"It didn't look like this when I bought it. I paid for the car, but my dad did all the work."
There was something final-sounding about her use of the past tense. Rick looked at Christie, but her eyes were on the engine. The car would never be a classic, but it clearly meant something to her. He wanted to ask, but something stopped him. Instead, he got the cables and hooked up the cars. By the time the Toyota roared to life, the obvious had occurred to him.
Without disconnecting the jumper cables, he went to Christie's window on the driver's side. "We have a problem here," he said. "Where do you go now?"
"Why?" There was a hint of challenge in her tone. Rick could imagine what she was thinking: as far away from you as possible.
He rested his hand on the door. "We don't know if your battery's even charging. You could lose your headlights, maybe lose power altogether. There's no telling if you'd make it home or not." He sighed. Letting Christie out on the road, no matter how badly she wanted to go, just wasn't an option. And she was supposed to be on the air in a few hours. This was getting complicated. "You shouldn't be driving this car at all. Not until you get it checked."
He was glad the two cars were still attached by the cables. If Christie could have pulled away, he was sure she would have. It was a good thing she was reasonable enough not to drive off, cables and all. His exwife might have.
Christie's voice sounded carefully neutral. "What do you suggest?"
"I know a good repair shop in town. We can leave your car there, drop a key through the slot in the door and have them working on it tomorrow morning." Silence. He reiterated, "You can't drive this car over the hill. It's not safe."
Her hands were clenched on the wheel. "So how do I-',
Here was where it got tricky. "Well," he said, "I, for one, think better on a full stomach. Why don't we get a bite to eat?"
Silence. Except for the two cars idling in the background.
"Look," he said. "I know this is awkward. But I'm starved, and it'll give us a chance to sort this out."
Christie looked at him directly for the first time since this debacle started. Those pretty hazel eyes were still full of frustration, but at least not all of it seemed to be directed at him. "Rick, you don't have to do this."
He couldn't always read women very well, but at the moment, Christie was coming in loud and clear. She was stranded, a damsel in distress. And it galled the heck out of her.
He respected that need for independence, but somehow, it made him want to take care of her, too. A little warning bell sounded in the back of Rick's mind. He ignored it for the moment. The situation was getting touchy, but there were certain things he just wouldn't do. Leaving Christie stuck in an untrustworthy car was one of them.
"Look at it this way," he told her. "I was about to go home to microwave dinner-in-a-box. You're rescuing me.
"But. . ." She was running out of arguments.
"Besides," he said, "I've never known a woman yet who could resist Chinese food." He knew of a place nearby. It was brightly lit, and platonic.
At last, Christie relented. "Okay."
The restaurant was just a few blocks from the station and looked as if it had been there for at least twenty years. Most of the tables were empty, not surprisingly; it was a quarter to nine. By Christie's calculations, she had a little over two hours to fill before she could reasonably escape back to the station to do her commercials, and then her air shift.
She was still smarting from the meeting in Rick's office. Now she was also squirming over the new sit uation she found herself in. The drive to the restaurant, at least, had been fairly painless. It seemed as if the farther Rick got from the station, the less-well, managerial-he became. But Christie couldn't afford to forget he was the boss. This night had already taken enough twists as it was.
"I imagine they'll have your car ready by early afternoon," Rick said as the waitress brought their food. "I'll give Sid a call in the morning."
"You know them there?"
He grinned. "Intimately." He spooned rice onto his plate. "You should have seen what I was driving a year ago. I was over there almost every other week. I practically had my own parking space."
"Really?"
"Oh, yeah. But the car I drove when I first started in radio was worse." He shook his head, pleasant crinkles showing at the corners of his eyes. "The ugliest green rust bucket you ever saw."
Christie looked up from her cashew chicken, intrigued. It was hard to imagine this was the same man who'd trashed her idea so soundly a little while ago. His whole demeanor had warmed up about ten degrees sometime in the last hour. She had the feeling of some door being opened a little crack, and decided to try for a peek inside. "How did you get started in radio?"