She smelled good, and, as he moved aside to let her into the motor home, he felt something odd. If she hadn’t been pregnant, he would have chalked it up to desire. It had been a while since he was in a relationship—he thought of the flying copy of Bride magazine—and his sex life had suffered. But it hadn’t suffered enough to make him respond to a skinny pregnant lady. Still, there was something about her . . .

“After you, princess.” He dipped his head.

“Princess?” Nealy’s own head shot up, and she was met with a lady-killer grin that made her wonder if she’d lost her mind. Not only had she just hitched a ride with a stranger, but the stranger was a foot taller and a lot stronger than she was. And that smile . . . Although it wasn’t lecherous, it had a challenging quality that she found unnerving.

“Somehow it seems to fit,” he said.

She had no idea how to reply to that, so she slipped past him—not that easy to do—and stepped inside. Her decision had been impulsive, but not completely foolish, she decided, as she gazed around the interior of the motor home. Although there was definitely something dangerous about him, it wasn’t a naked-female-left-dismembered-in-a-ditch kind of danger. He’d offered to stay and talk to the police, hadn’t he? And, best of all, her excellent adventure wasn’t over.

She hoped he’d bought her explanation about her accent, and she reminded herself to be more careful so it didn’t keep fading in and out. She also reminded herself that she was now Nell Kelly, the first name that had popped into her head.

The baby was perched in a car seat sitting on a couch with worn blue and green plaid upholstery. Across from the couch and immediately to Nealy’s right was a small banquette. The table held an open bag of potato chips, the remnants of a donut, a hairbrush, and a Walkman. A small refrigerator stood to her left, and beside it, a peeling veneer door led to either a closet or a bathroom. There was also a tiny kitchen with a three-burner stove, a microwave, and a sink littered with some Styrofoam cups and a Dunkin’ Donuts box. At the very rear of the motor home, a sliding door that was only partially closed revealed a double bed piled with clothes and some towels. There were two bucket seats at the front, one for the driver and one for a passenger.

A challenging voice interrupted. “What are you doing here?”

Reluctantly, she turned toward the surly teenager named Lucy, who was sitting on the couch feeding the baby green peas from a jar. The girl definitely wasn’t pleased to see her.