Accidents Make the Heart Grow Fonder Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Accidents Make the Heart

  Grow Fonder

  by

  Tara Mills

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Accidents Make the Heart Grow Fonder

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Tara Mills

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2013

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-780-9

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-781-6

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  I dedicate this story

  to all my wonderful supporters; family, friends,

  and readers.

  A special thanks to J. Kottke

  for encouraging me in this direction

  at such a young age. I’ll never forget it.

  Chapter 1

  The thing about low points, Sabrina Eckhart decided, is that they’re bottomless. Forget the ratty pantyhose. She wasn’t all that concerned about the deep cut on her left hand, either. Her blouse—well, the blouse would never come clean, but even that didn’t upset her much. Her cheeks flamed when she thought about how she must have looked hanging upside down in the dishwasher. Or coming out of it with steam-wilted hair and raccoon eyes. Yet even that wasn’t the worst of it. No, it was the smell that was killing her. She reeked. The next time someone came running into her office to tell her the dishwasher was making a weird noise, she would call a plumber—screw the expense.

  At least she was going home early, so things were improving, right? Catching a whiff of herself, she opened the car windows, hoping to diffuse the stink. It didn’t help.

  Giving up, she flicked a limp tendril out of her way and rolled her eyes…only her gaze kept right on going. Then landed.

  “Whoa…nice buns,” she whispered, awestruck.

  Sabrina blinked, but it did nothing whatsoever to break the sudden hypnotic spell those shiny black running shorts cast over her. They winked playfully, beckoning her to follow—tight, loose, tight, loose, stretching taut then relaxing, perfectly timed to each heel plant of the jogger’s shoes. Amazing. With every leg extension, a deep muscular dimple appeared in the corresponding buttock then smoothed out again. That ass was a thing of beauty.

  Hmm. She frowned as the tilt of the dashboard finally registered. Then the reason for the angle hit her full force.

  “Aaaaaah!!!”

  To her horror, both tires on the vehicle’s right side were on the sidewalk—in fact, the whole vehicle was half on the sidewalk, rolling after the poor man. With a grip so tight her knuckles glowed, Sabrina wrenched the wheel to the left and bounced back to the pavement, her violent correction making the car buck like a boat on rough seas.

  “Oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god!”

  Sabrina slouched down and hid behind her hand, blocking out the gaping stares coming from the next car over, which thankfully she had managed to avoid hitting. Cringing with mortification, she almost missed the jogger’s wild leap just before he tumbled backwards over the low hedge as it caught him behind the knees.

  ****

  Jackson Murphy blinked at the blue sky, a surprising backdrop for his running shoes, and fought for air.

  Holy shit! Did that really just happen?

  His hand on his chest, he tried to calm his racing heart.

  An unfamiliar face peered over the hedge at him. “You okay down there?” it asked.

  “I think so,” said Jackson.

  “I saw what happened, but I couldn’t make out the license plate. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Need help getting up?”

  “Thanks, no, I’ve got it.” Jackson worked himself stiffly up from the grass.

  “You sure you’re okay?” the man asked, watching him uncertainly.

  “Just got the wind knocked out of me. I’ll be fine.”

  The man nodded and jogged away. Jackson stepped over the low hedge, back onto the sidewalk, and brushed himself off.

  This was Jackson’s favorite stretch on his daily run, with the beautiful rolling corporate park adjoining the television station on one side and the golf course on the other. Until today he’d assumed it was the safest place he could be. Fuming at that idiot driver, he turned his narrowed eyes eastward, knowing it was too late to track the miscreant down. Well, he might not have the license plate, but he’d recognize that car if he saw it again. This wasn’t over, that was for damned sure.

  ****

  The next morning, Sabrina was still shaken by what she’d done. She’d fled the area immediately, taking the next corner and followed a more circuitous route home. It added ten minutes to her drive, but she didn’t care. It was better than running the risk of someone recognizing her—the total dweeb who could drive up a curb without even noticing. What was wrong with her?

  It’s all in the past, she reminded herself. Get over it. Shifting her focus to her more pressing anxiety, Sabrina darted furtively over to the bakery case in the Super Station. Snatching a bag from the box, she shoved her breakfast into it, then hastily rolled the top closed to hide her contraband. She didn’t linger. With the evidence of her caloric backslide out of sight, she felt free to rationalize her actions.

  She needed to eat, right? It was just a donut, not a fifth of Jim Beam. Sheesh. People ate bakery in the morning; that’s why you could find it everywhere. Why get so defensive? The guilt melted away far more easily than the empty calories would. Sabrina sauntered casually over to the coffee machine and yanked a disposable cup from the holder. It felt good to relax again.

  It was Sabrina’s humble opinion that all mornings sucked, and these depressing routines of hers merely emphasized the point. She fought her way over to the newspaper rack and grabbed one, tucking it under her arm. Well, okay, maybe this morning didn’t exactly compare to yesterday afternoon—that fiasco deserved a whole category of suckiness all to itself—but still, as far as she was concerned, there was room f
or improvement in her morning rituals.

  She couldn’t figure out why she didn’t simply have the newspaper delivered to the house. Oh, sure, buying hot coffee and a quick fuss-free breakfast at the same time was convenient, but seriously, it would be a lot cheaper if she brewed a pot at home and popped a bagel into the toaster. She’d have better control over what she ate, too, less chance she’d pass up healthier options if she saw a cream-filled long john in the case. Sadly, she always looked for the long john first.

  Disgusted with herself, she made a decision. This was it, the last time. She was stopping at the grocery store after work tonight and stocking up on healthy foods. This time she’d stick with it, too, and as a reward for keeping with the plan she was going to buy some of that specialty coffee. Might as well make it worthwhile.

  Inspired by her unexpected resolve, Sabrina joined the disorganized line of customers waiting for the next available register. In her left hand was the bakery bag with the last (seriously this was going to be the last) long john and in her right a steaming cup of coffee.

  Her eyes strayed wistfully to the home decorating magazines to her right. The colorful covers were a siren’s song suggesting worlds of beauty and escape beyond her budget. She told herself to hang tough and not think about those, either. Stepping out of line would be a mistake. Besides, she didn’t have a free hand to go flipping through those glossy pages.

  What is taking so long? Sabrina leaned out to the side to see why they weren’t moving, and her eyes fused to something else entirely.

  Mmm…nice buns.

  Not the bakery bag variety, either, but rather the man two customers ahead. Nice size, excellent shape, the dark gray dress slacks cupping him beautifully.

  Well, her eyes were certainly leading her around lately. Did other women find themselves looking at men like this, or was it just her? She didn’t mean to do it, certainly didn’t want to do it, so why couldn’t she stop? Sabrina felt depraved. Could it be hormones? Was she ovulating? Or could it be simply that the sexes were hardwired to notice each other whether they wanted to or not? That would certainly explain guys and breasts. Hmm—this would be an interesting topic to bring up to the girls at work.

  Lost in thought, Sabrina didn’t automatically register the turn of those scrumptious hips or notice that she was now staring quite frankly—if somewhat blankly—at the man’s crotch, instead. As her eyes slowly refocused on his fly, she clutched her bag a little tighter, and a wave of dread flowed through her. Trying not to be too obvious about it, Sabrina dragged her gaze upward and confirmed her worst fears.

  Gulp—big freaking gulp—and not the kind that comes in an enormous cup, either.

  It was distressingly apparent that Mr. Tasty Buns knew exactly where her eyes had been glued because he’d followed her deliberate crawling progress all the way up his body until their eyes locked.

  His eyebrows rose slowly, tugging the corners of his mouth along with them. Oh, god, she was so busted!

  “Hi,” he said, his obvious amusement scraping over her nerves like a wire brush.

  Then her discomfort got one hundred times worse because now she realized it was him—him! Didn’t it just figure?

  “Hi,” she croaked. Just kill her now.

  To Sabrina’s mounting alarm his eyebrows pinched together, and he studied her more closely. Here it comes.

  “Have we met?” he asked, tipping his head curiously.

  Sabrina shook her head. Her muscles, on the verge of pulling a disappearing act the second he placed her, were losing it. It took everything she had to hold herself together.

  “I don’t think so,” she said feigning innocence.

  Yeah, sure, try to sell that one after the visual groping she’d just given him.

  He frowned. “Huh.” Still unconvinced, he struggled to place her. “You look so familiar.” Finally giving up, he shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” Sabrina’s kneecaps were well into a rumba number now.

  He flashed a quick though undeniably gorgeous smile, then turned toward the counter. Relieved, Sabrina drew a shaky breath.

  The clerk picked up the man’s bottled water and scanned it. “Hey, Jackson. Any gasoline this morning?”

  “Not today.” He reached into his wallet, but the routine question was enough to draw his attention outside for a lonely second—and that’s all it took. Plenty of time to spot her car and turn on her with bulging eyes.

  “You!” he said, his breath gusting out in shock.

  Sabrina and the woman between them both took a step back.

  “You nearly killed me yesterday. What the hell was that?”

  Now the woman turned and stared at Sabrina instead, her initial allegiance shifting as she moved away from her.

  He went on before Sabrina could answer. “What, you couldn’t put down your goddamned phone?”

  “I wasn’t on the phone,” she said indignantly.

  “Screwing with your music then? Was it worth it, practically committing murder?”

  “I was distracted, all right?” she shot back with a false sense of righteousness, furious at being publicly attacked.

  His dreamy eyes narrowed. “You have some nerve—some nerve, lady!—trying to sound like the wounded party here!”

  Now everyone was inching away from both of them.

  “I could turn you in. I should turn you in. I’d be doing a public service. Who knows, maybe getting you off the road might save some kid waiting for the school bus, next.”

  Sabrina found that grossly unfair. He didn’t even know her, and already he was making assumptions. Her voice shook with outrage. “I don’t have to explain what happened yesterday, but I guarantee it was an isolated incident. I don’t have a single ticket or accident on my record!” That was technically true.

  He leaned in, menacingly, his face so close the wispy hairs around her cheeks fluttered when he spoke. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? You nearly run me down with your car, but I should cut you some slack because,” he shrugged lightly, gaily, “hey, it’s never happened before?”

  Sabrina cast out blindly for a good comeback but, surprise, surprise, not a chance. She sputtered, flushing deeply, and cursed her inability to deliver a zinger when her emotions were screaming like a tornado.

  Her tormenter spun back to the clerk and tossed a few bills on the counter before grabbing his water and his power bar.

  “See you later, Bill.” He punched the door open with the flat of his hand and stormed out.

  The next customer stepped up and said hastily, “Just twenty in gas.” She dropped the bill as if it stung her fingers, then took one last anxious glance at Sabrina and bolted out.

  Was it too late to just go home and crawl back into bed? All Sabrina wanted to do now was pull the covers over her head and hide for a month, until whatever the hell just happened had a chance to blow over. Maybe asking him to forget the incident, and her, was asking too much.

  Sabrina humbly paid for her things and walked out. She stopped short. That jerk was standing at her bumper taking down her license plate. His car was angled behind him, blocking hers.

  She stormed over. “Get the hell away from my car!”

  He held up the pad in his hand and glared back. “You keep it away from me and I won’t have to use this.” Giving her one last, hostile look, he slid smoothly onto his seat and slammed the door.

  Sabrina ran after him, shaking her bag in the air. “Screw you!” As an afterthought she shouted even louder, “And your ass isn’t all that spectacular, either!”

  Not prone to lying, per se, she felt this one was justified.

  She climbed into her car with her head held high, ignoring the stares. Fine, so maybe it wasn’t her finest moment, but at least she got the last word, damn it!

  Ten minutes later, storm clouds still rumbling over Sabrina’s head, she pulled into her parking space behind the Oasis, the trendy bar and restaurant she’d managed for the last two years. It was a promotion sh
e earned, having paid her dues by working every other low-wage position in the place first.

  Blowing through the back door, Sabrina stalked past the open kitchen and the prep crew already hard at work and headed down the corridor to her office. She slapped on the lights and threw her purse on the desk.

  Tanya Bergman, the assistant manager and Sabrina’s closest friend, followed her in. Tanya was adorable and depraved, petite and perky, with a vocabulary colorful enough to make a biker blush when she was pissed off. One just didn’t expect that from the deceptively innocent-looking little thing. “You’re a little late today, aren’t you?”

  Sabrina hung up her coat and plopped onto her chair with a scowl. “I’m having a bad morning.”

  “Then you’re going to love me,” Tanya said breezily.

  The muscles in Sabrina’s stomach clutched, and she gave Tanya a weary look. “Do I want to hear this?”

  “Our New York strips didn’t make the truck. We’ll have to cross our fingers that we make it ’til Friday.”

  “We won’t,” Sabrina grumbled and pulled at her scalp. “What have we got for ribeyes?”

  “Those are good.”

  She nodded slowly. “I think we’ll run a ribeye special, knock down the price a little, just to take the heat off the strips.”

  “Why not just run a sandwich deal?”

  “Because, first of all, if someone is in the mood for a steak, they’re not going to go for a sandwich. Second, we bought ribeyes at the special show price, so we can come down a bit and still be comfortably within our margin.”

  “Okay. I’ll let Mario know.” Tanya settled primly into the chair across the desk and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

  “What?” Sabrina asked.

  “Spill it.”

  “There’s nothing to spill.”

  “I’ve known you for eight years. Don’t think you can put me off that easily.”

  “Ugh. My life has become one big nightmare.”

  “Ah.” Tanya nodded, satisfied. “That’s it, let it out.”

  That earned a glare, but Tanya’s grin merely widened.

  “You enjoy this sort of thing, don’t you?” Sabrina grumbled.

  “Your misery?”

  “If that’s what you want to call it.”