By Proxy(7)

***

The small, silvery-blue SUV in front of him was about the most uptight, girly SUV he had ever seen. He could see her blonde head poking just an inch or so above the headrest, the result of impeccable posture, no doubt. She was probably that no-nonsense type of woman who always sat like there was a rod in her spine. And possibly up her ass, he mused, recalling her sour face and clipped manners. Not that he didn’t admire her backbone. Most girls he knew didn’t speak their minds as directly as she did. Women were enigmas to him; they’d say one thing and mean something completely different, and he often had a difficult time reconciling the two. He got the feeling that Jenny said what she meant and meant what she said. It was refreshing; no wasting time trying to figure out if a coy “yes” really meant yes, or some cryptic version of ‘maybe.’ After years around more sophisticated, urban girls, he found her candid manners intriguing, despite her crabby mood.

He attributed her persona largely to her small-town upbringing. She seemed a country girl through and through: honest, fresh and wholesome, if not a little uptight. She certainly didn’t seem very worldly contrasted against most of the girls he knew who were sophisticated, stylish and edgy. It made him smile to remember her standing there in that shapeless, fake-fur adorned, puffy parka while she gave him hell.

It’s just a shame it concealed everything.

He thought about her barreling into him as he walked into the lobby of the courthouse. Even through his thick coat, he could feel her breasts pressed against him, all the more pronounced because she had fallen into him with such force and was taking gulping breaths to steady herself, making her chest rise and fall more dramatically with the effort. And while her sweater-dress had been perfectly modest, the material clung to her chest in such a way that it hadn’t left much to the imagination either.

Before she had turned into a cross between the Pillsbury Dough Boy and Nanook of the North in the space of one zip, he’d taken a quick look at her heavenly handfuls. City girls, at least the ones he knew, had those perfect, voluptuous, pre-fab chests that looked awesome in a dress, but often screamed “plastic surgery” once you got up close, which he frequently did.

He was pretty sure nothing about Jenny was “pre-fab,” and his palm twitched with the way his thoughts were headed. Her breasts would be soft and real. She was all natural, from the color of her hair, to her trim waist, to her perfect rear that had already proved a pretty unsettling distraction as she left the courthouse.

Too bad she was so sharp-tongued, because he could think of some better uses for that tongue other than slinging barbs at guys she barely knew. He appreciated that he’d messed up her day, and her Monday too, for that matter, but it wasn’t as though he had intentionally arrived late to screw up her weekend. Then again, Sam thought of her cheeks coloring bright pink as they shook hands. He grinned. There might be a lot of bluster to Jenny Lindstrom, but she wasn’t quite as tough as she wanted him to think she was. He wondered if she was just tightly wound or a little crazy, and if he had to spend the weekend around her, he hoped for the former. His eyes widened as “Crazy” started as if on cue. Maybe she—

WHOA! One minute, he was listening to Patsy croon “Crazy,” and in a blink of an eye Jenny’s SUV was spinning out in front of him.

“No! Oh, God! Oh, my God!” Sam yelled out loud, his adrenaline pumping, making his heart beat like a drum. He clutched at the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, watching her car spin across the outside lane. Once. Twice. She gained momentum and his eyes widened in horror as she slid sideways closer and closer to the guardrail. “STOP!”

Thankfully, the snowy grass slowed her down, and he sighed in relief as her car rumbled to a stop just inches from the thick, metal rail.

Oh, my God! Is she okay? Please let her be okay!

Sam needed to slow down, shift lanes, and pull over to see if she was all right. As he crossed to the far left lane, he saw the patch of black ice in the middle lane that had caused her to spin out of control.

He pulled over onto the white, icy grass and stopped his car behind hers—her car is facing the wrong way—and unbuckled as fast as he could. He threw open the door of his rental and ran the few snowy steps to her car, peering in through her window.

She stared straight ahead, hands rested on the steering wheel, unmoving.

He opened her door as slowly and calmly as possible, trying to steady his heavy, worried breathing. He swallowed and squatted down on the ground beside her. In case she was in shock or disoriented, he didn’t want to frighten her.

“Jenny? Jenny?” he asked quietly, urgently. He cleared his throat and touched the arm closest to him.