At His Service: Flirting with the Boss. Rebecca Winters

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СКАЧАТЬ like a sentinel on the granite hill behind him, disappeared. At three in the afternoon there were few vehicles on the road. While his car ate up the kilometers, he felt his taut muscles relax knowing that inside of fifteen minutes he’d be back on the estate with a ton of work to do before going to bed.

      Work saved his life.

      During the day physical labor kept him from reliving the past. Unfortunately the long dark hours of the night brought the demons he was forced to wrestle with over and over again. When he awakened in the mornings, he was emotionally exhausted.

      Deep in his torturous thoughts he was barely cognizant of a car in the distance. It had just rounded the long curve and was coming in his direction. The driver must have seen the stray bull crossing the highway at the same time he did.

      Remi’s speed was such that he knew it would be too dangerous to brake, but the other driver obeyed the opposite instinct and the car swerved. In a split second it was on a collision course for him. He yanked the steering wheel to the right to escape impact. The other driver overcorrected to avoid him. To his horror the other car rolled behind him onto the shoulder and landed on the passenger side, coming to a stop.

      He brought his car to a halt, then shot out and raced to the blue compact car whose tires were still spinning in the air. The front and rear windows had been broken. Glass lay everywhere. He looked inside. The driver was the only occupant. A woman. She was moaning.

      Gracias a Dios, she was alive! The seat belt had kept her from being thrown.

      Remi tried to the open the door, but couldn’t. He reached in to undo the lock. “You’re going to be all right, Senora,” he assured her in his native tongue.

      “Help me …” came her anguished cry. “My eye—I can’t see—” Though she spoke passable Spanish, she was definitely an American.

      “Be as still as you can,” he responded firmly in accented English. “Don’t touch your eye or you’ll make it worse. I’m going to lift you out. Let me do all the work.”

      As he reached around to undo her seat belt, he saw blood oozing down the right side of her face. Her shoulder-length blond hair was spattered with it.

      He gathered her slight weight in his arms, aware of her flowery fragrance as he carried her to safety and laid her on the ground with as much care as possible. “I’ll have you to a hospital shortly. Don’t move.”

      “I won’t,” she whispered shakily in English through lips made bluish-white from shock. The pallor of her face and the fists her hands made let him know her pain was excruciating, but instead of screaming hysterically she showed a rare courage he could only admire.

      No doubt a piece of flying metal or glass had caused the injury. He pulled the cell phone from his trouser pocket and phoned the police. After a quick explanation from him, they promised to send a medical helicopter immediately.

      After the call was made, he rang his foreman, Paco, and explained what had happened. He told him to get one of the staff and come for his car. Paco could wait for the police and give them the details. Remi planned to accompany the woman to the hospital. Once he’d seen to her care, he’d talk to the police himself.

      In his gut he felt responsible for the crash. It might have been avoided if his mind hadn’t been somewhere else.

      As he clicked off, he noticed several cars stopping to offer help. The injured woman reached for his free hand. “No people. Please—” she implored. Her ringless fingers clutched his so hard that her nails dug into his palms, but he didn’t mind. Her control was nothing short of amazing.

      He told the other drivers the police were coming and waved them on. In another minute they were alone again.

      “What’s your name?”

      “J-Jillian Gray.”

      An unusual first name. He liked the sound of it on her tongue.

      “Do you have a husband or a boyfriend I can call?”

      “No.”

      “Are you here with a friend or family member?”

      “No.” Every word had to be an effort.

      “Hold on a few more minutes, Jillian. I can hear the helicopter coming. You’ll be out of your pain soon.”

      “Is my eye still there?”

      Madre de Dios. The fear in her voice killed him. “Of course. Everything’s going to be fine.” It had to be. “The bleeding has stopped. Don’t cry. You wouldn’t want the salt from your tears to irritate it.”

      “No.” Her softly rounded chin wobbled. The sight of it reminded him how brave she was being. His insides quivered in response.

      There were a dozen questions he wanted answers to, but he knew the hospital staff would get the pertinent information from her. Right now she was in too much pain to be interrogated.

      “The helicopter’s here.”

      “My purse—”

      “Don’t worry about that now.” He’d leave it for the police, who would need to see her passport. When they were through with the investigation, he’d get it back from them. “The important thing is to take care of you. I’ll make certain all your belongings are returned to you.”

      “Thank you,” she whispered.

      Three medical personnel jumped down and hurried over to them. The next few minutes passed in a blur as she was examined and lifted on to a gurney. Remi followed as they transported her to the helicopter.

      No sooner had he climbed inside and they’d taken off than he heard sirens. Out of the window he saw one of the estate cars with the logo approaching the accident scene from the opposite direction. Paco was now there to sort everything out with the police.

      To his relief they were giving the woman antibiotics and painkillers through an IV. Already she was calmer. They’d braced her neck so she couldn’t move her head. He was glad they hadn’t tried to question her.

      The paramedic closest to him grabbed a clipboard and started taking information, which he wrote down and would no doubt give to the police. “What’s your name?”

      “Remigio Goyo.”

      His eyes widened. “Don Remigio Goyo?”

      “Sí.”

      “I know your address. Soleado Goyo Estate, Castile-La Mancha. Are you acquainted with this woman?”

      “No.”

      “Did you see the accident?”

      “Sí,” Remi said through gritted teeth. “We both tried to avoid an animal crossing the road at the same time. To her credit, her expertise at the wheel prevented a head-on collision.”

      “Did she tell you her name?”

      “Jillian Gray. I’m not sure about the spelling of either name.”

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