his white cotton pants. He was wearing both shoes again, although the
left was torn in one spot and battered.
She said, “I won’t take much of your time.”
“Definitely,” he agreed, smiling.
“Oh, come on, be a good guy.”
“Sorry, but I’d make dull copy anyway.”
“You just saved a child’s life!”
“Other than that, I’m boring.”
Something about him belied his claim to dullness, although at first
Holly could not pinpoint the reason for his strong appeal. He was about
thirty-five, an inch or two under six feet, lean but well-muscled.
Though he was attractive enough, he didn’t have the looks that made her
think of movie stars. His eyes were beautiful, yes, but she was never
drawn to a man merely because of his looks and certainly not because of
one exceptional feature.
He picked up his suitcase and began to limp along the corridor.
“You should see a doctor,” she said, falling in at his side.
“At worst, it’s sprained.”
“It still should be treated.”
“Well, I’ll buy an Ace bandage at the airport, or when I get back home.”
Maybe his manner was what she found so appealing. He spoke softly,
smiled easily, rather like a Southern gentleman, though he had no
accent.
He also moved with unusual grace even when he was limping. She
remembered how she had been reminded of ballet when, with the fluidity
of a dancer, he had swept the little boy out of the path of the hurtling
truck.
Exceptional physical grace and an unforced gentility were appealing in a
man. But neither of those qualities was what fascinated her. Something
else. Something more elusive.
As they reached the front door, she said, “If you’re really intent on
going home again, I can give you a ride to the airport.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind, but I don’t need a ride.”
She followed him onto the porch. “It’s a damned long walk.”
He stopped, and frowned. “Oh. Yeah. Well. . . there’s got to be a
phone I’ll call a cab.”
“Come on, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not a serial killer. I
don’t keep a chainsaw in my car.”
He stared at her a beat, then grinned disarmingly. “Actually, you look
more like the type who favors bludgeoning with a blunt instrument.”
“I’m a reporter. We use switchblades. But I haven’t killed anyone this
week.”
“Last week?”
“Two. But they were both door-to-door salesmen.”
“It’s still homicide.”
“Justifiable, though.”
“Okay, I accept your offer.”
Her blue Toyota was at the far curb, two back from the parked car in
which the drunk driver had slammed. Downhill, the tow truck was just
hauling away the totaled pickup, and the last of the policemen was
getting into a patrol car. A few overlooked splinters of tempered glass
from the truck’s broken windows still glimmered on the blacktop in the
late-afternoon sunshine.
They rode for a block or so in silence.
Then Holly said, “You have friends in Portland?”
“Yeah. From college.”
“That’s who you were staying with?”
“Yeah.”
“They couldn’t take you to the airport?”
“They could’ve if it was a morning flight, but this afternoon they were
both at work.”
“Ah,” she said. She commented on clusters of brilliant yellow roses
that hung from vines entwining a split-rail fence at a house they
passed, an asked if he knew that Portland called itself the City of
Roses, which he did After another silence, she returned to the real
conversation: “Their phone wasn’t working, huh?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your friends.” She shrugged. “I just wondered why you didn’t call a
cab from their place.”
“I intended to walk.”
“To the airport?”
“My ankle was fine then.”
“It’s still a long walk.”
“Oh, but I’m a fitness nut.”
“Very long walk-especially with a suitcase.”
“It’s not that heavy. When I’m exercising, I usually walk with
handweights to get an upper-body workout.”
“I’m a walker myself,” she said, braking for a red light. “I used to
run every morning, but my knees started hurting.”
“Mine too, so I switched to walking. Gives your heart the same workout
if you keep up your pace.”
For a couple of miles, while she drove as slowly as she dared in order