Page 3 of Riding Dirty

“Good luck with your meeting thing.” I stand in the hallway of his cabin, dripping water onto the stained wood floor. “I’ll clean all this up. Don’t worry.”

He hesitates and I wonder if he really thinks I’m going to sell all of his things, or if I’ve ruined the floor. When he said he had nothing, that was kind of a lie. His cabin is hand-built from the floor to the roof, with custom bookshelves, a natural stone fireplace, and high-end furnishings. On the shelves sit antique cameras, vintage books, and some old-fashioned farm or kitchen equipment I’ve never seen before. I’d bet all of this would bring in some decent cash. Though, I’d never think of selling it. I’m thankful for his help, and if anything, I want to go out of my way to show him that.

“Please be here when I get back.” He swipes his hand down over his beard. “That was weird. If you need to leave, then leave. You’re not my prisoner. I just want to see you again, is all.”

I can’t help but smile. I don’t remember the last time someone wanted me to stay. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

He nods a few times, and twists at his watch, hesitating in place as though he isn’t sure what to do with himself. “Anyway, that’s good. We’ll have dinner and discuss what happens next.”

I nod and stare toward him like a deer in headlights, but I have a feeling the awkward bubbles in my stomach are there for different reasons than his. He’s leaving a stranger in his house. I’m crushing hard on the giant man that doesn’t want me to leave.

It’s probably psychological. My entire life I’ve been traded away. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to figure that I’d glom onto the first person who showed interest in me. Though that doesn’t excuse the sexual attraction I had for him the second he pulled over to help me. I guess I could explain that away, too. The man rescued me off the side of the road, gave me the coat off his back, and rode me into town on a motorcycle. I bet that would check a lot of women’s boxes.

When the front door closes, I let out a giant sigh of relief, and tip toe toward the shower. Though the cabin is rustic, the bath is what I’d call modern. Dark blue tile lines the walls and a glass-enclosure gives way to a waterfall showerhead. I remember seeing these things on late night shopping networks. People would call in and rave about how water falling from the top of the shower versus the side wall changed their lives.

I guess I’m about to find out.

I strip off my wet clothes and step inside, running my hand under the hot stream of goodness before disappearing into the waterfall that’s spilling above me. The water is so hot on my cold skin it stings, but I don’t care. The TV was right, this is life changing.

Built into the shower are small nooks for shampoo and body wash, but only one is filled. I spin in a circle, looking for a second bottle, but a musky body wash is all that’s there.

Okay… I guess you can’t have a life-changing shower and ideal soap choices all at once. That would be crazy. I wonder for a second if Gunner has seen those same infomercials. It doesn’t take long for laughter to bubble its way up into my throat.

Lord, the man is at least twenty years older than me. He’s served in a war. He’s built his own cabin—I assume. I highly doubt he has time to sit around and watch infomercials about showerheads.

I linger in the hot water until my fingers are pruned, then make my way out and toward the flannel Gunner left out for me. Tossing it on and moving forward with my day should be the next logical step. Instead, I suck in the scent of the fabric, aching for a whiff of the massive man that’s been so kind to me.

Pine, cedar, hints of undefinable musk. I towel off and slide the red checkered shirt over my head, allowing it to swallow me up in its warmth before I check myself in the mirror.

My skin is paler than normal, my hair is stringy and wet, and Gunner’s shirt hangs on me like I’ve wrapped myself in a set of curtains.

I love it! I love it too much.

I dance from the bathroom and toss my clothes in the dryer, pretending I’m a princess who’s found a cabin in the woods whose prince will soon be home from slaying a dragon or saving some townspeople from an evil queen. When I was young, storybooks were the only source of family I had to draw from. I guess, in a way, they still are. Except now, it’s romance novels. Rugged men, smart women, and ridiculous scenarios that bring them together.

Maybe this is the start of my happily ever after. Maybe Gunner is thinking of me right now, trying to figure out a way to tell me he’s fallen in love, and he can’t wait to have babies and raise them on the mountain likeThe Wilderness Family.

I laugh at the ridiculousness of my thoughts. I need help.

On the table in the kitchen, Gunner’s phone sits face up, reminding me of my train wreck of a life that’s waiting for me. It’s only been thirty minutes. I have an hour and a half left. Even then, I don’t think that’s enough time to get my life back on track.

Phone in my hand, I toggle through to the search screen, trying not to notice the types of apps Gunner’s downloaded on his phone.What kind of person trusts enough to leave their cell phone alone with a stranger?Most people I know guard their phones with their lives. Passwords, fingerprints, face ID’s—you’d think they were hiding government secrets.

Staying on task, I Google mechanics in Rugged Mountain. One pops up. It’s run by a guy namedLevi, and the shop is open until five tonight. Knowing I have zero dollars and zero cents to my name is going to make this conversation hard, but maybe there’s some chance of a miracle happening.What that miracle would be… I don’t know.

I draw in a deep breath and dial the number for the shop, hoping the man on the other end of the line has a heart of gold and loves working for free. “You deserve the best. This is Levi. How can I help?”

I like that.I do deserve the best,though I have a feeling thebestis going to cost more than nothing.

“Oh.Hi.I, ugh, I have a car that won’t start. It quit on Highway 20, about ten miles from town. I need a tow and for someone to take a look. How much would you charge for that?”

He hums low into the phone. “I could tow it in for seventy-five. We’ll check it out for free, and I can call you with a quote once I have it in the shop.”

Seventy-five dollars may as well be a million at this point. I don’t know what I was thinking when I called. “Alright. Umm… give me a minute or two and I’ll call back.”

“Wait.” The man’s voice is deep and resonates through the phone. “You’re calling from Gunner’s number. Who’s this?”

I twist my wet hair into a knot around my index finger. “Gunner is a friend. Well, not really afriend. He’s a guy who picked me up and now I’m in this cabin and using his phone.” I laugh even though my stomach is turning. I’m sure I sound like an incompetent idiot. “The truth is, I need a tow and repair, but I’m low on money. I’m willing to work, though! Cleaning… paperwork… whatever you need, I can do it.” I think about what I’ve said. “Notwhateveryou need. I don’t know how to repair cars or motorcycles or anything like that.” I must sound so dumb. “I’m sorry. I’ll call around.”

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