Agent Bride. Beverly Long

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      In all likelihood, he’d saved her life. It would be nice to know her name but not necessary. He wasn’t the type to brag or dwell on past accomplishments and this, quite frankly, wasn’t the first time he’d saved an unknown person’s life. That was what SEALs did best. Save the good guys. Kill the bad guys.

      He was going with the assumption that she was on the side of right and that he wasn’t assisting the wrong person. That was what his gut told him and he’d learned to listen to it.

      “Buckle your seat belt,” he said. He checked his mirrors, slowed down and then made a narrow U-turn on the snow-covered highway.

      “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice small.

      “Back to the Interstate. There’s a hotel a couple miles east. I’ll drop you off there.”

      He turned on the radio. Maybe he’d try to get some information on the weather after all. It seemed as if the storm was picking up in intensity. It dawned on him that he hadn’t cared as much when he’d only had himself to worry about. Now he was responsible for her.

      It should have felt suffocating to a man who’d recently deliberately shed all his formal responsibilities. At least irritating that he’d been sucked back in so quickly.

      But oddly enough, it felt okay.

      “Don’t worry,” he said.

      She said nothing for a long minute. Over the sound of the radio, he could hear the tires working hard to grab pavement.

      Finally she turned to him. “Thank you,” she said. “I owe you.”

      * * *

      IT WAS TRUE. She owed this man her life. But as soon as she could, she was getting away from him. He was young, maybe not even thirty, but his hazel eyes seemed to hold knowledge beyond that. He had short dark brown hair in a buzz cut and his skin was very tanned.

      The only time he’d really pushed for information had been when he’d asked her name. She’d had to tell him something. And he’d called her on the fact that he didn’t think it was legitimate. Yet he was still willing to help her.

      She wished she could accept that it was as simple as one human being extending a kindness to another. But something told her that she should trust no one. No one.

      He was a good driver. His hands were relaxed on the steering wheel. She’d have been a nervous wreck.

      She didn’t like to drive in bad weather.

      Didn’t know how she knew this. Just knew it.

      In less than five minutes, they were on the Interstate that he’d mentioned. She saw a sign. St. Louis, 194 miles.

      St. Louis. She let that dance around in her head for a minute. “Joe Medwick. Ducky Medwick,” she corrected.

      He turned to stare at her. “What?”

      “St. Louis Cardinals. He holds the record for most runs batted in during a single season. Late 1930s.”

      “Thirty-seven,” he said, “1937.” He paused, then added, “How the hell did you know that?”

      She’d surprised him. Oddly enough, that made her want to smile. Nothing else that had happened up to this point had seemed to faze him but he looked absolutely flabbergasted that she knew baseball. “Sports trivia is not reserved for the male species,” she said.

      “Right,” he said. He was silent for a long minute. “Motel should be just up the road.” He paused again. “Have you eaten lately?”

      She didn’t feel hungry. “A little while ago,” she said.

      He nodded and kept driving. The SUV churned through the snow on the road, its tires slipping occasionally as they encountered patches of ice. They stayed on the road, however, which was more than she could say for the three cars they passed that were in the ditch.

      It took them fifteen minutes to get to the hotel. He pulled into the lot and she stared at the building, trying to catch some feel for whether she’d ever been here before. She didn’t think so.

      It was a two-story wood building, painted mostly red with some white trim, with each room having an exterior door. She counted them. Eight up, eight down, with a small office at the front of the building. The parking lot was full of cars and had already been plowed at least once. There was a big white sign with blue lettering and a red border. The Daly American Inn. There was a flagpole and a flag near the front door. She wondered if someone had braved the elements that morning or perhaps they simply never took it down.

      She stared at the flag, watched it flap in the wind, partially obscured by the flying snow. Something fluttered in her chest. “Oh,” she said, putting a hand to her heart.

      “Problem?” he asked.

      She shook her head. What could she say? Yes, plural but none that I can talk about.

      He took the space in front of the office. She gripped the door handle tight. “Like I said, I don’t have any money on me.”

      He shrugged. “We’ll worry about that once we know if they have a room. I’ll go check.”

      It sounded as if he was willing to pay for it. Thank goodness. She would send him a check. Right away. She paid her debts. At least she thought she did.

      He got out of the vehicle and snow blew in. It was really getting cold.

      She watched him walk into the office. His dark down jacket came only to his waist. He wore jeans and cowboy boots and with his narrow hips and nice long legs, he was totally rocking the look.

      It felt a little ridiculous that given the circumstances she had even noticed. But it was also oddly comforting, as if her subconscious was letting her know that everyday pleasures, even those as basic as admiring a sexy stride and a fine rear end, were not beyond her grasp.

      The office was well lit and she could see a young man behind the desk. He was staring down at his cell phone, punching buttons. He looked up, evidently listening to whatever Cal was saying, and shook his head.

      Her heart sank. She hadn’t realized how much hope she’d had pinned on getting a room, having a place to rest. If that wasn’t possible, she had no idea what she was going to do. Maybe they would at least let her sit in the office until...

      Until what?

      That was the great unknown.

      She saw Cal reach into his pocket. Push something across the counter. Take the plastic key that the young man offered.

      Hallelujah, it looked as if it was going to be okay.

      When Cal returned to the vehicle, he handed her the plastic key. “You got the last room,” he said.

      “I was worried. I saw the clerk shaking his head.”

      “Just didn’t understand what I was asking for.”

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