Page 3 of Wild Mountain Ma n

Iwas an oaf. An ogre. Maybe even a monster. I’d stopped to help this woman and somehow managed to crush her dreams in the process.

That was exactly how I felt as I watched her practically burst into tears at the sight of her smashed boxes. But when I finally dropped her tire into her empty trunk, all I could think about was finding a way to see her again.

I headed around to the passenger side and knocked on her window. “You can’t drive far on a spare,” I said once the window was on its way down.

She paused lowering the window at the halfway mark and pointed straight ahead. “I’m just going to the lodge.”

Yeah, I figured as much. There wasn’t anything notable in this direction, unless she lived in one of the few log cabins scattered along the main road going up the mountain. And I would have noticed if this beautiful creature was a local.

“Look, my buddy owns the repair shop downtown,” I said. “He can hook you up with a tire, and I’ll even change it, no charge. Well, except for the cost of the tire.”

Her face changed then, and I knew this wasn’t going to be good. It was that same face she’d made earlier when I was sure she was going to burst into tears over her crushed candies.

“How much is a tire?” she asked, her voice suddenly taking on a strange tight quality.

My chest tightened. Normally, I’d have a soft spot for any woman in a bind. But this woman in particular had me twisted in knots. I couldn’t stand to see her upset or stressed…or anything but relaxed and happy—emotions I hadn’t seen in her so far.

“You know what?” I asked. “Don’t worry about that part of it. I was going to put your tire in your trunk, but I’m going to throw it in the back of my truck and take it down to see if my buddy can fix it. Maybe it can be repaired.”

That was highly doubtful. The tire looked torn to pieces. But she didn’t have to know that. Maybe I could replace it with one that matched her other tires and she wouldn’t realize I’d paid for a new one for her.

Once I had the tire secured in the back of my truck, I returned to her passenger window. In the process, I made a mental note of the brand and overall look of the other tire on that side of the vehicle.

“Thank you,” she said.

“What’s your phone number?”

Was that too forward? I was only getting her number so I could help her with her tire. So why did the thought of having her digits make my heart race?

She grabbed her phone and programmed in my phone number, then tapped on her screen. “There. I just sent you a text.”

I glanced back toward my truck. The phone was in my cupholder. But I knew where to find her if, for some reason, she programmed the number in wrong, so I nodded.

“I’ll be in touch by the end of the day,” I said. “Enjoy your competition.”

I tapped the side of her car lightly in a gesture meant to say goodbye. But as I watched her drive away, a strange longing settled over me. It was a longing for something I couldn’t describe.

Suddenly, nothing mattered but seeing the beautiful woman in the white car again. And that was a problem because, going by her license plate, she lived on the other side of the country, so anything I could possibly have with her would only be temporary.

3

TEAGAN

Ilooked up two things on my phone during the cocktail party. Craft stores near me and how far a car could go on a spare tire.

The sinking feeling that I didn’t have enough candy for the judges had only gotten stronger, especially when I heard a group of contestants talking about what they’d brought. Finally, I pulled the coordinator, Victoria, aside and explained my situation.

“You really need a box for each judge,” she said. “Could you package the candy that survived in something smaller?”

I’d done a thorough inventory of the candy as soon as I got to my room. Four-and-a-half boxes were salvageable—well, the contents inside, anyway. Four of the boxes were completely demolished and only three were in pristine condition. I needed to find a way to package everything.

My phone buzzed just as I was considering sneaking out to find a shop somewhere—any kind of shop that might sell boxes. I pulled the phone out of my pants pocket and saw the name I’d programmed in just a couple of hours ago.

Tire guy. That was what I’d named him in my contacts. He hadn’t introduced himself, and he didn’t have my name either. He’d sent me a text to let me know the tire would be on my car by tomorrow afternoon.

I need some packaging for my candy, I typed back.Is there a place around here to buy something like that?

I waited, my heart threatening to pound out of my chest. It wasn’t just anxiety over the competition. It had a lot to do with those golden brown eyes and that muscular build that told me he could take care of anything. I stared at the bubbles that indicated he was typing something until finally his response came through.

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