reflection of her own self-esteem at the time, but he’d somehow been able to look beyond that to see what she could be, to help shape her into what she was today.
“Right. My ring,” she said. “Of course. But—” she stared down at her 1.5 carat diamond, remembering the night Charlie had given it to her “—my husband’s...gone.”
Fortunately, a truck came from the direction of the bar, interrupting their conversation before Rod could follow up on that. Two men rode in the cab, both of whom knew Rod.
The driver stopped and lowered his window, and the passenger called out to him. “What’s going on, man? You okay?”
They exchanged a few words. Then the guys in the truck asked if Rod needed any help and Rod phoned his brother to say he could send his bike home with Donald and Sam. By the time the three of them had used a wooden plank to roll the heavy motorcycle up and into the bed, a policeman arrived—Chief Bennett, according to his name tag.
“Stand back,” he told them, pushing them even farther to one side of the road. “I’ll talk to you once I get some flares out so no one else gets hurt.”
The ambulance came just as Rod’s friends drove off with his bike. India watched from about ten feet away while two paramedics knelt by the man on the ground and Chief Bennett gave Rod a sobriety test—which, thankfully, he passed.
India hated to interrupt the paramedics, but they were beginning to load the injured man into the ambulance and she hoped to get some word of his condition before they left. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Most likely,” one of them replied. “Even minor head injuries bleed a lot. I think he’ll be fine.”
“He was an idiot to pick a fight with Rod Amos,” the other paramedic piped up.
The first guy jerked his head at the wallet resting on the unconscious man’s chest, which Chief Bennett had used to ID him. “Liam Crockett’s from Dixon. Mustn’t have heard.”
India wanted to ask if Rod was a professional fighter, but they were in too much of a hurry, so she backed away and let them go.
Ever since the police chief had determined that Rod was sober, Bennett had been grilling him on how everything had happened. They were still talking, and India didn’t know whether to get in her car and leave, or wait to see if Rod needed a ride home.
“Damn it, Rod,” she heard the police chief say. “You are so damn wild. It’s always something with you.”
Rod was obviously not pleased by that reaction. “I told you. He started it.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see if that’s what he says.”
“You saw my bike! How do you think it got wrecked?”
When Bennett refused to commit himself, Rod continued. “We could’ve settled our differences at the bar. Instead, he followed me and tried to run me off the road. What kind of pussy tries to run someone over instead of fighting like a man?”
“Wait. What do you mean, handle it at the bar?” Bennett said. “You bust up Sexy Sadie’s again, you won’t be allowed to go there anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Rod cried. “I’ve never busted up Sexy Sadie’s! You can’t hold me accountable for what my brothers do.”
“One of you is always raising hell,” he said in disgust. “Anyway, I’m going to look into this further. That I can promise you.”
“Fine,” Rod told him. “I hope you do. When that bastard wakes up, he should go to jail.”
“If he wakes up,” the police chief grumbled. “God, I’m exhausted. Do you need a ride or—” He looked at India, obviously hoping she’d relieve him of that duty.
“I can take him,” she volunteered. “I’m going that way.”
“Maybe you should drive him over to the hospital first,” he said, “see if he has any broken bones or needs stitches. It shouldn’t take long. They’ve got to be on a first-name basis with him by now.”
Rod shot him a dark scowl. “Quit trying to make me look bad.”
“I don’t need to try,” Bennett said. “Since you can’t stay out of trouble, you make yourself look bad.”
Stepping between them, India touched Rod’s arm to get his attention before he could spout off and get himself arrested. “Should we go to the hospital?”
He shook his head, suggesting it’d been a ridiculous idea to begin with.
“Can’t hurt to get checked out,” Chief Bennett said, attempting to persuade him.
“No way,” Rod told him. “I’m going to bed.”
“Suit yourself.” With a sigh, Bennett adjusted his heavy belt and trudged over to his car.
All the excitement was over. India raised the hem of her dress to keep it from dragging on the ground as she returned to the car. She was halfway there before she realized Rod wasn’t following her—and glanced back to see why.
“I can’t even begin to guess where you’ve been tonight,” he said, “but that dress...” Letting his words fade, he ended with a whistle.
“Thank you.” She felt her face heat and wished she didn’t find his appreciation so gratifying. He was definitely not the type of man she needed. She needed Charlie, but Charlie was gone and he wasn’t coming back. The vacuum created by his death, as well as the reason behind it, had left her feeling...abysmal. It was terrible to be so lost and lonely that a stranger’s attention felt like a lifeline.
“What happened here really wasn’t my fault,” he called out. “I hope you believe that.”
“Of course,” she responded, and yet she’d heard Chief Bennett say he was always in trouble. That confirmed her first impression of him, didn’t it? He still wasn’t coming toward her, so she crossed her arms and looked back at him. “Are you ready to go home?”
Finally, he started walking. “I’m ready, but...maybe we could clarify a few things along the way.”
“Like...?”
“That ring on your finger,” he said and threw her a sexy grin.
India felt a corresponding shiver of desire, which scared her. No! she told herself. Not this guy. She couldn’t screw up again.
Rod had never particularly liked red hair. He usually had a preference for blondes. But India’s hair, which fell long and straight to her shoulders, was between a bright orange and a dark mahogany, and somehow it worked with her pale skin and almost translucent blue eyes. She was different, unique, delicate in appearance.
The more he looked at her, the more he liked what he saw. But based on what he’d gathered from their conversation since she’d started to drive, she was still in love with her dead husband. She teared up when she talked about him, and yet she wouldn’t say how he died. When Rod asked, she told him she didn’t want to “go into that.” Then she fiddled with her wedding ring the rest of the way to town. The only thing he could get out of her was that it’d been eleven months since the “tragedy” that’d taken Charlie.
“When will your daughter be back?” he asked, hoping she’d be more comfortable if he changed the subject.
“After the Fourth of July,” she replied.
He shifted to ease the terrible ache in his leg. “That gives you three weeks on your own.”
“Yes, too long for me, but I plan to make good use of that time.” She turned toward the river, where they both lived.
“Doing what?”
“Using