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"What?!" Two hours? Not worth it! I groaned in frustration. "Ok, fine. Send them, but if I can change it myself, I'll call to cancel."
"All right, then I have a service truck en route to you. Please call back if you have any additional needs."
I punched the button to end the call muttering, "Sure," under my breath.
Tossing my phone back onto the passenger seat, I popped the trunk and pulled out the scissor jack. Setting that by the rear wheel, I went back for the spare, thwarted by the apparently empty trunk. I knew I had one - I'd made sure of it when I bought the car - but damned if I could see it, so I leaned a little farther in, looking for the false floor. Kicking one high-heeled foot behind me, I leaned as far into the trunk as I could.
Out here in the boonies, traffic was few and far between. A single car had passed when I was looking up the phone number, but that was it. Naturally, as soon as I was ass up, another lumbered up from behind me. I chuckled, all too aware of the view the driver must be getting, but didn't care. These modern sports cars all had a secret compartment for the tiny little doughnut spare, and I was going to find it.
But the diesel slowed. Extracting myself from the bowels of my car, I looked up to see it crawling by in the wrong lane, giving me plenty of room. As soon as it was past, it darted back over - right to the shoulder - and stopped. Perfect. My first impression back in town would be that of a damsel in distress. Not quite what I'd planned.
The door of the big blue truck opened, releasing the sound of modern country music. A moment later, the driver stepped out. In my life, I'd seen a lot of really pretty men. Most of them were gay, but still. This guy was nothing like them. His chest was massive. His arms were thick. The way his jeans molded to his thighs proved that he had a lot of experience using them. My first thought was that Ashton would never let me live this down. Right on its heels, I realized that maybe there was something to the whole cowboy fetish.
"Having some trouble, ma'am?" he asked.
I just pressed a hand to my head. "Uh, yeah. I'm having a bad case of blonde. New car, and I have no clue where they hid the spare."
He nodded, walking around to the trunk to stand beside me. "Ah. Got a flat?"
"Yep. Hit that two-by-four in the road."
His eyes jerked to me but he ducked his head to hide the smile. "Me, too."
"Had to rub it in, didn't ya?" I teased, since clearly his truck wasn't damaged. "I have roadside assistance on the way, but it's gonna be a bit."
Without asking, the cowboy just reached into my trunk and lifted the false floor. "Yeah. Prolly three to four hours. Got a jack?"
So that's where my spare had been hiding! "By the back tire."
My good Samaritan heaved the replacement out with one arm - and what anicearm it was. Trailing behind him like a lost puppy, I grabbed the jack and its handle, then followed, feeling a bit useless. At least from back here, I got a really nice view. It wasn't just his ass. His shoulders were pretty damned nice, too.
"This thing won't hold for too long." He knelt beside the ruined wheel. "Where ya headed?"
"Just up the road. Cats Peak."
His head jerked up and he met my eyes. I'd seen that vivid shade of green before. As a girl, I'd fantasized about it, but the man before me looked nothing at all like the boy I remembered. This couldn't be the same person, could it?
Slowly, the cowboy smiled. "Vera's granddaughter?"
"Yeah. Gotta finish some paperwork for the inheritance."
"Ah." He claimed the lug wrench and settled it on a nut. "You have her eyes."
"You knew Gran?"
He nodded, unable to speak while he broke the lug nuts free. In between, he managed, "Yep. Been taking care of the place. Live on the next property over. So I've known Vera for years." He paused, then looked up. "Knew. Sorry."
"Yeah." I wasn't quite ready to talk about Gran. "So, um... you got a name, cowboy?"
"Luke Barrett. How about you, princess?" The crooked smile proved he had no clue who I was.
I looked him over again, trying to make my memories mesh with the hunk before me. "Violet Dawson."
His attention returned to the wheel. "Mm. So what do people call you for short?"
"Violet."
He laughed, not even looking up. "Well, that's a mouthful, isn't it?"
