Catch a Falling Star (10 page)

Griffin wiped his hands together to dust off the grime from sniffing around the engine, keeping an eye on the cars and trucks speeding by him on I-25 as he walked to the driver's side of his Jeep. In the beams of the headlights, he could just catch a glimpse of a few snowflakes floating to the ground.

Great, just great. It was snowing and he'd be walking to the next exit.

Sliding behind the steering wheel, Griffin speed-dialed Ian. At least he'd been smart enough to put the kid on his cell phone plan. It rang several times before switching over to voice mail.

“Ian, what's the good of having a cell phone if you don't ever answer it?” Griffin checked himself. “Sorry. My Jeep broke down. I'm gonna be late picking you up. Hang tight at Jeff's. If that's going to be a problem, call me. Better yet, just call me when you get this.”

He stared out the windshield, watching a steady line of taillights stream north. Wouldn't hurt to try again. Maybe the Jeep would surprise him and start. But a quick turn of the key produced nothing more than a pathetic sputter. Yep, he was still walking. He twisted off the cap of the SoBe bottle that lay in the passenger seat, grimacing at the lukewarm liquid as it slid down his parched throat. He'd get something to eat and drink once he got to Ian—whenever that was.

As he tugged on his gloves and pulled the collar of his blue uniform jacket up around his neck, Griffin watched a red Jeep pass him on the highway, then ease over to the shoulder
and back up. Offering a quick prayer of thanks that “real Jeeps never leave another Jeep stranded,” Griffin stepped back out into the cold night air and moved toward the Good Samaritan.

The door to the Jeep CJ5 opened and a diminutive form bundled in a long coat stepped onto the silver nerf bar and then onto the gravel shoulder. A woman—but still a Jeep person. When Griffin recognized Dr. Kendall Haynes in the glare of the passing headlights, he almost turned around, sprinted back to his Jeep, climbed inside, and locked the door.

“Hi. I'm Kendall. Can I—
you!
”

The look on the woman's face was so comical—her mouth forming a perfect O, her eyes widening as if Griffin pulled a gun on her—that Griffin burst out laughing.

“Good evening, Dr. Haynes.”

“Colonel Walker.”

They stood on the side of the highway, snow swirling between them. If she knew that he'd assumed she was a man coming to his aid, she would never forgive him.

“Well, this is awkward.” Dr. Haynes moved toward him again. “But I stopped because I figured someone needed help.”

“That I do.” Griffin trudged beside her back to his disabled Jeep, the hood raised like a dented surrender flag.

She stopped at the front, turned, and waited until he stood beside her. “Do you want me to take a look?”

“What?”

She motioned toward the engine. “Do you think you know what's wrong or do you want me to take a look?”

“It's the fuel pump. And this is a Jeep, Dr. Haynes, not a body.”

“Oh, good grief.” Kendall Haynes closed her eyes, her mouth twisting in frustration. “Are you really that chauvinistic?” The
woman stomped her foot, crunching gravel with her heel. Again with the heels.

“I'm just saying, there's quite a difference between the human body and an engine—”

“Have you checked your fuel filter? If it's clogged, then it's a quicker fix than a new fuel pump, which could also cause problems.” She pointed into the engine. “That's the in-line filter right there, for your information.”

Griffin did not like this woman. But she knew her Jeep engines. “Well done. You didn't learn that in med school.”

She waved a hand toward her CJ5. “I rebuilt my Jeep with my dad when I was in high school. He said if I was gonna own it, I was gonna know it.”

“Sounds like a great guy.”

“He was. The best.” Her smile wavered. “So, now that I've convinced you that I know something about engines, do you know what's wrong?”

“As I said, fuel pump.”

“Do you want a tow or a ride home?”

The woman was offering to tow his Jeep?

“I have a friend who can help tow this thing tomorrow. And I'd accept the offer of a ride, but it's not quite that simple.” Yeah, he'd accept the offer if he had to, not because he wanted to. But he doubted the woman wanted to play surrogate mom and go pick up Ian, too.

“Look, Colonel Walker, I realize you've decided not to like me. But that shouldn't stop you from accepting common courtesy from me.” She pulled a pair of gloves out of her pocket and slipped them on. “We're both Jeep lovers. You can trust me. I promise to get you home safely.”

“It's not that.” Although the idea of being with Dr. Kendall Haynes for any length of time had as much appeal as his annual
medical exam. “I have to pick up Ian at a friend's house a couple of miles from here. So maybe you could take me to the nearest gas station and I'll call a taxi?”

Snowflakes had settled in Kendall Haynes's short brown hair and along the shoulders of her coat. She ran her fingers through her hair, causing it to stand in short spikes, before pulling the hood of her coat over her head. “My offer stands. I'm not on call, so I'm free.”

Letting her help him made sense. He didn't like it, but it was the fastest way to get to Ian.

“Deal. Let me just secure things.”

“Okay.” She started back to her Jeep. “I'll let Sully know you're coming.”

Wait—what? Sully? She had a guy with her? Or a kid? What had he agreed to?

His decision to insist on calling for a taxi disappeared the moment he opened the passenger door to be greeted by an oversized, overly friendly dog.

“Sully!” Kendall Haynes tugged on the dog's collar. “I told you to get in the back. We have a guest.”

“You have a dog?”

“Yes.” She stopped trying to shove Sully into the back. “What? I'm not the type of person you expect to have a dog?”

He waited to slide into the front seat until the dog lumbered to sit behind him. Actually, she wasn't. Poor dog. “I hadn't thought about it, one way or the other.”

“Uh-huh.” She adjusted her seat belt, waited for a break in the traffic, and then moved back onto the highway. “So, you said Ian's at a friend's?”

“Yeah.” Griffin gave her the address, which she told him to punch into her GPS. “Let me give him a call and tell him I'm on the way.”

As he left yet another message for his brother, Griffin watched Kendall Haynes. She'd lowered the hood of her jacket, and the soft fur surrounded her face. Within seconds, Sully leaned forward, squeezing the upper half of his body between the two front seats and resting his head on her shoulder. She reached up and scratched behind his ear, whispering to the dog. Silence filled the car once he finished his calls.

“So, you're military?” Dr. Haynes's question appeared to be asked out of politeness, an attempt to start a conversation.

“Air force.”

“Are you at the Academy?”

“No, I'm down at Schriever.”

“What do you do?”

“I'm a pilot.” Griffin shifted in the seat, realizing that his statement probably required an explanation since there was no airfield at Schriever Air Force Base. “I'm flying a desk right now.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm grounded. Flying a desk.”

“Oh. Funny. Flying a desk.”

Hysterical. Take a pilot out of a plane—the reason he was in the military to begin with—and stick him in a cubicle. He laughed all the way to work. But he had no one to blame but himself. For convincing himself the dizziness was no big deal. No need to mention it to anybody, least of all a doctor.

Sully's wet nose snuffling at his neck pulled Griffin from his thoughts. “Hey, guy.” He scratched underneath the dog's neck. “How ya doing?”

“Just tell him to leave you alone.”

“He doesn't bother me. I like dogs.”

“Probably easier to talk to him than to me.”

Griffin turned in the seat, catching her quick glance his way. “You're pretty direct, aren't you?”

“Well, all I've been getting is one- and two-syllable words out of you. You're either the strong, silent type or extremely uncomfortable.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Or more likely, both.” She slowed the Jeep as they headed onto an off-ramp. The snow was falling harder, beginning to cover the ground. “So, how's Ian doing?”

“He's okay.”

“Did you get him in to see another allergist?”

“When I called to make an appointment, the receptionist told me that he's booked until May.”

“Figures. I'm booked until about then, too.”

“Then how did we get into see you?”

“I had a cancellation that day. You got lucky.” A soft giggle followed her statement. “Although I realize you may not see it that way.”

Griffin cleared his throat. “Maybe it would help if I explained my situation with Ian . . .”

“No need.”

“I'll keep it brief. You can see there are a lot of years between Ian and me—twenty-two, to be exact.”

“Wow, your mom must have been shocked to find out she was pregnant.”

“My parents adopted Ian when he was six. He'd been in foster care before that.”

“Ah.”

“About four months ago now, my parents were killed in a plane crash—my dad was the pilot. Bad weather. They were . . . coming back from a cruise after celebrating their fortieth anniversary.” He paused, waiting for the tightness in his throat to
ease. He cleared his throat again. “Anyway, they appointed me to be Ian's guardian. I don't think they ever thought it would actually happen—”

Griffin's words trailed off. What else was there to say?

“I'm so sorry, Griffin.”

Kendall Haynes's words filled the silence with an unexpected moment of comfort. Up until then, he'd been Colonel Walker. But his name slipped naturally from her lips. At work, he was Colonel Walker, too. At home, more silence flowed between him and Ian than words. It was nice to be recognized. To be listened to—even if it was by Kendall Haynes.

And that was the end of that conversation.

Kendall waited for Griffin Walker to say something, but the only sound was Sully's heavy breathing as he sat between them. Griffin's jaw was clenched so tight, she would be taking him to an emergency dentist for a busted molar if he didn't relax.

A few moments later, Mr. Strong and Silent, with an emphasis on Silent, pointed to the left. “I think you turn at this light—”

“I know, the GPS is a great invention. Turn at this light.” She downshifted and turned left. Within five minutes, she pulled up in front of a stucco home at the center of a cul-de-sac.

The man had the door open before she came to a complete stop.

“I'll go get Ian.”

“And I'll—” She watched him disappear up the sidewalk. “—wait here. No, I don't want to come inside. Thanks. I'm good.”

Sully's please-let-me-get-in-the-front-seat whine broke the silence.

“Don't you dare like that guy, dog. He's trouble with a capital
T,
as Professor Harold Hill would say. He's wound as tight as a tourniquet. Last thing I need is some uptight guy hanging around. Now, Heath Parker—you can like him all you want.”

She had to admit Griffin Walker had a certain masculine magnetism Heath Parker lacked. But then, with his muscular build and brooding dark eyes, Griffin seemed to like to be in charge. She knew his type. Bossy to a fault.

She leaned forward when Griffin walked out of the house—alone. He stood facing the car, looking first right, then left. As he paced back to the Jeep, he pressed his phone to his ear, his brow furrowed.

Kendall waited until he'd ended the call before asking the obvious. “Where's Ian?”

“That's the question of the day. And I have no idea.” He scratched at the scruff of dark whiskers lining his jaw. “Jeff's mom said the boys worked on their science project for a while and then went to get something to eat—almost three hours ago.”

“Did she say where they went?”

“No. She thought they said Subway. Or maybe McDonald's. Or maybe Red Robin—”

“Yikes.”

“She's calling Jeff now. I'll call Ian again, but he hasn't answered any of my calls so far.” Griffin stared at the keypad of his iPhone as if trying to figure out who to call next—or waiting to see if somehow Ian would call him.

Just then, a Honda Civic came around the corner, the deep beat of the stereo's bass preceding it up the road. It pulled into the driveway. Laughter spilled out of the car along with five teenage boys.

“I assume one of those boys is Ian.” Kendall tilted her head to see around Griffin.

“Yep. He's got some explaining to do.” Griffin strode up the driveway toward the group. “Ian! Where were you?”