Free I Love You by Brandy Wilson

 
    Chapter One
    “A man’s been shot. Call 911. Now!”
    Tate Campbell couldn’t believe what she shouted at him, just before twisting around and running back out of his bar, letting the heavy door slam behind her.
    What the hell…
    ****
    Of course, he’d noticed her when she had come in. A petite woman dressed in a set of shapeless blue hospital scrubs and running shoes had no place in a noisy biker bar. His first thought was that she looked as out of place as a whore in church. He noticed her dark hair trailed down her back in a long loose braid. A lanyard thick with laminated ID tags hung around her neck.
    Oblivious to the lewd glances clocking her every step, she marched up to the bar like she owned the place, shoulders back, chin raised and her clear blue eyes meeting his in an icy stare. She’d tapped on the bar twice to get his attention—unnecessarily, as he was standing right in front of her—and shouted at him over the noisy band, currently doing a decent cover of Bob Seeger’s Night Moves.
    “Hi. Could you let me use the phone to call a tow truck?”
    After that, she stood there waiting, looking at him with a brow raised and an expectant expression on her face.
    He chuckled. “Lady, we don’t have a landline. Or a payphone.”
    The expression on her face never changed. “Fine. Then could you please let me use your cell phone?” Hesitating a moment, she added, “I’ll pay for the call.” She dropped her eyes and scrabbled in the pocket of her scrubs, pulling out a dollar. She held the money out to him.
    The unexpected attraction he felt made him ornerier than usual. He tilted his head and crossed his arms, never breaking her gaze. “What’s the matter, lady, doesn’t the hospital pay you enough so you can afford a cell phone?”
    Her lips tightened, and her eyes narrowed. “Look, my cell is dead and so is my car, neither of which is your business. I need a tow truck. If you aren’t going to help me, just say so, and I will find someone who can.” Spots of color now dotted her cheeks, despite the weariness in her features. After a moment, she stuffed the bill back into her scrubs and turned away.
    “Hey. Just a minute.” Reaching into the pocket of his worn jeans, Tate fished out his cell and tossed it on the bar. “You can use mine. No charge.” At this time of night, no other businesses were open on this stretch of urban street, and it was a good half-mile hike to the gas station on the corner. If she tried to make that walk, it was a safe bet she’d never make it without getting hassled…or worse. No way was he going to have that on his conscience.
    She raked her fingers through her pulled-back hair, loosening a few tendrils around her face. She took a deep breath. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
    She flipped open the phone. Then the realization hit her and she raised her gaze to his face as she opened her mouth to speak.
    Before she could utter a word, he pointed to a neatly lettered sign displaying the name of a towing service at the top of the area over the cash register behind him. “Woody’s Towing is just down the road. It’s Thursday, and Fred is on tonight. He’ll be here in ten minutes or so if he isn’t out on another call.”
    Her mouth gaped for a moment, and then snapped shut.
    “Oh yeah, and the name of the bar you happen to be standing in is Shooters.” Unable to help himself, he grinned at her expression of surprise. “What can I say. I know my neighbors.”
    At the opposite end of the long bar, one of the servers banged her tray on the bar top. “Order!” Without shifting his gaze from the woman, Tate motioned for the other bartender to handle the drink order.
    She bent her head and keyed in the number of the towing service, then turned from the bar and stuck her finger in her ear. Tate waited until she concluded the call and returned the phone. He tucked it in his pocket and extended his hand to her.
    “Name’s Tate. Tate Campbell. Glad I could