Page 6 of Found By You

A harsh gust of freezing wind whips across my face and my tears turn to ice over my cheeks.

“I’m going to need a decision here, ma’am. There’s a storm coming in, and I’d rather not be out here when it hits.”

Of course, there’s a storm coming—because why wouldn’t there be? My luck never ceases to amaze me. And what choice do I have?

I nod quickly, leaning in my car to grab my purse and phone charger. Duke holds the door to keep the wind from closing it on me as I get what I need. Reaching in the backseat, I take my pre-packed duffle containing basic toiletries, a few changes of clothes, and my laptop.

Duke takes the duffle from me. “Turn off the headlights and leave the hazards on,” he instructs. “Keys on the front seat.”

I do as he says, even if I hesitate for a second before dropping my keys into an unlocked vehicle, then follow his lead to his truck. I squint, trying to focus enough to read the company-wrapped name now that he isn’t speeding past me. Montgomery Repair & Towing. At least he was telling the truth about that. There’s a phone number alongside the words: Whitetail, Montana.

Guess I did cross into Montana.

He tosses my bag in the backseat and opens the passenger side door for me, offering his hand to help me inside.

Broody and chivalrous. What a combination.

Reluctantly taking his hand, I hold it tight so my boot doesn’t slip off the icy running board. The heat from his rough, calloused fingers is insanely soothing in a way that says, I’ve got you—and I’d love nothing more than to curl up on his hands alone. They’re just that warm.

And I’m just that desperate for human contact.

Get it together, Maci, this is a stranger.

I mumble a quiet thanks, and he closes the door. He jogs to the driver’s side, hops in and immediately turns up the heat. He takes the truck out of park, and a steady rumble starts down the road.

I tug my seatbelt on, glancing around the new-to-me space. It’s suspiciously clean—for a working man’s truck—but smells like male musk, oil, and fuel. It’s kind of nice, actually. And coming from this pregnant nose with heightened senses, it’s a compliment.

“How long were you out there for?” he asks.

I peer around curiously while trying to get a sense if I’m being led to a quieter area to be murdered. “Half hour, maybe.” There are a few scattered tools in the back I take note of, a larger wrench that I could easily crack him on the head with if I need to get away. “Why?”

“Your hands are like ice,” he growls, turning up the heat even higher. “You warming up over there?”

“I’m okay,” I say, watching his every move as he checks his phone and comes to a stop on the side of the road a few minutes later.

He makes a call, sparing me a glance before looking away. “Hey, Joey. Listen I’ve got a white SUV dead out here on 237 heading north right in the dead zone. Yeah, I’m gonna need a tow. No, I want it done now. I don’t give a fuck. We’ll be here waiting so try not to dick around, asshole.” Duke sighs. “Yeah, all right, see ya in a bit.”

He hangs up and tosses the phone in the cup holder, rubbing his face roughly. “Might be a while,” he says, “Friday night an all.”

I’m not sure what that has to do with getting my car towed, but… “Is there, um, a motel in this town?” I ask.

Duke turns to me, his dark eyes making his intense gaze harsher as he glares at me. “Do you have any idea where the hell you even are, lady?”

I narrow my eyes at him. How did we go from ma’am to lady so quickly? “My GPS stopped working a while ago, I thought I was still in Wyoming,” I admit, fishing out my phone from my pocket. “And my name is Maci. Maci Baker.”

He scoffs. “The border between Wyoming and Montana is probably a good four hours back. How the hell do you not know where you are? Do you have any idea how unsafe that—”

“Yes,” I snap, hot tears stinging my eyes for the third time in the last hour. I put a protective hand over my belly at the nauseating wave of emotion that sweeps over me. “I do know, and if you could stop making me feel like crap about it, that’d be far more helpful than whatever it is you’re doing now.”

I’ve had a rough four weeks with no one in my corner for any of it, the last thing I need is this jerk reading me the riot act.

His gaze lingers on my hand and his brow furrows as I slowly slide it back to my side. The dry air blasting from the vents feels twenty degrees hotter in this tense silence.

When he finally locks eyes with me once again, there’s a glimmer of hurt in them that wasn’t there a moment ago.

And I can’t help the pain in my heart that follows.

Who the hell is this guy?

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