Sierra’s announcement. Everyone in town was aware of Beau’s frequent visits to the diner and Jordan probably wondered if Sierra’s friend happened to be Beau.
She appreciated that her aunt hadn’t pried—after all, Sierra was thirty-one, old enough to have a sleepover with a man. In truth, she’d love to get to know Beau better, but life wasn’t fair. Too bad he’d happened along tonight. She’d been certain she’d get out of this mess without anyone the wiser.
“Pop the hood,” he said.
“There’s no need. I called Davidson Towing. Stan is out on another call but should be here in a little while.” Maybe if she distracted Beau, he’d forget about checking the engine. “Returning from a rodeo?”
“Yep. Hauled a couple of Thunder Ranch bulls down to Rock Springs, Wyoming.”
“Did you compete?”
He rested an arm along the top of the car. “Sure did, and I won.” His cocky grin warmed her better than her down parka.
“Congratulations.” The diner’s patrons kept Sierra up to date on their hometown cowboys’ accomplishments. Since she’d moved to Roundup five years ago, most of the gossip about the Adams twins focused on Duke’s rodeo successes. Lately, Beau was getting his turn in the spotlight.
“Wanna see my buckle?”
She swallowed a laugh. “Sure.” He removed the piece of silver from his coat pocket and passed it through the open window. “It’s beautiful.”
“There’s no need for you to freeze. Stan’ll tow your car to his garage and square the bill with you in the morning.” Beau reached for the door handle.
“No!” Sierra cringed. She hadn’t meant to shout. For a girl who’d lived most of her life in Chicago, small towns were both a blessing and a curse. She handed Beau the buckle. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d prefer to wait with my car.”
Instead of backing away he poked his head through the window, his hair brushing the side of her face. A whiff of faded cologne—sandalwood and musk—swirled beneath her nose. “Just checking to make sure there’s no serial killer in the backseat holding you hostage.”
Oh, brother.
“If you’re determined to wait for Stan, then sit in my truck. I’ve got the heat going and I’ll share the coffee I bought at the rest stop.”
“Thanks, but you should get your bulls back to the ranch.” C’mon, Beau. Give up and go home.
“I don’t like the idea of you waiting out here all alone.”
“This is Roundup, Montana. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“You’re forgetting the break-ins this past summer. This area is no Mayberry, U.S.A.”
Sierra regretted her flippant remark. Although Roundup had been and would continue to be a safe place to live and raise a family, a rash of thefts in the ranching community had put people on edge for a while. Even Beau had been victimized when one of his custom-made saddles had been stolen and sold at a truck stop miles away.
“I’ll be fine. Besides, your cousin caught those thieves.” She switched on the interior light and pointed to her winter coat. “And I’m plenty warm.” A flat tire during her first winter in Big Sky country had taught Sierra to keep a heavy jacket in her vehicle year-round. Unlike Chicago, car trouble in rural Montana could mean waiting an entire day for help to arrive and the state’s weather was anything but predictable—sixty degrees one hour, a blizzard the next.
“How long did you say you’ve been waiting for Stan?”
“Twenty minutes maybe.” When had she become such an accomplished liar?
Beau walked to the front of the car and placed his hand on the hood.
Busted. She’d been parked for over three hours—surely the engine was stone cold. “Thanks again for stopping to check on me,” she called out the window, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“You’re sure you don’t want a ride to the diner?”
“Positive.”
“Okay. Take care.” He retreated to his truck where he took his dang tootin’ time pulling back onto the road. As soon as the livestock trailer disappeared around the bend in the road, Sierra breathed a sigh of relief.
Then the tears fell.
Ah, Beau. Darn the man for being…nice. Handsome. Sexy.
Over a year ago, Sierra had become aware of the subtle changes in her eyesight, but she’d steadfastly ignored the signs and had gone about life as usual. Her resolve to pretend her vision was fine had grown stronger after each encounter with Beau. Then her aunt had arrived unannounced—thanks to the busybodies who’d informed her of Sierra’s recent mishaps around town—determined to persuade Sierra to schedule an appointment with an ophthalmologist. Sadly, she didn’t need an examination to tell her that she’d inherited the gene for the eye disease that had led to her aunt’s blindness.
Why couldn’t Beau have paid attention to her when she’d first arrived in Roundup years ago? Darn life for being unfair. Sierra rested her head on the back of the seat. Maybe she’d see—ha, ha, ha—things in a different light come morning.
Morning arrived at 6:25 a.m., when a semi truck whizzed by her car and woke her. She wiggled her cold toes and fingers until the feeling returned to the numb digits. If she hurried, she’d have time to mix a batch of biscuits before the diner doors opened for breakfast at seven.
She snapped on her seat belt then checked the rearview mirror. Oh. My. God. Beau’s pickup, minus the livestock trailer, sat a hundred yards behind her. Embarrassed and humiliated that he’d caught her red-handed in a lie, she shoved the key into the ignition and the SUV engine fired to life. After checking for cars in both directions she hit the gas. The back tires spewed gravel as she pulled onto the highway. Keeping a death grip on the steering wheel she glanced at the side mirror—Beau remained fast asleep, slouched against the driver’s-side window.
Don’t you dare cry.
Her eyesight was blurry in the mornings, and if she gave into the tears that threatened to fall she’d be forced to pull off the road again—and then what excuse would she give Beau?
* * *
BEAU WOKE IN time to catch the taillights of Sierra’s SUV driving off. The least she could have done was thank him for watching over her through the night.
Sierra mystified him. After finding her stranded on the side of the road he’d been puzzled by her insistence that he not wait with her for a tow. Then, when he’d placed his hand on the hood of the car and discovered the engine was cold, his suspicions had grown. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what she’d been up to, but she’d made it clear she didn’t want his help, so he’d moseyed along. When he’d reached Roundup, he’d driven past Davidson Towing. Stan’s tow truck had sat parked in the lot, the lights turned off in the service garage.
For a split second, Beau had wondered if Sierra had intended to rendezvous with a man, but he’d nixed that idea. Before he’d begun his
