Logan bit back a smile. “Okay, princess. Let’s jump her.”
“There it is.”
He laughed. “What? It was a joke.” He jogged to his truck to grab jumper cables. When he returned, he clipped the red side onto the port on my battery, then popped his own hood and connected both cables there. He ran back and clipped the black side to something under my hood that wasn’t the battery.
“Are they on right?” My dad said something about electrocution or sudden death when he was giving me and mybrother the run down on car maintenance. Clearly that stuck. And nothing else.
Logan gave me a look. “Yeah.” He walked back to the truck and started his engine.
I jumped, expecting it to spark or blow up. One of the two.
“Get in and try it,” Logan called from the front seat.
I got in, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. I laughed out loud, my face lighting up like a Christmas tree. Logan was out, standing in front of the car again.
“It worked!” I went to hop out, but Logan motioned for me to stay.
“Keep it running. Let the battery charge.”
I nodded, hands gripping the wheel as cold air blasted from the vents. I flicked off the heater until the engine had time to warm up. Logan disconnected the cables, tossed them in the back of his truck, and tapped the hood twice before meeting me at the window.
“If you drive it straight home, you should be fine.”
“Should?” I repeated. Not the vote of confidence I was looking for.
He laughed at the expression on my face. “I’ll follow you.”
He lookedgoodin those sweats. And there was something about him knowing exactly what to do, bossing me around with all that confidence . . .
I forced my eyes down to the dashboard. Yikes. Maybe I didn’t need the heater after all.
When Logan’s truck lights flicked on, I pulled out of the lot. Everything went swimmingly until about three blocks away, when the wheel suddenly wouldn’t turn. The dashboard lights flickered like dying fireflies, and the engine stopped. No response when I pressed on the gas.
“No, no, no!” I coasted hopelessly toward the edge of the road like a grocery cart.
Logan pulled over behind me and parked on the curb. He jogged up to me, breath clouding in the freezing air. “Died?”
I couldn’t roll down the window, so I opened the door. “Do you think we didn’t run it long enough?”
“I’m guessing it’s the alternator. Probably why it died in the first place.”
He may as well have been speaking Mandarin. “Okay. So . . . “ My brain spun. There was a gas station on the corner. We could call a tow truck, but I had no idea how much that would cost this time of night.
Logan reached in and pulled the lever to pop the hood. His arm grazed my thigh on the way up, and I sucked in a breath. “I’ll jump it one more time. If we’re lucky, it’ll run long enough to get it to my place.”
“Your place?”
“Yeah. We can park it there, and tomorrow you can call a tow without freezing or getting murdered.”
I nodded. “I do love not getting murdered.” It was downtown Calgary. Not exactly Los Angeles, but still. I didn’t want to leave Jenna’s car here on a random street. Or even in the gallery parking lot.
Logan pulled up, turned on his hazards, and connected the cables again. When it was up and running he said, “Follow me. Don’t stop. Not at lights, not for pedestrians.”
“Right. Run the children over.”
Logan laughed, took his cables back, and pulled out. I tried not to stop, following him through yellow lights, one that was definitely red. But by sheer force of Logan’s will, divine luck, or both, the engine lasted until Logan pulled into a driveway five minutes or so later. The steering locked up right as I turned in, and Logan had to give it a push to get it fully off the street.
I put on the emergency brake and got out, sagging against the frame. “How much are alternators?”
