Worth Fighting For

Brett Tanner didn’t cry. He sucked it up and did his duty. He did the right thing.

After all, he’d chosen the wrong road too many times in the past.

As tears welled in his eyes, he cursed the evidence of his weakness, then tried to shake the pain and anger as he sped through the city streets. He turned into the Ocean Breeze complex, just as a white Volvo appeared from nowhere.

A loud metallic thud sounded when his bike slammed into the car. His body flew through the air, then slid along the driveway.

He didn’t feel any pain at first. Not until his head cleared and he felt the sting of asphalt on his knees and arm, followed by an agonizing ache where his shoulder had hit the ground first.

The impact had sent his two-hundred-dollar sunglasses flying, probably smashing them to smithereens.

How was he going to explain this to the other driver? Or to a police officer, if one showed up on the scene? Or to any of his buddies, if they ever caught wind of this?

He’d had his head up his ass, thinking about his son, about Kelly. About the raw pain in his chest and the tears that clouded his sight.

And he’d caused an accident.

A black shadow struck the car with a vengeance. Caitlin Rogers slammed on her brakes, but much too late to avoid an accident. She threw the gearshift into Park, and glanced in her rearview mirror to see her four-year-old daughter sitting wide-eyed in the car seat in back.

“Baby, are you okay?”

Emily nodded. “What happened, Mommy?”

“I ran into someone. You wait here.”

Caitlin swung open the door and rushed to check on the motorcyclist she’d just struck.

Had she killed him? Maimed him? Oh, God. Please let him be okay.

How could she have been so blind, so irresponsible?

She’d been so caught up in the trouble looming over her that she’d been on autopilot and hadn’t even seen the motorcycle turn into the complex. All she’d been thinking about these past few days was that she might lose custody of the child she’d loved and raised since birth, the precious little girl she hoped to adopt.

Caitlin looked at the dazed man and saw a nasty abrasion on his chin, a blood-speckled white T-shirt, a scraped leather aviator jacket, jeans that were torn and bloody at the knee. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

The man slowly got to his feet, and she had to tilt her chin to look him in the eyes—glassy blue eyes that looked watery. Gosh, had she hurt him that badly? Had his injuries made him teary-eyed?

“It’s all my fault,” she said. “But I have insurance.”

He grimaced and rubbed his shoulder. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to admit blame in a traffic accident?”

“No. But I was thinking about something else and not paying attention. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He glanced at the raw and bloodied knuckles of his right hand. Then he looked at the scraped and battered bike, the dented gas tank, the broken mirror, the bent handlebars, the scratched leather seat that looked like a fancy saddle. He clicked his tongue, blew out a ragged sigh and rolled his eyes.

Gosh, she felt terrible about this. Thank God he was wearing a helmet. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Really.” He limped to the big, black motorcycle that lay on its side, then shut off the engine.

He didn’t appear fine. But Caitlin had a feeling he’d looked pretty sharp on that bike before she ran into him.

Was that a Harley? Those things were expensive. And her insurance rates would probably skyrocket at a time when she needed every cent she could find.

She eased closer, and he looked up at her with the most incredible sky-blue eyes she’d ever seen. He had a scar over his right brow that made him look manly. Rugged. Not afraid of a fight.

Was she crazy? Maybe she’d hit her head on the steering wheel or something. What provoked her to gawk at the good-looking stranger like a star-struck teenybopper?

He looked at his mangled bike, grimaced and shook his head.

“I’m really sorry,” she said again, the words sounding useless.

“Don’t be.” He caught her eye, drew her deep into his gaze. “Just for the record, the accident was my fault.”

“I’ll call the police,” she said, as she turned and walked back to the car for her cell phone.

“Wait.” He reached out, caught her by the arm and turned her around to face him. “It’s no big deal. Let’s not bother filing an accident report. I’ll just pay you for the damages to your car.”

She needed to watch her expenses, since she expected some hefty legal bills soon. Lawyers were expensive, and she intended to retain the best one she could find—even if it cost her every last dollar she’d saved. Because, if Caitlin wouldn’t fight for her daughter, who would?

The system?

No way. Caitlin knew better than that.

For that reason, she ought to quit struggling with her conscience and let him take the blame for something that felt like her fault. But the brawny biker looked so vulnerable, so hurt.

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” she said.

He offered a wry, one-sided grin, then gazed at her with wounded eyes. “I only hurt my pride. That’s all.”

Then he looked at her—really looked, as though assessing her for injury.

Or was he checking her out in a male/female sort of way? It had been so long since she’d dated that she’d nearly forgotten what that sensual, I’m-available-and-interested eye contact felt like.

“Are you hurt?” he asked her.

Okay. So there went her romantic assumption. But that was just as well. Getting involved with anyone right now wouldn’t be in her best interests. Or Emily’s.

“I’m just a little shaky.” She glanced at the car and saw her daughter peering out the driver’s door with a look of awe on her face.

“My mommy can fix your owies,” Emily said. “She’s a nurse. And she has a whole bunch of Hello Kitty Band-Aids and the stuff that doesn’t sting.”

“Are you okay?” the man asked her daughter.

Emily nodded. “But you’re bleeding really bad. Does it hurt?”

“No. Not a bit.”