Page 14 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“Where are the deliveries going?”

Her gaze flicked to mine, cautious now. “Why?”

“Because depending on what’s wrong with your truck, you might be here awhile. If they’re local, someone can finish the route.”

Her hand stilled over the mug. “I’m not asking you to do that.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“And I can’t afford to pay someone for another delivery route.”

“I didn’t say anything about money.”

Her expression hardened in a way that told me I had stepped too close to something personal. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll handle it.”

There was pride in the words. Too much of it to argue against, without turning an offer into charity, which she clearly wouldn’t accept.

So I nodded. “All right.”

She looked faintly surprised that I’d let it go.

The garage was busy enough that I needed to return to the Buick, but I found myself lingering beside the office door. Not because I was already infatuated with a stranger or convinced fate had sent her into my garage on the first day of September.

She intrigued me.

She had walked two miles through a thunderstorm rather than wait for rescue. She guarded an old truck as though it carried something more valuable than steel beneath its hood. She was clearly worried about money, but too proud to accept help from someone she didn’t know.

And despite being soaked, stranded, and miserable, she’d still managed to insult my profession.

I wanted to know what kind of woman did all that before breakfast.

“I need to finish the car I was working on,” I said, pointing toward the garage. “The heater can stay on. There’s a charger on the desk for your phone.”

“Thank you.”

“If you need anything, call out.”

“I’m capable of walking ten feet.”

“I’m aware. Apparently, you’re capable of walking several miles in conditions that should’ve convinced you otherwise.”

Her green eyes narrowed again, but there was less anger behind them this time.

“Go fix your car.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I stepped out of the office and closed the door behind me. The music resumed as I returned to the Buick, though I lowered the volume before sliding my hands back beneath the hood.

For the next few minutes, I focused on the radiator. Every so often, my attention drifted toward the office window. She sat curled near the heater, both hands wrapped around the mug. My jacket still covered her shoulders, and her damp blonde hair had begun drying into loose waves around her face.

I looked away before she caught me staring. Then I realized something. I didn’t know her name.

I glanced toward the office again, considering going back in to ask, but the faint line between her brows suggested she was studying something serious on her phone. Calling the ranch, maybe. Trying to save those deliveries.

Interrupting her because I was curious suddenly felt ridiculous. Jax would return soon enough with the registration.

I’d find out then.