of paint would do wonders for this place.
Kaleb stood behind the desk, his back to her. “Be right with you.” The overhead fluorescent bulbs highlighted a bit of blond in his short sandy-brown hair.
She waited in silence, her anxiety building.
“Grace?” His smile was easy and he appeared almost happy to see her. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a flat on my bike. By any chance do you sell tire plugs?”
“No, we do not.”
In that instant, her tire wasn’t the only thing that was deflated. Oh, well. At least she was within walking distance of work. She’d just have to wait for the hardware store to replenish their stock. Or check with one of those other Jeep places the clerk had mentioned.
“But I’d be happy to give you one.”
Her gaze jerked to Kaleb’s. “Really?”
“Mountain View Tours always takes care of their customers.”
“I’m not a—”
“And their employees.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks grew warm and she turned her head to hide the reaction.
“I’ll be right back.” He rounded the counter and disappeared through the door that led to the garage. A minute later, he reappeared. “Here you go.” He handed her a bag with three plugs. “You need any tools?”
“Those I have, so no—” she dared to look at him “—thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He glanced at the generic round wall clock behind the desk. “I’m about to lock up. I could give you a lift and help with that tire, if you like.”
“Oh, that won’t be—”
“Grace, a gentleman does not let an unaccompanied female fix her own flat tire.”
“But—”
“No matter how capable she might be.”
Again she felt herself blush. Totally weird since she couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed. Still, she didn’t need or want Kaleb’s help. She didn’t like to rely on other people. She could take care of herself.
“Look, this wouldn’t be the first plug I’ve done.” No, it would be the second. “I can have it fixed—”
“Grace.” The look he gave her left no room for question. Much like her commanding officer. “I’m coming to help you, and that’s all there is to it.”
Great. So her boss thought her a damsel in distress.
She’d just have to prove him wrong.
Kaleb held the passenger door of his Jeep open as Grace, now sporting a ponytail and a plain gray T-shirt, reluctantly climbed inside. Clearly, she was a strong, independent woman, evidenced by the fact that she drove a motorcycle and was staying alone at the campground. Still, he preferred to make sure things were done and done right.
“This really isn’t necessary, you know.” Grace’s tone held a hint of annoyance, which he chose to ignore.
“So you’ve said.” He tossed the door closed, continued around to the driver’s side and hopped in. “But given that you’re new in town, it’s only logical that I should offer my newest employee a hand. People helping people. That’s how we are in Ouray.”
While she stared out the window, he started the vehicle, crossed Main Street and headed down Seventh Avenue.
Grace jerked her head in his direction. “How do you know which way to go?”
“Easy.” He eyed the cross streets for traffic. “There are only two RV parks within walking distance of Main Street. I saw you coming up Seventh before turning into the hardware store.” He shrugged. “Simple process of elimination.”
She didn’t say anything, but her narrowed eyes told him she wasn’t necessarily pleased with his observation. Not that he cared. War had taught him to pay attention to detail.
He made a right onto Oak Street, gravel crunching beneath the Jeep’s heavy-duty tires. “I’ll have to rely on you to direct me to your campsite, though. Either that or drive around until I see your motorcycle.”
“Wouldn’t take you long. I’m just a few sites into the campground.”
Sure enough. Once they’d passed the office on the right and showers to their left, he spotted her motorcycle and camper.
Grace was halfway out the door before he even brought the Jeep to a stop in front of her campsite. She moved around the vehicle and continued straight on to her tent.
Women. He hoped she wasn’t going to be this stubborn about everything.
She had a tire that needed fixing, though, and he intended to do just that.
He stepped out of the Jeep and retrieved his toolbox from the backseat. When he turned around, Grace reappeared—carrying a toolbox.
Uh-oh. Tread lightly, Palmer.
“For the record—” he set his toolbox on the ground beside her motorcycle “—I’m not a chauvinist or anything. I just like to make sure things are done correctly.”
She set her toolbox down with a thud, then crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t think I can do it correctly?”
“I didn’t say that.” He eyeballed the flat tire, spotting the nail right away. “It’ll just make me feel better, that’s all.”
Kneeling on his good knee, he lifted the lid on his toolbox and reached for a pair of pliers. “Do you have a compressor or something to inflate the tire once it’s repaired?”
She continued to glare at him. “Wouldn’t take a road trip without one.”
“Glad to hear it.” Using the pliers, he pulled the nail from the tire. “You said you had a plug tool?”
Her brow shot up. “You mean you don’t have one?”
He pondered the spitfire staring down at him. “Actually...” He dug through his toolbox until he found his own plug kit tucked in the bottom. “Yep.” He held it up.
Threading the thick rubbery plug through the eye of the tool that was best described as a giant needle with a handle, he glanced over his shoulder.
“That’s an interesting setup you’ve got there.” Definitely not like the campers he was used to seeing. Instead of the pop-up going up and out on both ends, it went up and then out on one side, making it look like a tent sitting on a wagon.
“Thanks.” Arms still crossed,
