Page 13 of Nothing to Fear

• Appear rude or say things that sound tactless, especially when anxious or confused.

• Have difficulty making eye contact.

There was more, but she didn’t want to think about the words Gideon read as she peered at his face, searching for a reaction. His expression was a mask she couldn’t decipher. The ASD label was probably already redefining her in his head from normal to treat with caution.

The deputy took the license from her hand, swapping it carefully with the card, using his fingertips like her disorder was contagious.

“Ma’am, do you need medical attention?” His tone turned, riding the cusp of loud, the words drawn out and emphasizing each syllable, kicking her heartbeat into a sprint.

Cringing, she shoved the card into her wallet, regretting the decision to carry it.

When her father had suggested keeping the card in her purse, it sounded logical, practical even, since she’d need a little assistance communicating with a stranger in situations of high or traumatic stress. But now she wanted to dissolve. Simply disappear.

“Deputy, she doesn’t have a hearing disability.” Gideon moved toward her and turned in front of the deputy, shielding her with his body. “There’s no need to raise your voice.”

Deputy Martin peered around Gideon. “Are you like Rain Man?”

She aimed for his eyes, but her gaze only reached his sharp beak of a nose. “What’s a rain man?”

“A movie.” Gideon stepped forward, and the deputy backed away.

Putting a hand on a hip, Deputy Martin used his knuckle to tap up the front of his stiff, wide-brimmed hat. “I’m going to need her to take a breathalyzer.”

“That won’t be necessary. I don’t drink.” She’d tried on several occasions but never tasted anything she liked.

Peering around Gideon as if afraid to cross the invisible boundary line he’d created, the deputy looked at her. “Still need you to take one, ma’am.”

Gideon glanced at her over his shoulder and waited. For what? Her permission? The man was an officer of the law. How could she refuse?

She nodded. “Of course.”

An ambulance pulled into the lot. Thankfully, the siren was off.

“Let me help you,” Gideon said, as if he could see the shock of everything curtaining her.

She took his extended hand.

His long, thick fingers closed around hers, and his palm rested on her lower back as he helped her down from the vehicle. The step had been high for her five-foot-four frame.

When he let go of her, she swayed, and he clutched her arm.

She had no idea what had happened to her balance. She wasn’t dizzy, but as Gideon’s hands had left her body, she floated like a kite let loose in a breeze.

He helped her up into the ambulance, holding her at the waist. The EMT steered her to sit on a gurney, asked her questions, and pointed a small flashlight in her eyes. The tow truck arrived, and Gideon talked to the driver at length. The man in overalls kept writing for several minutes. She had no idea what Gideon said, beyond explaining the brakes had failed.

As the officer approached her again, Gideon broke away from the tow truck driver and hurried to her side.

“Ma’am, please take a deep breath and blow until I tell you to stop. Okay?” Although the officer spoke to her, he stared at Gideon, who’d recovered his usual unflappable demeanor and stared back at the deputy.

Sitting on the end of the gurney in the ambulance, Willow leaned forward, took a deep breath, and blew into a white tube. When the deputy raised his hand, she stopped.

He looked at the small device in his hand. “Okay, ma’am. You’re free to go.”

Gideon reached up for her with both hands but met her gaze before touching her. She nodded, and he grasped her at the waist, lifting her down from the ambulance.

More sheriff’s deputies had arrived on the scene. Officers were managing the traffic and other accidents she’d caused. Gideon roped an arm around her midsection, bringing her close to his body, anchoring her with the strength of his grip as they headed to his vehicle.

He opened the car door and hoisted her up onto the seat.