Tyler would have said she was meddling.

Mentally, Christa crossed her fingers as she backed out of her space. The van seemed to shimmy and shudder more than usual. She had the impression that it was like a prize-winning stallion past its peak, trying to eke out just a little more life before it died.

She kept her fingers crossed all the way home. The van didn’t die, but Christa had the uneasy feeling that it was touch and go all the way. It was reassuring to see the LeMans in her rearview mirror.

The van had over a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it. It had brought her safely over the desert, when she had left with Las Vegas and Jim in her rearview mirror. Actually, she amended silently, only Las Vegas had been in her rearview mirror. Jim, at the time of her departure, had probably been housed somewhere at a casino table, hoping that Lady Luck had decided not to snub him any longer.

Luck had been an elusive, capricious partner during the five years that she and Jim had been married. When she’d had enough of his gambling fever and divorced him, he’d acted relieved. He’d called Christa his Jonah. Without her, he felt confident that his luck would change for the better.

She sincerely doubted it, but she was decent enough to hope that it had. No matter what, the man would always be Robin’s father. That meant something.

All during the trip back to Southern California, she’d had the uneasy feeling that she was on borrowed time. Each false start and stop that the van made only increased that feeling. Today’s harrowing chase down Bedford’s main thoroughfare had undoubtedly wreaked havoc on the failing engine.

Or whatever it was that was wrong with the van, she mused with resignation.

Just last a little longer. Please.

Finally, Christa pulled up in the short driveway in front of her condo. Malcolm’s car was only a beat behind her. Though there was ample room in the driveway, he parked in the street, directly in front of her father’s vintage Jaguar.

She watched Malcolm smoothly guide his car into the tight space between her father’s car and her neighbor’s. Admiration curved her lips. She couldn’t conceive of doing that. She could no more manage to parallel-park than she could fly on her own power.

Malcolm slammed the car door shut behind him. He nodded at the dark metallic green Jaguar. Her husband must be the sporty type, he decided.

“Nice car. Yours?”

She shook her head. With a bank account barely in the triple digits, she could ill afford maintenance on something like that.

“My father’s.” She smiled, thinking of the way he pampered the vehicle. “It’s his baby now that he’s retired.”

Malcolm nodded absently, acutely aware that she had turned her electric blue eyes up at him. He didn’t quite know what he was doing here. He was going out of his way, and he’d made it a practice never to go out of his way. The less involved he was with people in general, the less there would be to trigger him, to remind him of what he no longer had.

Of what he had allowed, because of a momentary lapse in skill, to slip through his fingers.

Feeling uncomfortable, Malcolm slowly shoved wide, capable hands into his back pockets. He stood looking at her van.

Now would be the time to back out. Before he got in too deep.

“Well, you got here without any mishaps. Maybe your husband could take a look at the van for you.”

He was already turning to go when he saw the amused smile rising to her lips. It feathered up to her eyes. The sight was appealing, though Malcolm didn’t want it to be.

She could just see Jim staring into the interior of the engine. He would have been more lost than her.

“I don’t have a husband, at least, not anymore. And when I did have one, he would have been far more prone to look at a deck of cards than a car. Jim wasn’t what you’d call handy by any stretch of the imagination.”

What he had been, she thought, was a spinner of dreams. Unattainable, impossible dreams. They’d been magical once. But the magic had long since faded from his dreams and their life together.

Malcolm gave no indication that he had heard her or absorbed the information she offered. But he did approach the van with a resigned expression on his face.

He was here, he thought, so he might as well take a look at it. “Pop the hood for me.”

Obediently, Christa pulled the lever on the dashboard. The hood made a noise as it rose an inch, still tethered to a lock.

Feeling around for the release latch, Malcolm found it and pulled. He moved the hood back and looked in, letting out a long, low whistle. That had to be one of the dirtiest engines he’d seen in a long, long time. And just possibly the worst cared for. He shook his head.