He turned toward her, one hand on the edge of her raised hood. His eyes were brown, but not a plain brown or even a deep, intensive one, but an electric brown with sparks of gold. They danced over her face. His voice came out gruff, almost a whisper. “I understand your problem.”
She massaged the taut cords of her neck. For a heartbeat, she wondered if he referred to her or her car. Hope lilted her question. “You do?”
“Yep. One of your hoses is cracked. Probably due to the heat.”
She swayed on her heels and dropped her face, pretending to study the hulk of metal and plastic under her hood. No matter her degrees and successes, sometimes she was a complete and total idiot. Like now. This redneck mountain man could never understand her. Her hair swished forward, pieces sticking to her cheeks, hiding her face. “Can you fix it?”
He left her standing over the puzzle of her engine. He hadn’t even offered to call a tow truck. She felt oddly abandoned.
He stopped at an old blue-and-white Ford pickup truck parked in the shadow of a huge oak tree. Instead of climbing in and driving off with a grin and a wave, he flipped open a white, metal utility box in the truck bed. Clanging metal accompanied his search. He made a satisfied exclamation before trotting back toward her. “Duct tape. I always keep a roll handy. You mind hanging on to my hat?”
Without giving her a chance to answer, he pushed the ball cap into her hands, dropped to lay on the ground, and scooched under her car. Bent at the knees, his legs stuck out from under the bumper.
An embroidered flying falcon on the side of his cap had lost half of its thread, and she picked at the fraying brim. She shuffled her feet apart and flapped her blouse to catch the slight breeze ruffling her hair. The occasional rip of tape punctuated the unidentifiable song he hummed.
His shimmy reversed itself, and he emerged with new brown stains on the front of his shirt and a glossy smear along his cheekbone. He wiped his hands along the edge of his shirt, dirtying it further, and ran the back of his wrist over his forehead, wiping away a rivulet of sweat.
“You’ve got some grease on your cheek.” She pointed like a three-year-old.
He brought the edge of his T-shirt to his face and scrubbed it clean. At least she assumed that’s what he was doing, because she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his torso.
Michael, the boyfriend she’d broken up with six months ago, had kept his chest waxed to show off the contours he worked hard for in the gym. Mountain Man did not wax. Curly brownish hair led from his partially revealed pecs straight into the waistband of the gray boxer briefs peeking out of his jeans. And for all the time her ex-boyfriend had put in at the gym, he never built the solid, thick muscles of the man standing close enough to touch.
Mountain Man didn’t lift weights for an hour then push papers around a desk for the rest of the day. Maybe he chopped wood or moved bales of hay or broke horses. She’d watched a documentary on real-life working cowboys one sleepless night and had unusually erotic-laced dreams when she’d finally drifted off.
“Do you ride a horse?” Wait a holy-rolling second … had she said that aloud?
His shirt dropped, breaking the trancelike state induced by his abs. “A horse? No, I mostly get around in a truck.” His laughter rumbled through her, but instead of embarrassing her, she had to choke off a teenaged giggle. What was wrong with her?
He added, “My schedule’s crazy. I’d love a dog, but I’m gone too much.”
Did that mean no wife or live-in girlfriend? What did it matter? She was about to drive off and probably never see him again. “Thanks for fixing my car, I guess I’ll be—”
“Hold up, now.” His ringless left hand came up between them. Relief shot through her body. “It ain’t fixed. It’s patched. Where’re you staying?”
“I’ve got reservations at a hotel in Tuscaloosa. It’s the …” She grabbed her phone from the front seat to pull up the details from her email. She muttered a curse and tossed the phone back in her purse.
“No service? Only one carrier operates in Falcon.” He bared his teeth and shook his head. “I can’t, in good conscience, let you drive to Tuscaloosa, especially with no phone service.”
“I wouldn’t make it?”
“You might. Then again, you might overheat and damage your engine block. It’s all two-lane roads and not much but fields between here and there. How long is your business in Falcon going to take?”
She ran her fingertips under her bangs to press at the center of her forehead. The throb had roared back with a vengeance. “I was counting on at least a week.”
Mountain Man scrubbed at the patch of hair sprouting below his bottom lip. His mouth was pinched tight, and he seemed to be assessing her anew.
“A friend of mine is opening a bed and breakfast soon. There’s no reason to be driving back and forth between Falcon and Tuscaloosa. You can be her first customer, have the place to yourself. It’s walking distance to downtown. Shopping, food, entertainment.” His lips quirked. “Well, entertainment might be overstating things a bit, but the first football game is only a couple of weeks away. It’s quite the spectacle. Not to be missed. What do you say?”
“I doubt I’ll be around that long,” she said vaguely, buying time. “What about my car?”
“I’ll get it towed to Jeb Harrison’s shop. He’s a good, honest mechanic.”
The promise of a cool shower before the hour was up was tempting. Her hair stuck to her neck, and she’d be shocked if sweat stains hadn’t ruined her blouse. The man had done nothing to warrant distrust on her part. In fact, he’d gone above and beyond to help her, and if she had to meet with Logan Wilde more than twice, it made sense to stay closer. And if things appeared at all shady, she would hightail it away, coolant leak or not.
She nodded. “All right. Can I get a loaner car from your mechanic friend?”
“I’ll have my buddy Dixon drop one off for you. He owns a dealership.”
“Do you know everyone in this town?”
“Pretty much. I grew up here, and I suppose I’ll die here. Someday they’ll bury me next to ancestors who settled this land, fought in the Civil War and both World Wars.” He dropped the hood closed, and the bang reverberated like a gunshot.
An annoyed blue jay flew over them and squawked. A sense of melancholy tightened her chest, and she covered with a tight laugh. “Geez, that’s morbid.”
Surprise lifted his face. “You think? I find it comforting myself. Why don’t you grab your stuff, and I’ll give you a lift?”
“Will my car make it to the B&B?”
His eyes crinkled as if he suspected she didn’t trust him. Which was an accurate assessment.
“Probably.”
“Then I’ll drive myself.” She slid behind the wheel but left the door open.
Mountain Man nodded, tapped his fist on the fender, and retreated to his truck. His gait was relaxed, assured, confident. The man had probably never suffered an anxious moment.
She gritted her teeth and turned the key. The car started, and coolish air blew from the vents. The rumble of his truck grew louder. His window rolled down, and she pressed the button to lower hers.
He raised his voice to be heard over the truck. “We’re going to turn left out of the lot. If you have problems, flash your lights and pull over. I’ll go slow.”
She followed him, prepared for her car to betray her at any moment. The farther down the road they travelled, the less she worried about her car making it, and more about where they were headed.
She questioned the thought process that had led her to this point. Without an operational phone, she couldn’t even fall back on 911. Did a pokey, still-water town like Falcon even have 911?
She was following a strange man to a strange house. A frenzy of nerves shot from her stomach through her body like electric currents, triggering irrational threads of thought. What was Mountain Man’s real name? She would expect a Bubba to be wearing overalls. How about Buford? Not likely. Beau? Old-fashione
d, upper crust. Didn’t fit. Chester? That made her jump straight to Chester the Molester. Dear Lord, what if that was actually his name?
They turned down a wide street lined with hundred-year-old oak trees. Houses were set well back from the road, each on at least an acre of land. Most were modern stucco or two-story brick.
Sitting at the end of the street like a queen on her throne, an antebellum-style mansion looked ready for a Gone with the Wind remake. Massive magnolias framed the white-columned beauty. Mountain Man pulled into a gravel driveway that lay in a semicircle up to the front steps and tooted his horn.
Jessica pulled in behind and turned her car off, but she was ready to turn the key, and her foot hovered above the gas pedal. The front door opened as Jessica held her breath, ready for a gentleman in a top hat and tails or a woman in a hooped skirt to sweep out.
Instead, a petite woman with ebony hair in a swinging ponytail swallowed by an oversized T-shirt marched out, took one look at Mountain Man, and yelled, “You asshole! How could you sic him on me?”
The woman stomped barefoot down the sweeping front staircase, picked up a magnolia pod, and lobbed it at Mountain Man. It hit him on the forehead, knocking his hat backward. “What the fu—heck are you talking about, Lilliana?”
Was this spitfire of a woman his girlfriend? This certainly had the hallmarks of a lovers’ spat. The thought was somehow more bothersome than Mountain Man possibly being Chester the Molester.
“Alec Grayson. He came by for an inspection. Unannounced.” Lilliana picked up another magnolia pod and threatened to throw it.
“I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. The city’s hired him as the building code enforcer. In fact, I come bearing a gift. Your first customer.” Mountain Man opened Jessica’s car door with a flourish.
Jessica didn’t get out. “Look. It sounds like you two have some stuff to work out, and I don’t want to get in the middle of it. I’ll take my chances on the drive to Tuscaloosa.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Come on and meet a first daughter of Falcon. Lilliana Hancock. Her ancestors settled Hancock County.” Mountain Man wrapped his hand around her forearm. The calluses of his fingers and palm rasped against her sensitized skin. The air in the car thickened, and when he tugged her hand off the steering wheel, she didn’t fight him but stepped out.
Lilliana Hancock smoothed her hair back. The smile that came to her face seemed like one she’d slapped on for politeness sake, stiff and faked. Jessica was familiar enough with the type, keeping one handy as well.
A breeze snaked through the trees, and the delicate scent of magnolia blossoms wrapped around her. Mountain Man’s hand settled on the hollow of her lower back, a gentle pressure guiding her closer to the steps. The woman had backed up and stood on the second step, putting them all close to equal height.
Jessica stuck her hand out and slipped on an answering smile. “Hello. I’m Jessica Montgomery. If this is going to be too much trouble …”
Mountain Man’s hand dropped from her back, and she found herself missing his touch.
Lilliana shook her hand with a firm grip and gestured toward the front door with the other. “Not a bit. Welcome to Hancock House. I hope you don’t mind being my guinea pig.” At this, Lilliana’s mouth screwed up into an apologetic grimace before a genuine sunny smile lit her face. It made all the difference. Jessica relaxed and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head.
Lilliana came down a step and peered at her face. “My goodness, you have gorgeous eyes. How do you do that with your eyeliner? Can you show me?”
Jessica ran a finger under her eye. It came away smudged black. “I think it might be a trick of the humidity and being stuck in a car with non-working AC.”
“Don’t her eyes look amazing?” Lilliana punched Mountain Man in the shoulder.
Jessica looked over and held her breath. During their brief time together, Jessica had pegged him for a good old boy. A grin wasn’t a signal of anything more complicated than simple happiness, but he didn’t grin and toss off an answering compliment. His brown eyes didn’t spark but hammered at her, searching for something. The sudden shift tossed her off-balance, and she dropped her gaze to their feet.
“Pretty surprising,” he finally said cryptically.
“O-kay,” Lilliana drawled and waved a hand in Mountain Man’s direction. “Make yourself useful and get Jessica’s bags. Come on in, and I’ll show you around.”
The cool blast of air soothed Jessica’s frayed nerves. Everything seemed easier when your body wasn’t about to spontaneously combust. Three pairs of shoes were jumbled under a white bench by the door. Jessica plopped down and kicked off her stilettos, setting them side by side with OCD-like precision. She stuck her legs out and wiggled her toes.
“Those are some impressive heels. I never mastered an elegant walk in heels. Which is a shame, ’cause I could use a couple of extra inches.” Lilliana waited in the doorway. “Come on up. Your room is the first one on the hall. It has a private attached bathroom. How tall are you anyway?”
“About five-nine.” Her three-inch heels put her exactly an inch taller than her father. She always bought three-inch heels.
A curved staircase rose from the middle of a large atrium and split, leading off into two wings. Jessica skimmed a hand up the oak banister, worn smooth by generations of hands. “How old is the house?”
“It was built in the 1820s by my many-greats-grandfather Zacharia Hancock. One wing burned in 1892 and was rebuilt. The staircase is from the original though. A Hancock has always lived here.” Pride, worry, and wistfulness entwined the words.
Paint cans were stacked against the wall, and a drop cloth had been haphazardly tossed over a chaise at the top of the stairs tucked into an alcove, the velvet upholstery worn shiny in places. Hancock House was far from being ready for guests.
Lilliana opened the first door in the right wing of the house and gestured Jessica inside. Jessica poked her head around the doorframe, worried about what awaited, but the blue-washed walls and white bedding over an old-fashioned canopied bed had an old-time charm.
Jessica’s bare feet landed on a plush antique rug, the swirling colors a perfect complement to the wide-planked dark-wood floors. This had any hotel beat. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is rather swanky, isn’t it?” Lilliana clasped her hands under her chin, accenting a pleased smile.
A door to her left was cracked open. The bathroom? Jessica couldn’t wait to see it. In two steps, she’d pushed the door open. “Dear Lord!”
Again, Jessica took another leap through time. This time to the 1950s. A color-blind person—or maybe just plain blind—had painted everything in the tiny bathroom hot pink to match the florid tile.
Lilliana’s sigh brushed over her upper arm. “I should have warned you. The bathroom is next on my list to remodel.”
Jessica’s mouth opened and closed a few times before locating a distant compliment. “It’s got its own kind of charm.”
A throaty laugh burst from Lilliana. “You must have been sent to some sort of finishing school. I can recognize another woman schooled in Southern politesse from a hundred yards.”
“I spent time in an all-girls boarding school up north, actually.” Jessica fiddled with her sunglasses.
“No boys? That must have been rough. I spent my summers stuck in Falcon being brainwashed by the most ancient of my female relatives. Naturally, I rebelled and became a pot-smoking bohemian artist, but their lessons do come in handy on occasion.”
Jessica muffled a laugh with her hand, not sure if Lilliana was joking.
She continued. “Speaking of acting ladylike, I suppose I owe the dipwad an apology.” Lilliana’s lips pursed and drew to the side, signaling her displeasure at the thought. Mountain Man backed into the room with Jessica’s two suitcases and a bag of shoes. Lilliana said in a distinctly unapologetic tone, “Sorry I pegged you with a flower pod.”
“You’ve done worse. Darlin’, can I use your
phone? I need to call Jeb to tow Ms. Montgomery’s car.” The ease of their conversation spoke of a long relationship, and Jessica wasn’t sure what to make of the use of the casual endearment.
“Sure thing. You lose yours again?” Lilliana pulled a phone from her back pocket.
“Some monster catfish is probably using up all my minutes.” He took it and retreated to the hallway.
Jessica tuned in to his low, rumbling voice and barely heard Lilliana explain where everything was. When Mountain Man returned the phone, he let his gaze rove all over the room before landing on her. She hadn’t realized how much she anticipated the heat of his regard until it hit her, but something about him had changed. The humor bubbling from under his good-natured manners had vanished.
“You going to be okay?” His hat shadowed his eyes, but something about his tone combined with his frown made her straighten and take on the demeanor of boardroom adversaries.
The fact he’d thought her anywhere close to helpless burned. Although, without a working phone or car and with the panic she worked hard to keep at bay breaking through weak cracks in her façade, she’d been dangerously close. At least she’d felt that way until he’d sauntered up like a dang cowboy.
“Of course. I’m perfectly fine,” she said in a tart voice, smoothing down her hair and looking up at him. The flat-ironed mass had surrendered to the humidity and reverted to the natural slight wave she stamped out of existence on a daily basis. Why had she taken her heels off? Mountain Man was entirely too tall.
“You heading back to Adaline’s tonight?” He dropped his face and scuffed one of his work boots along the fringe of the rug.
“As long as your buddy delivers me the promised loaner.”
“It’s on its way.” He took a step backward, toward the door.
This was it. He was going to walk out the door, and she’d most likely never see him again. She stepped forward and offered her hand. “Thanks.”
Slow and Steady Rush Page 28
