CHAPTER THREE
Emily
I stared at the flat tire and tried to remember if I believed in karma.
Because if I did, this was definitely payback for something. Maybe it was for that time I’d told my mother her pot roast tasted like cardboard. Or for stealing my brother’s Halloween candy when I was nine. Or for thinking extremely unprofessional thoughts about a certain patient.
Yeah. Probably that last one.
“This is fine,” I said out loud to no one. “This is totally fine.”
It wasn’t fine. It was the opposite of fine.
I’d left Mrs. Kowalski’s house twenty minutes ago, feeling pretty good about myself.
The sweet elderly woman had been thrilled to see me, had insisted I stay for tea and homemade cookies that were still warm from the oven, and had told me approximately forty-seven stories about her grandchildren while I’d checked her blood pressure and made sure she was taking her medications properly.
She’d also sent me home with a bag of apples from her tree when I mentioned my brother loved apple pies.
Then, still a good ten miles from town, I’d felt the jerk on my steering wheel and heard the sound. That terrible flapping, thumping sound that every driver knows means nothing good. The sound that makes your stomach drop and your day instantly worse.
A flat tire.
I’d managed to pull over to a relatively wide spot on the shoulder—and I was using the term shoulder generously.
The kind of spot where if you weren’t careful, your car could slide right off the edge and tumble down through the pine trees, and they’d find you sometime next spring when the snow melted.
Cheerful thought.
Now I was sitting on the hood of my hatchback, legs swinging, eating one of the apples because stress eating seemed like the appropriate response to this situation.
The apple was perfect—crisp and sweet, probably the best thing about my entire day.
I took another bite and stared at my phone, which was displaying exactly zero bars of service.
Not that I could call anyone. My mother was working, and my brother didn’t own a car. As always, I knew I’d have to figure this out for myself.
I’d already inspected the damage—the front driver’s side tire was flat as a pancake like I’d hit rock, maybe, or one of the many potholes that dotted this road like landmines designed specifically to destroy the suspension of anyone foolish enough to drive up here in a vehicle that wasn’t a tank.
I’d also already checked the trunk and confirmed what I’d been afraid I’d find.
No spare tire. Just a jack and a tire iron, sitting there uselessly, mocking me with their presence.
We’d had to use my spare tire on the flat my mother had gotten a few months ago.
Getting another one had been pushed to the back of my to do list—and my budget.
I just wished I could forget other things as easily.
Like the grumpy mountain man with abs.
I’d been having a difficult time accomplishing that.
It had been two days since Tucker had come to the clinic.
Two days since I’d felt the way he’d gone completely still when I’d placed the ice pack on his head.
Two days since he’d pulled me between his legs and all my girlie parts had lit up like a Christmas tree and the fourth of July rolled into one spectacular holiday.
Two days since he’d wrapped his hand around my wrist and looked at me with those dark eyes that saw way too much.
I took another bite of apple and swung my legs harder, the heels of my sneakers thumping rhythmically against the side of my car. This was fine. I was fine. I’d figure this out. I was a competent adult who could handle a flat tire on a mountain road with no cell service and no spare.
Probably.
Maybe.
My options were limited and none of them were great.
I could wait here and hope someone drove by, but this road wasn’t exactly a highway.
I could walk back to town. I’d probably be home before my mother got off work.
And if I wasn’t, she’d come looking for me.
After she called out the national guard.
Or I could walk up the mountain instead of down.
No, I reminded myself. That would be the highlight of foolishness.
Wouldn’t it?
To hike to Tucker’s cabin. A place that was completely out of the way. And certainly not the nearest house.
Nope, the smart thing would be to simply hike back to Mrs. Kowalski’s house and call a tow.
Not contemplate showing up on the doorstep of an emotionally unavailable man simply because he had a six pack of abs.
I tried to remind myself of every lesson I’d learned the hard way—men do not like curves.
They tolerated them sometimes, appreciated them in the dark where no one could see.
But they didn’t want them. Not in the way romance novels and movies promised.
Not in the way I’d stupidly hoped for when I was younger and naive.
And they especially didn’t like curvy women who talked back.
Except he hadn’t seemed to mind my pushiness at the clinic. If anything, he’d seemed... interested. The way he’d looked at me when I’d had my hands on his shoulders. The way his fingers had curled around my wrist, firm but gentle, like he was testing whether I’d pull away.
My brain replayed every moment on a loop, analyzing every word, every look, every breath. Trying to figure out if I’d imagined the tension crackling between us.
I was pretty sure he’d felt it too.
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, staring up at the sky through the pine branches, thinking about yesterday and his warning.
I’d gotten all hot and bothered at his protective, growly tone ordering me around.
Telling me what to do. It had fueled my fantasies last night and made me groan into my pillow as I’d touched myself, imagining him ordering to do all kinds of naughty things with him. To him.
I might not be very experienced, but I had a very good imagination.
I shook away those thoughts, trying to concentrate on the dilemma at hand. I was contemplating my options when I heard it. The low rumble of an engine, coming down the mountain from above me.
I straightened up, relief flooding through me. Finally. Another human being. Someone who hopefully had a better phone plan than me and could call a tow truck.
But as the vehicle came into view around the bend, my relief transformed into something more complicated. Something that made my heart pick up speed and my palms suddenly feel sweaty.
A black pickup truck. Newer model. Well-maintained. The same truck that had been parked outside Tucker’s cabin.
The truck rounded the bend, and I watched his face through the windshield as he processed what he was seeing. A woman sitting on the hood of a car, eating an apple, looking completely unbothered by the fact that she was stranded on the side of a mountain road.
The truck slowed, then pulled over behind me. Our bumpers were kissing since the spot wasn’t very long, and his truck was very big.
Just like him.
I watched as he got out of the truck, hearing theme music in my head. Today, he was wearing standard mountain man attire. A flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, hiking boots, and a pair of jeans that made me want to thank their maker for the way they hugged his thick thighs and butt.
Our eyes met, and I saw the concern in his eyes before it was replaced by something else. Anger?
Right. He told me not to come back up his mountain.
“What are you doing back on my mountain?” His voice was rough, with an edge that was more annoyance than concern. Or so it seemed to me.
I took a deliberate bite of my apple and chewed slowly before answering, letting the moment stretch. “It’s not your mountain.”
Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe? Like he hadn’t expected me to push back. But it was gone before I could identify it, replaced by that guarded look I was starting to recognize as his default.
He looked at my tire, then back at me, and there was something in his expression I couldn’t quite read. “You’re just... sitting here. Eating an apple.”
“I was hungry,” I said with a shrug, holding up the apple like evidence. “Mrs. Kowalski gave it to me. From her tree. Want a bite?”
I held it out to him, and he stared at it like I’d offered him a live grenade.
“I’m good.”
“Your loss. It’s really good.” I took another bite to prove my point, and I didn’t miss the way his eyes tracked the movement, the way his jaw tightened slightly. If I’d been a different type of woman, I would have licked my lips and gave him a come-hither look. Whatever the heck that meant.
But his reaction was still… interesting.
Tucker crossed his arms and looked down at me. “Delivering medicine again?” he asked.
“Yes. See? You weren’t a special case.” I gestured at him with the apple, feeling bold. “What about you? Coming down off your mountain? That’s rare, isn’t it?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I needed groceries.”
“Ah. The mountain man requires sustenance.” I grinned, unable to help myself. The situation was absurd, and he looked so serious standing there with his arms crossed, like a flat tire was a personal affront. “Let me guess. Beef jerky and canned beans? Maybe some whiskey?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Just barely, but I saw it. Almost like he wanted to smile but had forgotten how. “Coffee and pasta. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Not disappointed. Just mildly surprised you eat actual food.”
“What did you think I ate?”
“I don’t know. Whatever grumpy hermits eat. Probably something you hunted yourself. Maybe some berries you foraged. Very survivalist.”
“I don’t hunt.”
“Really? I had you pegged as the hunting type.”
“Why?”
“The whole mountain man aesthetic you’ve got going on.” I waved the apple at him again, gesturing to his general... everything. “Flannel, truck, living in the woods. You’re like two steps away from having a pet bear.”
“I don’t have a pet bear.”
“But you’ve considered it.”
This time, I definitely saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward. “No.”