Texas Gun Smoke. Joanna Wayne

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      He tried to stifle a yawn, then jerked to attention. What the hell? Two cars were speeding toward him, driving so close they were all but swapping paint.

      A second later he saw sparks fly as the outside car sideswiped the other and sent it rocking and bouncing along the shoulder before the driver managed to get all four wheels back on the highway. If this was some teenage game of chicken, they were taking things way too far. Somebody was likely to get killed. Maybe him.

      He slowed and took the shoulder as the cars collided again. This time the smaller one went flying off the road. It slid down an incline and then rolled over, coming to a rocking upside-down stop a few yards ahead of Bart. The lunatic driving the attacking car sped past him.

      Bart screeched to a stop, grabbed a flashlight and jumped from his truck. He took off running toward the wrecked car. Its wheels were still spinning when he got to it.

      He aimed a beam of illumination inside the car. There was only one occupant—a woman who was draped over the steering wheel, upside down but still held in place by her seat belt. Blood trickled across her left temple and matted in her blond hair. She lifted her head, shaded her eyes from the light and shrank away from him.

      The door was jammed, and he had to work with it for a few seconds to pry it open. “Are you okay?”

      She didn’t answer, but her face was a pasty white and her eyes were wide with fear.

      “Take it easy. You’re safe now.”

      “You tried to kill me.”

      “Not me, but someone did.” He leaned in closer so that he could see the head wound. The cut didn’t look particularly deep, but a nice little goose egg was forming. “What hurts?”

      She stared at him, looking dazed and still fearful as she touched her fingertips to the blood. “I must have hit my head.”

      “Probably against the side window when you went into the roll. For some reason, your air bag didn’t deploy.”

      “The light had gone off. I was going to get it checked.”

      A little late for that now. He pulled her against him while he loosened the seat belt. He lifted her out of the car and stood her on the ground. She was lighter than a newborn calf and short, probably no more than five-two or -three. Thin, almost waiflike. But movie-star pretty.

      She swayed, and he put an arm around her shoulder for support. “My truck’s over there.” He pointed to where it was parked on the opposite side of the road. “Let’s get you in it and out of the rain while we wait for an ambulance.”

      “No!” Fear pummeled her voice. “No ambulance. I’ll be okay. I just…” She swayed again and might have lost her balance completely if he hadn’t been supporting her. “I just need a minute for my head to clear. And I need my handbag.”

      “Right.” He found it with its strap tangled in the brake and accelerator pedals. He worked it loose and handed it to her. She clasped it tightly in both hands as rain dripped from her hair and rolled down her face. He pulled the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the water and blood away.

      “Who are you?” she whispered, her voice shaky.

      “Bart Collingsworth. And don’t worry. I’m just a Good Samaritan who happened to be passing by.”

      He took her hand and led her across the street. Once she was safely settled in the passenger seat, he closed the door, calling 911 as he rounded the truck to the driver’s side. Like it or not, he was calling for an ambulance and law enforcement. He was still giving the operator the information when he climbed behind the wheel.

      “I know you said you don’t want an ambulance,” he said once he’d broken the connection. “But there’s a small hospital in Colts Run Cross—not much more than a clinic with a few beds, but they’ll call in a doctor to check you out. Better to be safe than sorry.”

      “I’ve already had more than enough of Colts Run Cross.”

      “I take it you’re not from around here.”

      She stared out the front window into the darkness and rain. “Is anybody?”

      “A few lucky souls. I live on a ranch a few miles down the road. Jack’s Bluff. You just passed it.”

      She trembled and clasped her hands in front of her, nervously twisting the wedding band on her left hand. “I didn’t notice.”

      “Guess not, with that lunatic trying to run you off the road. What was that about?”

      “I haven’t a clue.”

      “Then you don’t know the driver of the other car?”

      “No.”

      “But you must have had some kind of altercation for him to react so violently.”

      “He just came out of nowhere, sped up behind me and forced me off the road.”

      Either she was lying or this made no sense at all.

      She leaned back and closed her eyes. She looked incredibly fragile, like a porcelain doll that had been left out in the rain.

      “Are you sure you’re okay?”

      “I’m fine. I just don’t feel like talking.”

      He left it at that until she finally shifted and opened her eyes, still looking straight ahead.

      “You know, if you really want to be a Good Samaritan,” she said, “you could drive me into town and drop me off at a cheap motel. I can handle things from there.”

      “You were awful woozy back there. You’d be better off seeing a doctor. But you’re welcome to use my phone if you want to call your husband.”

      She twisted the gold band on her finger as she shook her head. “No, thanks.”

      “I can call for someone to tow your car or you can just wait and have the sheriff do it.”

      Finally she turned to face him. “If you live on a ranch, why are you dressed like that?”

      “It was tux night at the campfire. But I’m a genuine cowboy. Got boots and spurs and everything.”

      “Then maybe you could get some of your cowboy buddies to pull my car back to Jack’s whatever you said.”

      “Jack’s Bluff.”

      “Right. Take the car there and I’ll come for it later.”

      “Your car’s got four wheels straight up in the air. You need a tow truck for this job.”

      She shrugged. “I’m short of cash and I don’t have a credit card on me.”

      “Tell you what—I know a local mechanic with his own tow truck. I’ll call Hank Tanner and have him take the car to his garage. You can settle up with him later.”

      “Whatever.”

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