by Mia Moon
“Need help?”
Something about the tone — deep and resonant — made the hair on my neck stand up. Not as a warning, not as in, this-guy will rape and kill me, but in a totally different way. A masculine way. A sexy way.
Down, girl. Don’t fall in love with the first cowboy you hear.
I cleared my throat. “Thank you for stopping.” I was nothing if not polite. “The check engine light came on a while back and I thought I could make it to where I was going. I was wrong, I guess.”
By now, the cowboy was in front of me. He took off his hat and glanced at the car. Then at me.
Good God, were all cowboys in Montana this handsome? He had lips that would be in demand on a billboard in Times Square. And his hair was longish and soft-looking. I wasn’t entirely sure of the color, but whatever it was, it was most likely something stunning. I wanted to rank my fingers through that hair.
And even though it was nighttime, I could discern the color of his eyes from the illumination of the headlights. They were a dark, velvety navy, with a shade of indigo.
“How long ago did the light come on?”
“Well, let’s see.” I laughed nervously, because as much as I wanted to talk to this beautiful specimen of a man, I was suddenly nervous. Which is odd, since in New York, I’m never nervous around men. “Right around the time I got off.”
He cocked an eyebrow, and I realized what I’d just said. Dammit! Hopefully he couldn’t see me blush in the dark.
“Got off the interstate,” I said primly.
“Open up the hood, will you?”
My sneakers didn’t make the same satisfying crunch on the gravel that his boots did, and I opened my door. That’s when I realized I didn't know how to open the hood. Or the trunk.
I. Am. An. Idiot.
“Uh, I think it’s right…” I bent down and twisted a few knobs, hoping one would make the hood magically pop open. The windshield wipers came on, then some wiper spray. A fine, cool mist hit me in the face and I yelped.
“Here,” he said, stepping behind me. His body was entirely too close. Unlike guys in New York who either wore baggy jeans or skinny tapered pants, this man wore honest-to-God dungarees. Worn to a proper faded blue. The fabric was lighter at the tops of his muscular thighs.
“May I?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry.” I stepped back as he leaned over to flick a little button on the dash. It allowed me to check out his ass. Guys in New York had tiny butts. Tinier butts than me. It drove me nuts.
This guy’s butt looked tight. Bigger than mine, but in a hard way, like he'd done a lot of manual labor for that ass. Like a man's behind should be. I stepped aside and pretended to be fascinated because the hood had popped open.
“It’s a rental.” I waved my hand in the air. Wordlessly, he handed me his hat and walked to the front of the car. “You know, the trunk button’s different in each car.”
Were they? I wasn’t even sure. I fingered his hat, which was made of a soft leather.
He looked at me and grinned, a lopsided lazy smile that revealed straight teeth. “The hood, you mean.”
“That. Yes.” I laughed and came around to his side. He smelled like fresh water and pristine fields and something else. I took a deep inhale.
Leather. He smelled like leather. Yum.
Unfortunately, a nasty, oil-like odor came from the engine, and interrupted my building olfactory orgasm. With a broad hand, he extracted what looked like a wand from somewhere deep in the bowls of all the metal, then slid it back in slowly.
If I wasn’t so screwed with this assignment, I’d spend more time thinking about him sliding one of those thick fingers inside of me with the same finesse. But the way he shook his head sent a wave of panic through me.
“Why didn’t you stop at the interstate when you got off? There’s a service station there. Would’ve been better than being out here, stranded. Not that I don't think you can handle yourself. Not trying to imply anything sexist, but it's pretty wild out here.”
I straightened my spine. Was he giving me some backhanded macho bullshit compliment? “What do you mean by wild?”
That grin again.
“Animals. Bears.”
I nodded slowly. Stupidly, I hadn't even thought of that. Like a New Yorker, I assumed it would be the people that would pose problems. “I didn’t think I was that far from my destination.”
“Well, you ain’t making it to your destination in this car tonight.”
I blinked several times. “Shit,” I whispered.
“No biggie. Don’t worry. I’ll get you to where you’re going.” He paused. “Where are you going, anyway?”
With a sigh, I leaned into the car, rummaging around empty water bottles, a coffee cup, a bag of potato chips, my purse, some makeup… Where the hell was my phone? “I can tell you soon, ah, here it is?” I turned to look over my shoulder, and he was behind me.
Was he staring at my ass? No. I looked ridiculous, in my high-top sneakers, black jeans and black T-shirt. Like a New Yorker in a punk band, not a country girl. Which is probably the kind of woman a guy like him preferred.
I eased out of the car and focused on my phone. “I don’t have cell service here. Dammit. I can’t get my email with the address.”
I looked up and he wore an amused grin. His phone was pressed to his ear. “You’re in the mountains.”
“I see that.”
“There’s only one carrier that works up here, and I’m guessing you don’t have it. Hello? Sam?” He eyed me as he spoke. “Can you come tow a car? Up on Creek Highway, right about near the mill. Yeah. Red hatchback, a rental. Thanks.”
“Shouldn’t we stay here and wait? What if someone comes along and steals it?”
My sexy savior chuckled. “Where you from? No one’s going to steal this here.”
I looked at him skeptically.
“I promise. You can sort out the details later. I’ll give you Sam’s number. He’s the best mechanic in town. Let’s grab your stuff. You at a hotel in Townsend?”
I opened the back door and was about to pull out my huge red suitcase when he was next to me, the heat of his body practically singing mine. Did he have no respect for personal space? Not that I minded, but I was used to people who were forced to be close to each other on subways and streets and people who wanted anything but closeness.
“I got this.” He hoisted the bag out of the car. In the moonlight, it almost looked as big as the car.
I followed him to his truck, and he easily lifted it into the back, which gave me a sweet view of his biceps in that white T-shirt he was wearing. Would it be appropriate to ask him to have dinner with me? Were women in these parts that forward?
I handed him his hat.
“Planning on staying a while? Suitcase is kinda heavy.”
“A week. I’m in this area for a week.” I said, trying to sound cheerful when I was actually worried about how I’d get along without a car. Did I need a car on a ranch? The owners said I should rent one, in case I wanted to explore the area. My stomach sank when I realized the nearest car rental location was hours away, back at the airport.
He opened the passenger door to the truck, and I glanced up. I’d never been in a truck, and I wasn’t sure how I would get inside. Was there a footstep or something? I didn’t realize they were so tall.
“Ah, you’re a little thing. Here. Let me help you up. Put your hand up here, on this.” He touched a plastic handle. I lifted myself up, a little grunting squeak coming from the back of my throat. Or maybe it was a tiny moan because he pressed his hand on my mid back, steadying me in case I fell. When I was settled, I watched him shut the door.
When he slid into the driver’s seat, he flashed that lazy smile again, and I swear I felt wet between my legs. What the hell? I didn’t normally have an immediate reaction to men like this.
“So, where to?”
Your bed, I wanted to say.
I turned in the seat so I was facing him. Jesus, this
truck was large. “I’m not from here.”
“You don’t say.”
I laughed at that.
“I’m a reporter with a magazine in New York, and I’m doing a story on ...”
He cut me off. “Fire Mountain Ranch. You must be Lauren.”
My eyes went wide. “How did you know? Is it the only ranch in this area?”
He fired up the truck and chuckled, a low, sexy sound that inspired a grin in me.
“No. I’m one of the owners. I’m Cassidy Richards. I was copied on your email to my business partners.”
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