Free Fatal Inheritance by Sandra Orchard Page B

“Do you like it?”
    No. “To tell you the truth,” he hedged, “I always pictured you more of a sunshine-and-roses kind of girl.”
    She drew back her arm. “Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a girl anymore.”
    “Yeah, kind of noticed,” he muttered under his breath and stopped alongside the car. “So Miss Grown-Up, does that mean you do or don’t want the car’s top down?”
    “Oh, I almost forgot!” She rummaged through her purse and drew out a cowboy-style kerchief, which she draped over her head and tied under her chin. In an instant she went from runway worthy to schoolgirl.
    Josh couldn’t help it. He laughed.
    “Oh, if you think this looks funny, you’d bust a gut over what the wind would do to my hair if I didn’t wear it.”
    “I’ll leave the top up.”
    “Doesn’t help much when the car has no side windows!”
    “Good point.” He opened the passenger door, and Bec climbed in. He quirked an eyebrow. “You driving?”
    She squinted up at him. “Not until you teach me how this thing works.”
    “Well, then...” He motioned to the driver’s side—the right side of this particular car—where the would-be door was blocked by the stick shift and brake lever. “You going to let me in?”
    “Oops.” She scurried out. “I forgot.”
    He slid across the seat, and she climbed back in. “Okay. First lesson.” He quickly showed her the positions of the gearshift, then moved it into Neutral and pushed the red ignition button on the dash.
    The engine sputtered to life.
    “That’s it?” she asked.
    “When all goes as it should, yes.”
    “And when it doesn’t?”
    He gunned the gas. “It’s a lot more complicated than we have time for right now.”
    They settled into a rambling forty miles per hour, and Bec inhaled deeply. “I’ve missed the smell of country air.”
    “Cow manure?”
    She swatted his arm. “I’m serious. As soon as the smell of hay and clean air and, yes, animals wafted through my car windows yesterday, I knew I’d found my way home.”
    The wistful way she said home made his heart skip a beat, but he couldn’t help but wonder if her feelings would last. Lots of people fell in love with country living in the long, lazy days of summer, but their attitudes changed come February when winter entrenched itself in the community and showed no sign of releasing its grip for another two months.
    “But I’m preaching to the choir. Right?”
    “Yup,” he confirmed and reminded himself that she was a city woman now. Not the girl who’d begged not to have to leave at the end of every summer and who’d always been humming one Sunday-school chorus or another.
    She chattered on about various day trips she and her grandparents had taken in the car, but the closer they got to the church, the quieter she grew.
    “You okay?” he asked finally.
    “I’m not sure I can do this.”
    “It’s okay to cry, Bec. I know I did at more than one service after my dad died.”
    “You did?” She suddenly sounded so lost.
    “Yes,” he said gently. He shifted the gear stick into First, so a kid couldn’t accidentally start the car rolling, then pulled up the brake lever. “Trust me. Everyone understands.” He reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. “You’ll be okay.”
    She dragged the scarf from her head, took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Okay, I’m ready.”
    As he waited for her to climb out ahead of him, he nodded to Wes, who’d positioned his truck near the exit where he could easily intercept a possible car thief.
    When Josh looked back at Bec, Bill Netherby, a local farmer who had a knack for instantly turning strangers into friends, was pumping her hand.
    “Becki, welcome back. We were so glad to hear that your grandparents’ place is staying in the family, and—” he gestured toward the Cadillac “—I’m glad to see you didn’t take that fella up on his offer to buy the old car.”
    Josh clambered out of the front seat to join