She firmed her jaw, clenched her fists, and strode after him. She damn well would be up for this. Especially if she’d caused it.
No. Guilt wouldn’t help. She banished the idea and slipped between barrels. Under the shadow of the overpass, the moans and thumps of vehicles speeding above echoed around them, covering shouted orders among the crew. The crane operator and some of the workers had gotten the I-beam safely to bare ground, half on the grass, half on the cracked concrete of the road. All the workers gathered around the trapped man. A couple tried to wedge a long chunk of concrete under the forklift, but it wouldn’t fit. Hands shoved at the tipped-over lift, but of course, no one was strong enough to budge it, and the positioning made it impossible to get enough people around it to combine their efforts.
Sam squeezed through the crowd, calling out instructions with enough authority that no one questioned him. Riley watched for a moment as they folded cloth to put under the guy’s head, held a water bottle for him to drink from, and bent close to Sam when he asked the guy questions.
When everyone’s attention was on Sam and the injured man, Riley hurried to the equipment. Her ridiculous, arrogant fantasy spun through her mind. She didn’t know if she could even raise the small forklift.
Her bare hands landed on the cold metal, followed by the familiar sensation of everything about her body becoming more, and relief filled her. Now to figure out the best way to do this.
Leverage.
She turned her back to the machine and bent her knees, bracing herself against it and curling her hands around a lip above the gas cap. She closed her eyes, willing strength into her legs. For the first time, she concentrated on drawing energy from the metal. No, not from it. Through it. She could sense it, like flowing water except totally insubstantial, detected only in an eerie sense of movement out of the metal into her hands. She clenched her jaw, tightened her muscles, and heaved, shoving with her legs and pulling energy at the same time.
The forklift rose. Only a few inches, but Sam shouted something, other people yelled, something scraped across the ground, and the forklift became suddenly heavier. She strained not to let it drop and opened her eyes. Several feet of empty space between the machine and the crowd gave her permission to let go. But that would call attention to her, so she held on. Every muscle screamed so hard she almost gave voice to the pain, her mouth opening wide. But the sound only vibrated in her ears, externally silent. She slowly bent her legs and lowered the machine to the ground. As soon as she released it, she collapsed.
Riley gasped for breath, drawing up her knees and begging silently for the muscles in her legs to stop hurting so damned much. Suddenly, the screaming in her ears died into a low wail, and a paramedic truck bumped over the shoulder, approaching the scene. She laughed and lowered her forehead to her knees, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes as her body finally relaxed.
“Hey. You okay?”
She didn’t need to lift her head to recognize Sam’s voice or the heat and gentleness of his hand on her back. But she looked up, startled by the admiring glow in his golden-brown eyes, only inches from hers.
“Yeah,” she managed, flushing. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You were amazing.” He glanced around. “We should get out of here. Traffic’s gonna be moving in a minute, and I don’t think talking to the police is a good idea.”
“Police?” She stood on unsteady legs, a wholly different kind of weakness than when she first got out of the car. Sure enough, the lights of three state police cars flashed across the faces of the watching crowd. “Crap. Did anyone notice?”
“Probably.” Sam ushered her around a stack of some kind of rubber tubes that were tall enough to hide them. “But no one will believe their stories.”
“Unless they got it on video,” she muttered.
Sam didn’t respond. His hand slid from her back down her arm. His fingers threaded with hers, and he tugged her to zigzag through the standing cars. Riley glanced over her shoulder once they were past the perimeter. A few cops waved at the traffic, ushering the first cars under the right side of the bridge, where they were supposed to go before the whole accident happened. Engines rumbled to life around them as people waited for traffic to clear.
“You okay to drive?” Sam stopped next to his car. He brushed Riley’s hair back, tucking a few strands behind her ear, his expression now concerned. He kept casting quick glances at the cars and people around them. “Just to the next exit. It’s not far. We’ll stop at a restaurant or something.”
Riley nodded and dragged herself away, trying not to shiver. They were in the middle of the highway. Even if Sharla and Vern or some other team had followed from Bridgeport, they wouldn’t do anything with so many police around.
“I’ll follow,” she managed to croak, and pushed herself to a trot when cars rolled down the line. She got to her Beetle in time, ignoring the impatient honk from the guy in the car behind her.
She kept her mind carefully blank as she followed Sam to a diner near the highway, but it didn’t stop nausea from digging in. She parked the car but gripped the wheel so tightly she couldn’t let go. She sat there, shuddering, until Sam opened her door and gently uncurled her fingers.
“It’s okay.” He reached past her to turn off the ignition and pocketed her keys. “Are you hurt?”
“N-no.” But the response was automatic. Sam lifted her knees and swung her around so her feet were out of the car. Crouching in front of her, bracketing her legs with his, he gently rolled her hands over. They were stained orange from the forklift’s paint but not bruised or bleeding. They didn’t even hurt, really. But her fingers curled over her palms, the tendons still contracted by the weight of the machine, compounded by her death grip during the drive.
Sam held one hand and pressed his other on top of it, flattening her fingers. His callused skin rasped against her still-tender palms, and her belly shivered. The tendons slowly stretched under the pressure, and Riley nodded. “That’s good. Thanks.”
Sam repeated the action with her other hand. “I should have done this before I made you drive here.” His tone was annoyed, but the warmth of his hands seeped into Riley, settling the shudders and the chattering teeth. She resisted the urge to run her hands through his hair, so close now instead of two feet above her. Sam lifted his head suddenly, caught her looking, and she sucked in a breath at the impact of his eyes meeting hers. She’d never known a guy who wore his emotions so plainly. Now it was self-disgust and concern, but after a few seconds, his irises darkened from golden oak to brewed tea, and she read awareness and caring.
Oh, she was so going to fall for this guy.
She pulled her hands free and let them hang between her knees. “I’m okay.” Except for the nausea. She thought of the road worker and had to swallow hard. “How’s the guy? The one who was trapped? Did you see?”
Sam nodded but didn’t move away. “He probably has a broken leg. Below the knee. That’s where most of the pressure was. But he wasn’t bleeding, and his upper body wasn’t crushed. He’ll be fine.”
“Eventually,” she mumbled. Knowing that didn’t help.
“What’s wrong?” Sam’s hands landed on her knees. “You saved him. Or at least his leg. Don’t you see how amazing that was? Not a lot of people, goddesses or not, could have done what you did.” He smiled a little and stroked a finger across her cheek, evoking a shiver. “But you look miserable.”
“What if—” God, she didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to see his admiration and pride turn to disappointment and disgust. But she had to talk about it. Had to know. So she could make a decision. “What if I caused it?”