The Maid's Daughter. Janice Maynard

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      She managed a smile, though her lips were blue. “Devlyn Wolff. What brings you here from Atlanta?”

      “Do I know you?” He was acquainted with most of the people in this small section of the Blue Ridge Mountains, but occasionally someone new moved into the area. Then again, something about this woman was familiar.

      “Not really,” she said. Her nose wrinkled. “I’m getting wet.”

      He’d been so caught up in worrying about her that he hadn’t noticed the rain. They were only half a mile from the driveway to Wolff Mountain, and thus his doctor cousin’s clinic, but Jacob was out of town.

      Grinding his teeth in frustration, Devlyn glanced at his watch. He had a late dinner meeting with a powerful, important investor in Charlottesville in less than two hours. But he couldn’t possibly walk away from a woman who might be seriously injured. Wolff Mountain was isolated for a reason, but at times like this, the remoteness of his childhood home was a curse.

      “Let me carry you to my car. You may be hurt more badly than you realize.” Even as he said the words out loud, he winced inwardly. Saint Devlyn to the rescue. He wasn’t a saint—far from it—but he had an unfortunate penchant for rescuing strays, be they animal or human. A tendency that had bitten him in the ass more than once.

      She stood up, wavering only slightly. “That’s very kind of you. But weren’t you headed somewhere?”

      Shrugging, he rose to his feet, as well. “I can reschedule.” And potentially lose twenty million dollars. He’d been coaxing this particular venture capitalist into trusting him for almost a year. So the moment was likely lost. But money was just money, and he’d seen enough sports accidents in his college days to realize that head injuries were not to be taken lightly.

      If he could meet up with the paramedics quickly enough, he might still be able to make his appointment. The woman clearly knew who he was, so presumably she trusted him not to be an ax murderer. He scooped her into his arms and carried her toward his car. Her token protest was feeble. The tremors that shook her slender body were undoubtedly a delayed reaction to the crash. She might have been killed.

      His arms tightened around her, his breath hitching as for a split second he imagined what could have happened. Thank God she survived the impact. Her wet hair and clothing smelled of roses, an old-fashioned scent that suited her somehow.

      Once, he stumbled slightly, and her hand gripped a fistful of his shirt, her fingernails digging into his skin. For a second he flashed on an entirely inappropriate scenario that involved him and her. Naked. In his bed.

      He shook his head. Weird. Too weird.

      He deposited her gently into the passenger seat and jogged back to retrieve her purse. When he slid behind the wheel and looked at her, she grimaced. “I’m not going to keel over, I promise. The air bags did their job.”

      “Maybe so, but you look like hell.”

      Her jaw dropped. “Well, it just goes to show …”

      “What do you mean?” He eased the car out onto the road.

      “All the tabloids call you a billionaire playboy, but if that’s your slick line with women, they’ve got it all wrong.”

      “Very funny.” He peered through the windshield and upped the defroster. It was completely dark now. He turned off the music, not sure if his tastes would soothe a woman who had been knocked around in an accident. The car was silent except for the swish of the wipers.

      His passenger ignored him, her body nestled into the soft leather seat. Though she seemed relaxed, her arms were wrapped tightly around her waist.

      A memory kept nagging at his brain. Something to do with this slight, mousy female. But try as he might, it wouldn’t come into focus.

      She sighed deeply. “I hate inconveniencing you. You could drop me at my mother’s house.”

      “Is she home?”

      “Not at the moment. But she’ll be back in the morning. She drove down to Orlando to visit my Aunt Tina.” She paused and winced when the car hit a bump. “I’m sure I’m fine.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous. We Wolffs may have a reputation for being reclusive, but we’re pretty tame when it comes down to it.”

      Her muttered retort was lost in the squeal of his brakes when he stopped short to avoid hitting a deer. The animal froze, peering at them through the windshield, before bounding into the woods.

      Devlyn covered the remaining distance to the main highway and up over the small gap that led to a more populated area to the east, refusing to admit, even to himself, that he was rattled. “Not long now.”

      “I’m surprised you drive your own car. I thought the Wolff entourage relied on limos.”

      “I’m a control freak. I like taking the wheel.”

      Maybe he was imagining it, but he was picking up on some mixed vibes from his damsel in distress. Hostility, perhaps … as if she really did blame him for the accident. But even more than that, an odd intimacy, as if she knew more about him than he did about her. Devlyn was disconcerted. He was accustomed to women tucking their phone numbers into his pocket, not looking down their noses at him.

      With one last call to 911, he flagged down the approaching ambulance and pulled off the road. He set the parking brake with a jerk. Before he could come around to offer assistance, his mystery lady was out of the car and heading toward the man and woman in uniform.

      Damn her stubborn hide. He loped after her. If the professionals decided she needed to go to the hospital, Devlyn was off the hook.

      In deference to the worsening weather, the responders left the gurney inside and had the woman stretched out by the time Devlyn approached. “Do you think it’s serious?” he asked, speaking to the medic at the back of the vehicle.

      She gave him that look reserved for clueless family members. “We’ll know in a little bit.”

      The man inside bent over the patient, checking vitals. He began asking a string of questions. But one snagged Devlyn’s attention right off. Name?

      The mystery woman’s eyes met Devlyn’s across the space of several feet. She hesitated.

      The question came a second time, more forcefully as the man frowned. Name?

      Devlyn saw her inner struggle, and her capitulation. “Gillian Carlyle,” she said clearly. Was that a glint of defiance Devlyn saw in her gaze?

      Gillian Carlyle. Why did that sound so familiar? He didn’t know this woman, did he?

      While the medical exam continued, Devlyn analyzed the puzzle. Gillian’s looks were unexceptional. Medium brown hair, darker brown eyes, pale skin, an angular figure. The cream angora sweater she wore along with a brown corduroy skirt and knee-length boots were not in any way provocative.

      She wasn’t his type, not at all. So he knew they hadn’t dated in some far-distant adolescent past. Yet for some reason, he was intrigued.

      Finally, she was СКАЧАТЬ