“Then let me help you to my vehicle.” He leaned down and scooped her out of the car, lifting her into his arms, the dress billowing up around them both.
She squealed and looped an arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have to carry me. I can walk barefooted.”
“I can see that.” He tipped his head toward her scratched feet with the pretty, pale pink nail polish.
“Hey, Nash, whatcha got there?” Rider’s chuckle sounded from next to the wrecker.
Nash straightened with his load and faced his brother.
Rider, the closest in age to him of the Grayson brothers, sauntered toward them, a grin spreading across his face.
“Miss—” Damn, he hadn’t even gotten her name. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”
“Phoebe.” She chewed on her lip and then added, “Smith. Phoebe Smith.”
Something about her answer didn’t sit right, but Nash was more concerned about his brother’s dumbass grin. “Miss Smith’s had a minor fender bender in a rental vehicle. You’ll need to tow it to town, and contact the rental car company to see what they want to do about the crunched bumper and the flat tire.”
“Got it.” Rider tipped his cowboy hat and held out a hand to Phoebe. “Rider Grayson. Pleased to meet you.”
She took his hand and gave him a hesitant smile. “Pleasure’s mine.” She shot a glance at the car on the side of the road. “If you’d just tow it to town, I’ll call the rental car company and make arrangements for it from there.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And I’ve already checked in the trunk,” she added. “There isn’t a spare. So no need to change the tire.”
“I’ll tow it, and let it sit until you give me further instructions. Uh, do you always dress this way for outings?” His gaze swept over the dress, and he winked.
Her cheeks flushed and her arm tightened around Grayson’s neck. “No. Never.”
Ready to move on, Nash frowned at his brother. “If you’re done with the questions, I’ll escort Phoebe to town. We’ll see you there.”
Again, Rider touched the brim of his hat. “See you soon.”
Damn, Rider had that come-to-hell-with-me smile the ladies loved. By the way Phoebe blushed, she was no different. Didn’t Rider get it? The woman had skipped out on a wedding, leaving some poor schmuck standing at the altar, bride-less. She didn’t deserve sympathy.
Nash marched to his vehicle, juggled the woman in his arms to half-free a hand from the voluminous folds of the wedding dress and opened the back door. When he leaned down to place her on the seat, her arms locked around his neck and her cheek pressed against his.
“Deputy Grayson,” she whispered against his ear.
Her breath warmed Nash’s neck, and the scent of honeysuckle wrapped around his senses, making him pause to drag in a deep breath. “Ma’am.”
“Do I have to ride in the back?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Please, I don’t want to go to jail.”
He chuckled and straightened, leaning his head back to look into the most startlingly soft green eyes he’d ever seen. At that moment, they were the color of the moss that grew on the sides of the live oak trees. “It’s just to get you to town. Regulations state I can’t let anyone but another deputy, or the sheriff, ride up front.” He tipped his head toward the front passenger seat, filled with the usual mobile computer and electronics typical of modern police work. “Besides, there isn’t much room for you and your dress up front.” His lips pulled upward in a smile.
Phoebe chewed on her bottom lip for a moment and then nodded. “I guess it’s okay. I just…I never…rode in the back of a police car.”
“It’s no different than riding in the back seat of any other vehicle, except the child safety locks are engaged. I’ll have to let you out.”
She heaved a sigh, the rounded swells of her breasts rising and falling beneath Nash’s chin.
Damn, she smelled good, and he bet there was a gorgeous body to match the breasts, all hidden beneath the ridiculous amount of white fluffy material.
Nash deposited her on the back seat, almost dumping her like a bag of hot potatoes before he got too used to holding her against his body. He didn’t need complications in his life. Phoebe had complication written all over that pure white wedding dress.
Intent on taking her to town and dropping her off on the nearest sidewalk, he bundled all of the dress inside with her and slammed the back door. Hurrying around the side of the SUV, he glanced across at his brother, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, that damned grin spreading across his face.
“What?” he demanded, his voice terse, his temper rising.
“Nothing. I just never pictured you carrying a bride.” Rider nodded. “Looks good on you, bro.”
“Shut up,” Nash bit out. “I’m just doing my job.”
Rider’s grin widened. “Uh-huh. She’s pretty, and apparently unattached.”
“And passing through.” Nash opened the driver’s side door, praying the woman in the back seat hadn’t heard his brother’s words. He didn’t want her to get the idea he was at all interested. She’d be gone as soon as she placed a call to whomever she had waiting back at the church.
Nash pulled out onto the road, radioed in to dispatch that he had a passenger and would be dropping her off at the garage. When he’d finished reporting in, he glanced at the woman in the back seat. Her face was pale, her pretty auburn hair a wind-blown mess and she kept chewing on her bottom lip. He found himself wanting to kiss the lip and make her stop worrying it.
Dragging his gaze back to the road ahead, he swerved to miss an escaped Brangus bull, wandering across the road. “Damn.” Again, he radioed to dispatch. “Call Raymond Rausch and tell him Francis is loose again. Remind him that he needs to fix the fence on the highway to keep that bull from crossing the road.”
“Roger.” Gretchen, the dispatcher, responded. “Someday someone will hit that damned bull.”
“I sure hope not. I doubt it would hurt the bull, but slamming into him would most likely kill the driver.”
“Exactly.” Gretchen asked for a mile marker sign and promised to call Rausch immediately.
As he entered town, Nash tried to push aside any feelings of guilt or empathy for the bride in the back seat. The best he could do was to find a telephone for her to make a call to her family back wherever she was from. They could come collect their runaway, and she would be on her way. “My brother has a phone at his shop. I can let you in to use it.” He glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
She lifted her chin. “Thank you, but I don’t want to call anyone.”
“Don’t you have family who can come get you?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “I’m not going back.”
Great. Now what was he supposed to do with her? “How about a friend?”
“I don’t have any friends,” she said, her voice firm, but the bottom lip she’d been chewing on trembled.
“Well, I can’t just leave you on the street.”
She glanced down at the ring on her finger and slipped it off. “Is there anywhere I can sell this ring? I’m sure it’s worth something.”
He pulled up in front of Rider’s garage and shifted into Park. “There is a pawn shop two blocks down. Joe might give you something for it.” Staring again at her in the rearview mirror, he added, “Are you sure you want to sell it? Is there no chance of reconciliation between you and your fiancé?”
Her face went another shade paler. “No chance at all.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Could you take me to the pawn shop?” She leaned forward, placing her hand on the back of the seat. “If I could sell the ring, I might be able to pay for a new tire.”
Already, this Good-Samaritan act was delaying him from getting off duty. But he couldn’t drop a barefoot bride on the street. He glanced over his shoulder. “Just so you know, I’m not a taxi service. But after the pawn shop, we’re going to the shoe shop with some of that money.”
She smiled, for the first time since he’d spotted her on the highway. “Thank you. I’m sorry to be so much trouble.” The smile slipped away and her gaze darted out the window.
At the pawn shop, Nash opened the back door for Phoebe. When he bent to lift her out, she placed a hand on his chest. A waft of honeysuckle filled his senses, scrambling his brain cells.
“I can walk. Going barefoot won’t kill me,” she pointed out.
A moment passed while heat radiated from her palm over his chest and throughout his body. Then he straightened, heat climbing up from the collar of his shirt. He held out a hand, instead. She placed hers in his and allowed him to pull her to her little bare feet with the pink toenail polish. When she stood beside him, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.
Phoebe bent to gather her train, looped it over her arm and marched into the pawn shop, the sound of the material swishing as she moved louder than any sound her bare feet might have made on the concrete sidewalk.
Why he was thinking about the sound of her bare feet on concrete, Nash didn’t know. He dragged in a deep breath and followed her into the pawn shop.