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in a pinch.”

      “Lola?”

      “That’s what I call my car. What do you call your car?” she wanted to know.

      “Reliable,” he answered, then commented on the logistics that were complicating her life. “Sounds like you were describing a grumpy old uncle a minute ago and not a car.”

      “It’s a little bit of both,” she confessed. “But nothing I can’t handle, although I have to admit that the parts for Lola are getting harder and harder for me to find.”

      He made a tactful suggestion. “Has it ever occurred to you to buy a new car?”

      She shook her head. “No. I don’t abandon things just because they’re getting on a little in age,” she said with feeling. It was one of the main principles she lived by: she stuck with things.

      Unlocking the door on the driver’s side, Elizabeth deposited her violin into the backseat, then leaned in to slip open the glove compartment.

      Standing behind her, Jared got a particularly good view of the backs of her shapely legs as her black skirt rode up on her thighs. She was reaching across both seats in order to get at the glove compartment.

      Jared knew he shouldn’t be staring, it wasn’t right. But he had to admit that what he was being privy to was a very appealing sight.

      Getting what she wanted, Elizabeth straightened up and snaked her way out of the vehicle. She found herself bumping up against Jared. When she looked at him questioningly, he muttered a semiexcuse.

      “I thought you might need help taking something out of the car.”

      The look in her eyes told him that she didn’t believe his alibi, and when she grinned, he could have sworn that he could literally feel the impression of her lips on his. The sensation drew out his smile in response.

      “The card’s not all that heavy,” she told him.

      “Card?” he repeated, lost.

      “Card.” She held it up for his perusal. It was a business card for the little theater group performing the musical this weekend. On it was the address, the box office hours and the theater’s telephone number.

      “The final performance is this Sunday,” she repeated, in case he’d already forgotten. “Curtain goes up at seven,” she added.

      “I’ll be there before seven,” he promised. Closing his hand over the card, he slipped it into his pocket. “Looking forward to it.”

      He glanced at his watch out of habit. When Jared saw the time, he frowned. He was far behind schedule and they hadn’t even gotten around to any of the specifics about the gig. “Look, can I call you later on tonight?” he wanted to know.

      For just one isolated moment, she thought Jared was asking to call her on a social basis. But the next second, she knew that wasn’t possible. After all, he’d done nothing to indicate that he would be interested in seeing Elizabeth the woman instead of Elizabeth the violinist.

      “Absolutely,” she told him with a bright smile. “I should be home for most of the evening.”

      “Good, then I won’t get your answering machine again.” He shrugged, ever so slightly self-conscious. “As I mentioned before…I’m not really too keen on talking to machines.”

      She laughed at the footnote he’d just tossed in her direction. He found the sound light, melodious and almost hypnotic.

      “No worries…I’ll be sure to pick up,” she promised him, getting behind the wheel of her vintage car.

      Jared stepped back, allowing her space to swing her door closed. “I’ll talk to you then,” he said.

      Then, turning on his heel, he started retracing his steps to get to his own car, which was parked a good deal closer to the soundstage than Elizabeth’s was.

      The fact that he fully expected to hear her car start up but didn’t had him stopping after about five steps and turning around.

      He could see her frowning from where he stood. Frowning and going through the motions of starting her car up.

      Still nothing.

      Her beloved vintage car was apparently nonresponsive, no matter how many times she tried to get it to come back from the dead.

       Chapter Four

      Jared stood watching her for a moment longer, thinking that Elizabeth’s car was just being temperamental. Some older models seemed to take their own sweet time starting up.

      He was still waiting to hear her engine make the proper noises as he made his way back to the uncooperative Thunderbird.

      “Problem?” he asked.

      Elizabeth’s frown deepened as she pumped the gas pedal one more time and turned her key. Still nothing. She was also afraid that she was going to wind up flooding the engine.

      Frustrated, she sank back in her seat. “Not if I don’t mind spending the night in the parking lot,” she responded.

      Moving to the front of her vehicle, Jared looked down at her headlights and said, “Turn on your lights.”

      She had no idea how that was going to help anything, but at this point she was willing to try anything. Shrugging, she did as he instructed.

      “Now what?” she asked.

      There wasn’t so much as a glimmer in either headlight.

      The phrase “dead as a doornail” came to mind as he frowned at the vehicle.

      “Now nothing, I’m afraid,” he told her. “Looks like your battery’s dead.”

      Undaunted, she said hopefully, “Maybe we can jump it.” She slid out from behind the wheel. “I’ve got jumper cables in my trunk.”

      Jared looked at her in surprise. He thought of that as being rather responsible for someone her age. He doubted if his sister even knew what jumper cables were. Experience taught you things like that.

      “I take it this has happened before,” he assumed.

      She inclined her head and made a vague gesture he couldn’t begin to interpret. “Once or twice. Or five,” she muttered under her breath.

      He still heard it. “All right, I’ll go bring my car around and see what I can do.”

      But apparently, at least on the outset, he could do nothing—although it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.

      Jared aligned his vehicle so that the two cars were literally nose to nose in the lot. Elizabeth took it from there. He was amazed at how expertly, not to mention quickly, she managed to hook up her car’s battery to his.

      “Start yours first,” she urged as she got in behind the steering wheel in her car.

      When the other engine hummed to life, Elizabeth pressed down on the gas pedal and turned the key, mentally crossing her fingers. She might as well not have bothered.

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