Julie exclaimed. "You must be frozen."

He kept his face averted, apparently concentrating on his task, and Julie restrained the peculiar urge to try to bend down and get a longer, closer look at him. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"I'd love one."

Rather than use up what was in the thermos, Julie headed back into the café. "I'll get it for you. How do you drink it?"

"Black," Zack said, fighting to keep his frustration in check. She was heading southeast from Amarillo, whereas his destination was four hundred miles to the northwest. He stole a glance at his watch and began working even faster. Nearly an hour and a half had passed since he walked away from the warden's car, and his risk of capture was increasing every moment he stayed around Amarillo. Regardless of which way the woman was going, he had to go with her. Putting some miles between himself and Amarillo was all that mattered now. He could ride with her for an hour and double back via a different route later.

The waitress needed to brew another pot of coffee, and by the time Julie returned to her car with the steaming paper cup, her rescuer had nearly finished changing the tire. Snow was already two inches deep on the ground and the biting wind was gathering force, whipping the sides of her coat open and making her eyes water. She saw him rub his bare hands together and thought of the new job that was waiting for him tomorrow—if he could get there. She knew jobs in Texas, especially blue-collar jobs, were scarce, and based on his lack of a car, he was probably badly in need of money. His jeans were new, she realized, noticing for the first time the telltale vertical crease down the front of the legs when he stood up. He had probably bought them in order to make a good impression on his future employer, she decided, and the thought of him doing that sent sympathy pouring through, her.

Julie had never before offered a hitchhiker a ride; the risks were far too high, but she decided to do it this time, not only because he'd changed her tire or because he seemed nice, but also because of a simple pair of jeans—new jeans. New jeans, stiff and spotless, obviously purchased by a jobless man who was pinning all his hopes on a brighter future that wasn't going to materialize unless someone gave him a ride at least partway to his destination so he could start to work.

"It looks like you're finished," Julie said, walking up to him. She held the cup of coffee out to him and he took it in hands that were red from the cold. There was an aloofness about him that made her hesitate to offer him money, but on the chance he'd prefer that to a ride, she offered anyway. "I'd like to pay you for changing the tire," she began, and when he curtly shook his head, she added, "In that case, can I give you a ride? I'm going to take the interstate east."

"I'd appreciate the ride," Zack said, accepting her offer with a brief smile as he quickly reached down and pulled the nylon duffel bags out from under the car. "I'm heading east, too."

When they got into the car, he told her his name was Alan Aldrich. Julie introduced herself as Julie Mathison, but to make certain he realized she was offering him a ride and nothing more, she carefully addressed him the next time she spoke as Mr. Aldrich. He picked up her cue and thereafter called her Miss Mathison.

Julie relaxed completely after that. The formality of Miss Mathison was completely reassuring, and so was his immediate acceptance of their situation. But when he remained absolutely silent and distant thereafter, she began to wish she hadn't insisted on formality. She knew she wasn't good at hiding her thoughts, therefore he'd probably realized at once that she was putting him in his place—a needless insult, considering that he'd shown her only gallant kindness by changing her tire.

Chapter 17

They'd been on the road for fully ten minutes before Zack felt the strangling tension in his chest begin to dissolve, and he drew a long, full breath—his first easy breath in hours. No, months. Years. Futility and helplessness had raged in him for so long that he felt almost lightheaded without them. A red car roared past them, cut across their lane to exit the interstate, lost traction, and spun around, missing the Blazer by inches—and then only because the young woman beside him handled the four-wheel-drive vehicle with surprising skill. Unfortunately, she also drove too damned fast, with the daredevil aggressiveness and fearless disregard of danger that was uniquely and typically Texan in his experience.

He was wishing there was some way he could suggest she let him drive, when she said in a quietly amused voice, "You can relax now. I've slowed down. I didn't mean to scare you."

"I wasn't afraid," he said with unintentional curtness.

She glanced sideways at him and smiled, a slow, knowing smile. "You're holding onto the dashboard with both hands. That's usually a dead giveaway."

Two things struck Zack at once: He'd been in prison so long that lighthearted banter between adult members of the opposite sex had become completely awkward and alien to him and Julie Mathison had a breathtaking smile. Her smile glowed in her eyes and lit up her entire face, transforming what was merely a pretty face into one that was captivating. Since wondering about her was infinitely preferable to worrying about things he couldn't yet control, Zack concentrated on her. She wore no makeup except for a little lipstick, and there was a freshness about her, a simplicity in the way she wore her thick, shiny brown hair, all of which had made him think she was in her late teens or very early twenties. On the other hand, she seemed too confident and self-assured for a twenty-year-old. "How old are you?" he asked bluntly, then winced at the brusque tactlessness of the question. Obviously if they didn't catch him and send him back to prison, he was going to have to relearn some things he'd thought were bred into him—like rudimentary courtesy and conversational etiquette with women.