Standing to his full, imposing height, he cradled his left arm tenderly against his body. “My right arm seems to be okay, but the left is definitely broken.” His voice was quiet, calm. “Is there a hospital near here?”

“There are two hospitals in the area-both about ten minutes away. Maybe a little longer in morning traffic.”

He looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Lady, you just broke my arm. Aren’t you at least going to offer to drive me to the hospital?”

Chris looked at him tentatively, her lip caught between her teeth, while she debated the danger of being alone in a car with him.

“For Pete’s sake, I’m not going to attack you. I’ve got a broken arm.”

“You look disreputable.”

His gaze drifted down over himself in amazement. “I suppose you’re right.” He tipped his head back and laughed softly. “I’ve been called lots of things, but you’re the first person in a long time to tell me I’m disreputable looking.” He motioned to his truck. “I hate to be pushy, but my arm is killing me, and I can’t both drive and shift my truck with only one arm. Since you’re the cause of this disaster, I think the least you can do is drive me to a doctor.”

He was right, she thought dismally. “Okay. I’ll take you to the hospital.” She shook her finger at him in warning. “So help me…if you make one false move I’ll drive you straight to the state police.”

His gaze swept slowly over her, and Chris felt suddenly unaccountably flustered-self-conscious of her tousled curls, her slim, athletic body bundled in her gray running suit and bright red vest. “You’re not a minor, are you?”