They didn’t know I was HomeGuard’s secret ace. An adjuster so diligent that no fraud ever snuck past me. I’d caught contractors padding estimates by thousands of dollars. I’d spotted staged damage that would have cost the company six figures. I was good at my job, even if that job sometimes made me feel like a heartless corporate drone.
And now I was stuck in the mud, my car tilted at an angle that made my stomach lurch, and the only person I could think to call was the mountain man whose bed I’d been fantasizing about all day.
I tried one more time to rock the car free, pressing the gas gently, but the tires just spun and sprayed mud against the undercarriage. The rental car was going nowhere without help.
Fuck.
I pulled out my phone and stared at Clayton’s number. He’d given it to me this morning, “just in case,” and I’d told myself I wouldn’t need it. I was a capable, independent woman who didn’t need a rugged backwoods carpenter rescuing me like I was a damsel in distress.
But I also wasn’t stupid enough to sit out here all night in a stuck car when temperatures were supposed to drop close to freezing.
I hit the call button before I could talk myself out of it.
He answered on the second ring. “Rachel?”
“I’m stuck.” The words came out clipped, my embarrassment shining through. “My car’s in the mud about two miles past the Miller’s Ridge turnoff. I tried to get it out, but the tires just spun.”
There was a pause, and I braced myself for mockery. An “I told you so” about my impractical heels or my city-girl incompetence.
Instead he just said, “Sit tight. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
He hung up before I could thank him, which was probably for the best because I wasn’t sure I could have gotten the words out without my voice cracking.
True to his word, Clayton’s truck appeared around the bend exactly fourteen minutes later, its headlights cutting through the gray drizzle. He pulled up alongside me and climbed out without bothering to put on a jacket. Rain immediately darkened his flannel shirt as he assessed the situation, plastering it to his thick chest.
“You really buried it,” he said, but there was no judgment in his tone. Just observation.
“The road looked solid.”
“It’s not.” He was already walking to the back of his truck, pulling out a tow strap. “This whole stretch turns to soup when it rains. Locals know to take the long way around.”
I wanted to snap at him that I wasn’t a local and had no way of knowing that, but that would have been rude, so I bit my tongue and watched him work instead.
Ten minutes later my rental was free while Clayton wiped his muddy hands on his jeans.
We were both soaked through, but at least my car was free.
He put a hand on my back as he led me to the driver’s side. When I got to my door, he slipped his arm around my waist and tugged me closer, pressing his back against me.
With a low growl he told me, “Next time you call me before you drive into a ditch. Understood?”
Yes, sir.
Something melted inside me, and my panties slicked up.
Then, in a softer tone, he asked, “Do you feel safe driving back?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll follow you just to make sure.”
Shelly had been right. He reallydidcome across as a small-town mountain hero.
And I couldn’t wait to slip into his bed again tonight.
Please let the furnace still be broken.
And lucky me, when I got to his house, I found out it was.
