I pull my sweaty hair away from my neck and start to braid it absentmindedly, thinking through my options. His eyes track my motions. Back when we were together, his hands always seemed to find their way to my hair, playing with the ends when we talked, brushing it away from my face when we kissed, winding it around his fist when we…well.
I drop the locks and clear my throat. Maybe this isn’t a disaster yet. Logan isn’t chasing me out of town with apitchfork yet—he’s helping so far. As tempting as it is to keep turning him down, I know better, especially since it could reverse the strikes of a looming disaster. It would be so much worse if more people who despise me came upon me. Or the local cops.
“If you could get me off the highway,” I say finally. “I would really appreciate it.”
Logan nods. He jumps into gear, backing his truck up to my van, looking more burnt marshmallow than engine at this point. Will insurance cover this? I know I shouldn’t have gotten the cheapest option. God, do I even have comprehensive coverage?
Logan hitches my van to his truck, and then, like a gentleman, he opens the truck’s passenger door for me when we’re ready to go.
“Thanks, Logan,” I say, and swing myself up. His name seems to linger on my tingling lips.
Logan climbs into his seat and starts the car. Some quiet indie music plays over the stereo. Déjà vu spreads through me, and I feel myself relax, as I always did back in high school when Logan would take me to stay at his parents’ house whenever my mom went on a bender.
“How is your mom?” I ask as we take off. I immediately regret it. I don’t want to resurrect the past.
“She’s doing great. Retired early.”
Uneasiness spreads through me. Oh no. Did my actions traumatize her so much that she quit school counseling altogether? “And your dad?”
“Great. He’s retired too. Started cycling seriously, goes miles and miles every day up all these crazy hills. He’s insane. Fitter than all of us kids put together. What are you doinghere?” He clears his throat. “I mean, what brings you to Sagebrush?”
“An engine fire, apparently,” I say with a laugh. “I’m just passing through,” I add. “Well, I was. I’ll find my way out of here again, regardless of what the mechanic says, don’t worry about that.”
Logan frowns, about to answer, when I interrupt: “Is that it?” We turn up a side dirt road to a large rusty metal garage.
“Yep, best mechanic out here.”
I didn’t have a car the last time I was here, so I decide to take his word for it. “Is it someone I know?” I ask hesitantly.
Logan doesn’t answer right away. “I don’t think so? Samuel Torres? I think Sam graduated several years before we did.”
Samuel Torres doesn’t ring a bell in my memory. “All right.”
***
“Jesus, what a mess,” are the first words out of Sam’s mouth when he sees Clunker. “Yours?” He nods at me.
“Yep, that beauty’s mine. Prognosis, Doctor?”
Sam wipes his greasy hands on a towel as he squints at my poor baby. “It’ll take some time even to diagnose her. Let me get your contact info, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Logan chats quietly with Sam while I climb into the back of Clunker to collect my stuff. I bite my lip as I assess what of my home to take with me. Maybe Logan can recommend a cheap motel, or, more unlikely, direct me to a nearby hostel.
On second thought, I don’t want him to get any ideas. Men seem to think that bringing up hotels is an invitation to join me at them. Damsel in distress I may be, but I don’t want him to think I’m that grateful. I’m already indebted to him.
Logan suddenly lets out a deep laugh. Startled, I glance out the passenger side window. Not just his face, but all of himtransforms into a dangerously attractive man with a beautiful laugh.
Anyway. Focus. I need a place to stay.
I have less than a thousand dollars in my bank account, and I need to save most of it for Clunker. Staying at a hotel will quickly wipe that out. From the last time I lived here, I know the nearest camping supplies store is in Sedona. I guess I can hitchhike to Sedona, buy a tent and a sleeping bag, then stay the night at a campground.
Is it even legal to hitchhike in Arizona? I never see anyone try—only those signs warning not to pick up hitchhikers posted next to the state penitentiaries. It’s already dark. Could I even successfully hitch a ride with a non-creepy person and make it to Canyon Outfitters before they close? I doubt Uber operates out here.
I might have to bite the bullet and pay for one night somewhere. I pack what I need for an overnight stay, then toss all my clothing and shoes into my oversized trash bag because—who am I kidding?—Clunker won’t be ready to drive again tomorrow, or anytime soon, and who knows what I’ll need. I stuff my climbing gear into a second bag. If I can’t pay the bill to resuscitate Clunker, I don’t want to have to break into her to retrieve my most valuable—at least to me—worldly goods.
“All right, all ready to go. Thanks so much, Sam,” I say as I climb out of my van. “Logan, I appreciate your help.” I hesitate. “I can reimburse you for the tow—”
Logan looks startled. “No. Where are you going to stay?”
