“Why not? But the ride’s not free.”

Her expression grew wary, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. But pregnant women weren’t high on his list of turn-ons. “You have to keep Lucy off my back and take care of the baby. That’s all.”

He’d expected her to be relieved, but the moment he mentioned the baby, she seemed to stiffen. “I don’t know anything about babies.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you learned?”

It took her a moment to remember she was pregnant. He was getting the idea that she wasn’t exactly overjoyed about her little bundle of joy. She only thought it over for a few seconds before her eyes began to sparkle with something that looked like excitement. “Yes. All right. Yes, I’d like that.”

Her reaction surprised him. There was more to this lady than met the eye. He reminded himself that he didn’t know anything about her, and he wondered if too much contact with Sandy’s kids had shorted out his brain. But driving one more mile with Lucy’s sullenness and a screaming baby was more than he could tolerate. Besides, if it didn’t work out, he could give her some money and dump her at the next truck stop. He turned back toward the Winnebago. “One warning.”

“What’s that?”

“They both have delicate stomachs.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out.” He opened the door for her. “What’s your name?”

“N-Nell. Nell Kelly.”

Her hesitation made him wonder if she was telling the truth. Her boyfriend must be a real loser. “I’m Mat Jorik.”

She gave a nod of acknowledgment that looked almost regal, and right then it hit him. Cornelia Case. That’s who she looked like.

He must have celebrities on the brain. First he’d decided Lucy looked like Winona Ryder, and now this lady reminded him of a pregnant version of Cornelia Case. Even their voices were similar, but he couldn’t imagine the nation’s aristocratic First Lady ending up broke, pregnant, and abandoned at a roadside truck stop in rural Pennsylvania. “Anybody ever mention that you look like Cornelia Case?”

She blinked. “All the time.”

“You even sound alike, but you’ve got an accent. I can’t quite place it. Where are you from?”

“The Carolinas. Alabama. Michigan for a while, then California. My folks moved around a lot. It affected my speech.”

“Yeah, I guess it did.” The sunlight hit the top of her head, and he saw a small brown stain on the skin near her temple, as if she’d recently colored her hair and hadn’t gotten off all the dye. He automatically filed the detail away. Nell Kelly might be down on her luck, but she still had enough vanity left to take the time to color her hair. It was the kind of observation that used to set his newspaper stories apart.