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That’s what saved me from crashing into the wall. Despite February’s freezing temperatures, I wiped the perspiration from my brow as I slumped against the solid basalt. Its icy smoothness fortifying, I closed my eyes and mouthed a silent prayer.
“Are you all right?”
“What?” I jumped at the male voice, but the upturned car blocked my vision.
“Are you okay?” The stranger came into view: curly dark hair and long eyelashes framing chocolate-brown eyes.
His warm smile swept over me like a balmy breeze.
I caught my breath as I took in his strong jawline and cleft chin.
Towering above me, he sported a five o’clock shadow. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” Adrenaline flowing, I felt no pain, but I took inventory, inspecting my limbs for blood or protruding bones. “Just shaken and a little sore.”
“Understandably. The police are on their way. Do you want to wait in my truck?”
Wary of hopping into a stranger’s car, I searched his face but, reading only concern, relaxed. “I’d appreciate it.” Then I surveyed the steep snowbank and regretted not wearing boots.
He reached across the bank, palm up.
Using his fingers as leverage, I jumped the piled snow and followed him to his pickup.
“The first step’s a doozy.” He opened the door and again held out his hand.
“Thanks.” Shivering from the cold, I pushed off from his palm and hoisted myself onto the front seat.
He hopped in the driver’s seat and turned on the heater full blast, redirecting the vents. “Adjust the temperature however you like.”
“This is fine.” As the shock wore off, reality hit. No boots, gloves, or hat. Aware of my vulnerability alone in the mountains without the car’s heater, I took a deep breath. “Glad you came by when you did.”
“I was in the right place at the right time.” His gaze caught mine. “What happened?”
“I swerved to avoid a family of javelinas and spun out.” Frustrated, I stifled a groan. “I can operate an M2 Bradley but can’t drive on ice.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. Ice grabs the wheel.”
I ventured a smile, grateful for his support as sirens screeched in the distance. Then turning toward the flashing red, white, and blue lights on the horizon, I recalled another of my grandmother’s axioms: “Every event leads to the next.” So, where’ll this one steer me?
****
No Texas twang. He leaned against his truck, listening to the inflection of her voice as the police questioned her. She’s not from here. He checked her Colorado plates before checking her out.
Despite the puffy vest, her figure beneath was lithe and slender. Her tight jeans emphasized her derriere’s curves, and she moved with a dancer’s grace. She wore her tawny brown hair in a pixie cut that emphasized her haunting eyes. No makeup, her face was bare except for the freckles on her button nose.
Interest growing, he waited for the police to finish. Then when the wrecker arrived, he joined her. “Can I give you a ride into town?”
Her green eyes probed his. A blink later, she nodded. “I’d appreciate it.”
Guess I passed muster. He helped transfer her luggage, then climbed into his truck and followed the wrecker.
“You mentioned an M2 Bradley.” He side-glanced. “Are you in the military?”
“I’m stationed at Fort Carson.” A pink blush tinged her cheeks. “Sorry, habit. I just mustered out.”
“That’s an Army installation, right?” His ears perked for confirmation.
“Yup. I belonged to the Fourth Squadron.”
