Page 2 of New Girl in Town
I narrowed my eyes at the vehicle—a truck, I guessed from the height of the lights—and tightened my grip on the tire iron. I didn’t have a lot of experience with fighting, but I was scrappy and angry enough to make someone think twice before snatching me off to join their tribe of deformed hillbilly relatives.
The lights shut off and the engine cut out a second later. I held my breath, waiting, and then a voice called out to me.
“Need help?”
It was a nice voice. Not at all like what I had imagined. I scowled in the direction of the stranger and shook my head.
“No, I've got it. Thank you,” I yelled back, waving before turning my attention to the car jack. I turned it and then sighed, because it didn’t seem level enough to support the weight of my car.
The voice of the might-be hillbilly mutant kidnapper sounded again, closer. “You got that wrong.”
“I can figure it out, really,” I shouted back, blinking hard against the rain. The car jack slipped when I repositioned it. Trying to figure it out and keep an eye on the person approaching me required hand-eye coordination beyond my skill level.
“I think you should let me help.” This time the voice was just beside me and I jumped in surprise.
“Holy shit. You can’t ju—” I began, intending to tell this possible mountain mutant off, when I found myself staring into dark blue eyes. I blinked, taking in the strong line of his nose, the high cheekbones, the dark brown color of his close-cropped beard, and hair falling forward into his eyes as he squinted back at me.
No, definitely not a mutant.
“Didn’t say that you couldn’t, but you’re going to get run over out here. People drive insane during the first snow,” he said, gesturing toward the highway next to us.
On cue, a truck roared by, and I shrank back.
The road’s shoulder was scant at best, and the mountainside offered little room for maneuvering too far beyond the pavement. He was right, but that didn’t mean I was keen on letting a stranger take over my problem.
The fact that he wasn’t a mutant was also dangerous, because I had no business noticing things like how long his lashes were or how the snowflakes looked when they landed just so on said lashes.
“I can manage,” I huffed out.
He smiled. It was a good smile. I was woman enough to admit that. His eyes crinkled at the corners when his generous mouth turned up.
Jesus, the man had the most kissable lips. All plump and soft looking, and they would be gentle as anything when he let them loose on a lucky person.
I jerked at the sudden thought.
“Sweetheart, look—” he began, but got no further before I cut him off. Anything to get the image of this man kissing me silly on the side of the road out of my head.
I had come here to start over, not ogle the first man that spoke to me the second I crossed the state line. And his little pet name did not help matters.
“Sweetheart?” I said, cocking my head to the side and gripping the tire iron. “I amnotyour sweetheart, buddy.”
“Okay then, are we buddies?” he said, mimicking my movement by cocking his own head to the side and running a hand through his hair. My eyes dropped, following the movement, and I tried not to notice that the man also had nice hands. I swallowed hard and forced my gaze back on his face.
“Real cute,” I said, rocking back on my heels.
“Yes, you really are.”
I gaped. “Are you serious?” A blush warmed my cheeks. I hadn’t blushed in so long, not since the early days with Dylan.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, waving a hand and clearing his throat before he continued on. “I meant,I’mcute. Yeah, that’s the right one.”
He winked. I scowled.
“I hope you’re better with changing tires than you are at delivering lines.” I shoved the car jack into his hands and stood. I crossed my arms and turned away from him, because the best offense was a good defense, which meant walking away was a safe bet.
I’d only managed one flip-flopped step when he slid his jacket over my shoulders.
“What are you doing?” I said, trying not to sound ungrateful but failing.
