Yep. I was going to die here. Alone in the woods of Pennsylvania. Or was I now in New York state? God only knows. I could have driven over the border and not known it. There was no way of knowing. Snowy woods looked the same no matter where you were. I tooted, then scoured the forest. Ever vigilant. If I was going to be devoured by a bruin, I was going to see that bastard coming. Nothing was going to sneak up on Decker Allen Fitzgerald!
Someone—or something—rapped on my driver’s side window. I screamed, flailed, hit the horn, and nearly shat my pants, which would have been the absolute worst thing ever. They were brand new slacks and had cost a pretty penny. And they were worth every one of those pretty pennies because they made my ass look incredible.
It was then that I heard the sound of something running. Something like a large machine. I turned down the radio and peeked through the frosty glass to see a lean, handsome face staring in at me. The man was bundled up, a hood over a knitted cap, and a scarf around his neck. He tapped again. Then he smiled. Oh, oh my, he wasreallypretty. Snow clung to his long lashes that framed slate-gray eyes. It was adorable. And I was officially cheesy as a Hallmark holiday movie trailer.
I pushed the button down. “Oh thank God! My savior!” I nearly wept again. The sound of the tractor parked a few feet down the road entered the open window as did the smell of diesel fumes. “I’m stuck here in this gorge and bears are eyeballing me as we speak!”
“Bears are hibernating,” he corrected in a voice thick with an inland Northern Appalachian accent that sounded like the cherubs singing at the moment. “I’ll pull you out of the ditch and get your car back to the farm. ’Fraid you’ll have to ride out the storm with me. Township won’t risk plowing until the storm is done. School buses aren’t running now with the Christmas holiday starting.”
“Okay! Fine, fine, I’d love to ride out the storm with you.” His thin, dark eyebrows rose. Snowflakes were sticking to his eyelashes and brows. Gosh he was pretty. “I mean with someone. I thought I’d die here alongside the road.”
“Right. The bears.” I heard a small amount of amusement in his tone. Was he laughing at me? Probably. Rural folks always chuckled at us city boys when we were blathering.
“Okay then. Let’s get you out of that car.” He straddled the gulley expertly. I unbuckled my seatbelt, gazed into his slate-gray eyes, and sort of tumbled out of the car into his arms. In my defense, ithadbeen a harrowing day. For a lean man, he was quite strong. Not that I weighed a lot, but I did work out and was quite solid and compact. He grunted in surprise, smoky eyes widening as he jostled my weight around. “Careful now, get your feet…no, you need to push yourself upward. Yep, there you go.”
I stood on the road, solid ground beneath me, feeling much better about my chances of surviving this mess. Snow whipped around us as my rescuer heaved himself out of the ditch, then gave me a smile. It was a lovely smile that made his gray eyes glow like finely polished agate. A big, orange tractor set a few feet away, lights blinking, the front carrying a small snowplow.
“The lines are down,” I shouted to be heard over the increasing wind and the noisy muffler on the tractor. Did tractors even have a muffler? Who knew?
“Yep, that happens a lot. Electric company doesn’t maintain the trees as they should.” He ambled past me, his dark brown coveralls grease-stained, and the matching coat sporting patches on both elbows. Long brown hair hung over his collar, the snow wetting the strands exposed to the winter weather. I followed along in his wake simply because I had nothing else to do.
“How will you get my car out? It’s a BMW, so it’s not used to being manhandled. Will you be gentle?” I asked as he dug around behind the torn seat of the tractor for something.
“I’ll treat her as if she were your baby sister,” he tossed over his shoulder, his words blowing down the road on a gust right off an iceberg. Flakes danced and spun, making it hard to see even a few feet. He yanked a long, thick chain free and then gave me a look. “You stay back here out of the way until we have her up out of the ditch. Then you can follow me. I’ll plow a path to the farm. Is that four-wheel drive?”
I shook my head. His mouth flattened a bit. “No, I don’t generally hit the road during such terrible weather. My father insisted I come out to talk to this farmer who’s holding up what will be an incredibly lucrative natural gas well, all over a few pigs and a cross-eyed chicken. I always thought people just ate unwanted farm animals. Who spends good money on a blind horse or a pig with digestive issues? Can’t they just be dog food or bacon?”
The softness left his gaze, his gray eyes turning cold as the wintry sky above. “Tell me you’re from Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services.”
I blinked, the snow now blowing into my face. “I am yes. Decker Fitzgerald, head of contracts and negotiations for Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services, at your service. And you are?”
“Jesus wept,” he grumbled, ignoring my offered hand to stalk past me with his twenty or so feet of chain that could have pulled an elephant through the woods.
My brain was chilled. That had to be the reason that I was so slow on the uptake. Usually, I’m the quickest of the Fitzgerald boys. Frank Jr. was slow as molasses in January when it came to deducing things that didn’t involve women, cigars, booze, and Formula One race cars. And even those things weren’t figured out at lightning speed.
Andstill, Dad chose him to take over the company. Not the son with a degree in business negotiations and acquisitions. Oh no, not him. He’s a little limp in the wrist, you know.
Bitter as kale, aren’t we, Decker?
“Uhm, are you Mr. Acosta Melios, the owner of Happy Laurel Farm?” I asked at the top of my voice.
He slid the thick hook into the frame of my car, turned, frowned at me, and nodded.
Well poop.
ChapterTwo
The rideback to the farm was dicey.
I was kicking myself for saying what I’d been thinking aloud. That happened to me all the damn time. It was one of my faults. There were many, but that was the one that seemed to get me into hot water more than any other.
Acosta had said nothing to me since my identity had been revealed. He’d used his beat-up old, orange tractor to get my car out of the ditch, laid down in the road and snow to free the hook from the underbelly, and gathered up his chain all while managing to keep his gaze from me. I tried to engage him a few times when he’d come back to the tractor, which I’d been using as a windbreak. It hadn’t worked to block the howling gusts at all.
“I’m very grateful that you’re being so courteous about helping me out,” I yelled and got a curt nod of his head. His hood had fallen down as he scrabbled around under my car.
“Sure.” That was his reply. One word. Okay. That was fine. I’d dealt with reluctant property owners before. And every single one of them had come around and signed a lease contract with my father. Every. Damn. One. I kept my business smile plastered on my face as he climbed up onto the tractor and sat down. “Might want to get into your car and follow me.” He looked like he had more that he wished to say, but he remained silent. The tractor coughed up some dark smoke and then crept away. I jumped to the side to avoid the plow as it swung to the left. Snow fell off the blade and onto my leather loafers. Anger welled up, but I tamped it down. Getting mad at the man would not help me woo him into putting his John Hancock on a lease agreement. Nope, what would do that would be my wit, charm, knowledge, and professionalism.
Right now, with snow up to my ankles, I didn’t look very competent. He never looked back, just plugged along on his noisy farm machine. I dashed to my car, slid behind the wheel, kissed her dash, and eased her around. Creeping along like my mother cruising down Rodeo Drive on her monthly Cali spa trips, I worked my lower lip as I did my best to stay in the narrow strip the plow was creating. We climbed upward slowly, nothing visible but snow and fence posts on either side of the driveway. Or it could have been a road. Maybe? If it were a driveway, it was the longest one in the frigging state. Was this farm rescue parcel on the tippy top of the mountain? And if so, why? Why live so far from the road?
