Realization washed over her in alternating waves of pain and numbness. Hers wasn't the only life that had nearly been taken today. It was all she could do to remain upright on tingling weak legs. Her mouth went dry and her stomach lurched violently. Cupping a hand to her mouth, she turned away from him. An empty stomach made the experience less embarrassing.
When the spasms passed, she turned to the man she had nearly killed . . . the man who had helped give her that second chance.
"I'm so sorry," she managed in a trembling voice, "I didn't think there was anyone on the road. I remembered how isolated these roads were, but I forgot how dangerous they were."
His eyes clouded with belated concern and his voice lost its edge. "Are you all right? I didn't mean to yell at you, but you nearly scared me to death."
"I'm sorry. I think I scared about ten years off my life too."
A faint smile twisted his dark features and one brow arched quizzically. "That must make you about five years old."
She smiled weakly at his deliberate misinterpretation of the cliché. "I was talking about the other end of my life. Anyway, I only act fifteen, I'm really 19. She made a face . . . "old enough to know better."
He surveyed her slender figure with obvious appreciation. Only blindness could have prevented her from knowing that she was unusually attractive. Long ago she had learned to ignore the second glances, open stares, and sometimes even suggestive leers of men. Yet this young man's frank appraisal was none of those. It merely confirmed that she had left childhood behind . . . quite gracefully.
A gust of wind whipped at her full skirt and tossed her long blond curls into the air. She collected a handful of the crisp material in modest protest and impatiently brushed a wisp of soft hair from her eyes.
When he continued to assess her, she boldly returned his appraisal. Beginning at his dusty oxfords and indigo blue jeans, her scrutiny continued up to a neatly tucked in worn white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to mid arm. His face was clean shaven, but his dark curly hair was thick and unruly. In all, he was a paradox of fashion. At 5' 8", she was tall, but still had to lift her chin to see his face. Their eyes met for a moment . . . piercing blue eyes meeting startled green eyes in a battle of nerve. He won.
Feeling the warmth of color invading her cheeks, she looked away. Never in her life had she done anything so brazen. Focusing her attention on the car, she was acutely aware of the fact that he was still watching her.