while she didn’t even reach his shoulder, she wasn’t tiny everywhere. She looked like the generously endowed winner of a wet T-shirt contest. A blouse that had probably once been white but was now translucent was plastered to an equally see-through lace bra. He abruptly glanced away but not before catching a glimpse of dark, puckered nipples.
In one motion, he ripped off his leather jacket and shoved it toward her. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Cheeks flushed with color, she accepted the coat, her hazel eyes not quite meeting his.
Watching her put on his clothing felt uncomfortably intimate, and he found himself annoyed with her for being here, in his path. “Don’t you have some kind of road service you could call?”
“Even if I did, there’s no reception here. But I’m not incapable of—”
“Wait in the cab,” he ordered. “No sense in both of us getting drenched.”
Her posture went rigid, and she drew herself up to her full—what, five feet? But she didn’t argue. “Far be it from me to look a gift Samaritan in the mouth.” Once inside, she rolled down the window. Literally. The truck had one of the manual window cranks that had been replaced with electric buttons in most modern vehicles. She seemed to be supervising his work.
“This truck is ancient,” he said. “God knows why you’re driving it when the kinder thing would be to shoot it and put it out of its misery.”
“It’s not that bad,” she retorted. Was that indignation or worry in her tone? “It just needs a little TLC.”
He grunted, focusing on getting the tire changed. Stomping on the wrench to loosen the lug nut felt good. He was in the mood to kick something’s ass. By the time he had the spare in place, the rain had shifted to a heavy drizzle. Ominous black clouds rolled closer. The storm might be taking a coffee break, but it hadn’t quit.
“That spare’s not going to get you far,” he warned. “It’s in lousy shape. Kind of like the rest of this heap.” His disdain encompassed the replacement door that was a different color from the body of the truck and a side mirror that looked loose.
She met his contempt with a half smile. “On the bright side, getting the flat gave me a chance to rest the engine and let the radiator cool down. Don’t worry, my ranch is only a few miles away. In fact, you should come with me. Wait out the storm. Judging from those clouds, we’re in for a lot worse.”
Although he recognized the logic in her words, the invitation irked him. “Lady, I could be a serial killer. You don’t invite strangers home with you.”
“Not normally, no.” Her hazel eyes darkened, her expression somber. “If it helps, I was taught self-defense by a marine and I’m a lot tougher than I look.”
A sizzle of lightning struck close enough to make both of them start.
“You shouldn’t be riding that motorcycle in this,” she scolded. For a split second, she reminded him of his sister, Arden. Not all women were so at ease bossing around grown men who towered over them. He wondered if Hazel Eyes had brothers. If they worked on that ranch she’d mentioned, it could explain why she wasn’t worried about bringing a total stranger home with her.
“Come on,” she prompted, impatience creeping into her tone as more lightning flashed. “I have enough problems without picking up my morning paper and seeing that you got fried to the asphalt.”
He didn’t realize he was going to agree until the words left his mouth. “Lead the way.” He hadn’t been there the day a car accident had shattered his world, hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to help. He found he couldn’t abandon this woman until she and her rattling joke of a truck were out of the rain.
Mounting his bike, he shook his head at the unexpected turn of events. Hazel was not the first woman who’d invited him back to her place. But it was the first time in two years that he’d accepted.
* * *
COLIN WAS TOO occupied with the diminishing visibility and handling his bike on the dirt road to study his surroundings. He had a general impression of going through a gated entrance; farther ahead were much larger structures, likely the main house and a barn or stable. But the truck stopped at a narrow, one-story building.
The woman parked in the mud, gesturing out her window that he should go around and park beneath the covered carport, where the motorcycle would be out of the worst of the elements. She joined him under the carport a moment later, her hand tucked inside the purse she wore over her shoulder. He wondered if she had pepper spray or a Taser in there. She’d sounded serious when she mentioned the self-defense lessons.
“This is the old bunkhouse,” she said. “I’m about to start refurbing it as a guest cabin, but at the moment it’s mostly empty.”
He supposed that any brothers or a husband lived in the main house with her. Although what caring husband would let his wife drive a disaster on wheels like that truck?
She tossed him a key ring and nodded toward the door. “You can get a hot shower, dry off. There’s a microwave and a few cans of soup in the cabinet. Before you tell me I’m naive and that you might be a master burglar, let me assure you there’s nothing to steal. I doubt you could get thirty bucks on Craigslist for the twin bed and microwave combined.”
He unlocked the door, noting how she kept a casual but unmistakable distance. Once he’d flipped the light switch, he saw that she was right about the lack of luxuries. The “carpet” was the kind of multipurpose indoor/outdoor covering used more in screened patios than homes. There was enough space for three or four beds, but only one was pushed against the wall. At one end of the long, rectangular interior was a minifridge and microwave, at the other a bathroom. Aside from a couple of truly ugly paintings of cows, the place was barren.
He stopped in the center of the room, raising an eyebrow. “The minifridge brings up my Craigslist asking price to thirty-five.”
She gave a sharp laugh, abruptly stifled. “Sorry the accommodations aren’t classier. The ranch is...in a rebuilding phase.”
The note of genuine embarrassment in her voice made him uneasy. “It’s plenty classy. I’ve slept on the ground during cattle drives and in horse stalls on more than one occasion.” By slept, he meant tossing and turning, trying to avoid nightmares of everything he’d lost.
Those hazel eyes locked on him, her expression inexplicably intense. “You work with livestock!”
Isn’t that what he’d just said? “As often as I can.” He preferred animals to people. “Sometimes I do other odd jobs, too. I was headed into Bingham Pass to get more information about a local employment opportunity.”
“Then you haven’t already committed to it?” A smile spread across her face, revealing two dimples. “Because, as it happens, I’m hiring.” She stepped forward, extending her hand. The oversize jacket parted, revealing a still damp but not entirely transparent blouse. Thank God.
“I’m Hannah.”
Hannah, Hazel. He’d been close.
“Hannah Shaw,” she elaborated when he said nothing. “Owner of the Silver Linings Ranch.”
Foreboding cramped low in his belly. Paralyzed, he neglected to shake
