Two.
Maci
“Life is a highway…” I whisper-sing to myself as I get back in my white Chevy Equinox after filling the gas tank.
I’m back on the snow-dusted roads a moment later in what I think is either Wyoming or Montana, but I’m not sure anymore. My GPS has been cutting in and out for the last hour as I make my way through the mountains. I should stop for the night, but I’ve got a schedule to keep. And I need to go as far as I can so when I pay for a motel room, I can keep it for a whole day to rest—not just half a night with their annoying early checkouts.
I crank up the heat and place a hand over my belly, sighing to myself at the rumble that follows. “Just a little bit longer, sweet pea, then we’ll find a room and somewhere to eat, I promise.”
Talking to my belly at only ten weeks pregnant might seem a little weird to most, but when you’re driving alone from Oklahoma to Alaska, you take what conversation you can get. Even if it is a growing fetus in your womb.
Most people would say I’m crazy for running away how I am. That things will ‘die down’ in time—they won’t. And even if they do, what’s the point? There’s nothing left for me in Oklahoma. Not after…everything.
He ruined my life. Years of my life wasted on someone who was a walking, talking, good-looking lie. And I hate myself for getting so wrapped around his finger the way I did.
Evan Dunn. The worst mistake of my life, and the father to my unborn child. My child. It all came crashing down when I found out I was pregnant. While I was excited at the prospect of starting a family with him, Evan demanded we get rid of it. When I told him I wanted to keep the baby… He lost it.
Secrets were revealed. Lines were crossed.
My world went up in flames the next morning when his face was plastered on every news outlet: The Governor’s son-in-law dead from a fatal car accident…
Pictures faded in and out on the screen, from his military photo to the one of him and his wife on their wedding day.
I feel just as sick now as I did then.
I was the other woman.
The woman no one wants to be. Not really, anyway. And I had no idea. He should have been an actor for the deceit he was able to pull over my eyes. But no one cares about my side of the story. No one wants to hear that I didn’t know—no matter how true the statement may be.
When the story made the news and the investigation into foul play began shortly after…my name was written alongside the scandal to rock the state.
While the police and detectives believed my story—and all the proof I had to back it up—it was too late. Words were spun to paint me as the villain in every aspect of the term. I had hoped my family and friends would realize the truth. I mean, they’re the ones who should know me best, right?
Wrong.
“There’s no way you couldn’t have known he was married.”
“Do you get off on being a homewrecker?”
“Who hired you? Was this some sort of political stunt you’re pulling?”
The statements and accusations were so far from the truth, I wonder if they ever knew me at all.
I may only be twenty-six going forward with this whole single mom thing, but I’ve never been more sure of something in my life.
So, yeah, between the pure embarrassment, being ostracized from my family, and the dirty looks from everyone I’ve ever known—it was time to go.
Alaska is the final destination, and I’ve probably picked a crappy time to be driving across half-a-dozen states, a large chunk of Canada, and the mass of Alaska to get to Anchorage.
At least I’ll be in a snowy wonderland for Christmas.It’s the little things.
My car does a funky jolt, snapping me out of my thoughts as I start to lose speed. Pressing harder on the gas, the speedometer continues to go down. I’ve got the pedal to the floor, but nothing’s happening. Shit. I push the button for my hazard lights and ease onto the side of the road.
Throwing it in park, I kill the engine and try the only thing I can think of… I wait a few beats, then go to start it again. Click, click, click.
“No, no, no,” I whimper at the dreaded death click. I desperately try to pump my brake, hoping for a miracle, but…no such luck.
Story of my life.
I lift my gaze to the windshield to gauge where I am. Of course, there isn’t a street light, sign, mile marker, not even a car or house in sight. And it doesn’t help it’s freaking pitch black out. Are there even lines on this road?
I grab my phone, noting it’s just after nine, and attempt to refresh my GPS that’s been ‘searching’ since I stopped at the gas station over an hour ago. I wait, hopeful the single bar of service doesn’t—
No serviceglares back at me.
I’m officially dead in the water with no clue as to where I am.
“Shit.” With shaky hands, I grab my coat, pull it on, and get out. Shivering, I hold my phone up, trying for a signal to—at the very least—get my GPS back on track. I’ll need a location to give someone when I call for help. I pace the desolate street, taking minor steps left and right, my phone held high over my head.
Nothing.
Not a single blip of service.
Like an unwitting victim in a horror movie, I spin around in a panic as the wind picks up, causing a rattle in the trees. My stomach twists, and a wave of nausea hits me like a freight train.
I tug my coat tighter around me and take a deep breath, reaching in and popping the hood. “We’re okay, we’re okay,” I whisper, continuing to look around as I walk to the front of my car.
Not that I know a single thing about cars, but it doesn’t hurt to check, right? Who knows, I might get lucky for once in my life and it’s a silly stick I ran over or something. I push the hood up and stare at the engine expecting—what, I’m not sure.
Hot tears sting my eyes. This can’t be happening.
Breathe, Maci, breathe. Figure this out.
After taking in a few calming breaths with full-blown tears streaming down my face, I step around the car to get inside and warm up a bit when a set of headlights appear in the distance.
And they’re coming this way.
“Oh, thank god,” I breathe.
With my hazards blinking and my headlights still on, I stand beside the hood of my car and cross my fingers whoever this is will see me and stop. However, they don’t seem to be slowing.
I start waving my arms wildly, yelling out, “Stop, please!”
The truck finally starts to slow, nearly blowing right past me. It’s big, I note, black with a logo I can’t read written along the sides and a large yellow plow on the front. Thankfully, they pull off to the side in front of my car and begin backing up.
I stand by the hood of my car, shifting nervously from foot to foot before stuffing my hand in my coat pocket. My hand wraps around the small, chilled can of pepper spray I’ve kept on my person for the last three weeks. I’ve never had to use it, thankfully, but when I started receiving threats on my life from random governor supporters, it seemed like a safe bet. And I really don’t want to use it on this person, but being stranded in the middle of—who knows where—pregnant and alone… I’ll spray The Pope if he’s a threat.
Full on Mama Bear.
The driver of the truck turns on their hazard lights before parking, and the first thing out the driver’s door is a huge black boot. I swallow hard as a broad, tower of a man steps out.
My palm goes clammy as I tighten my hold on the pepper spray that doesn’t seem like enough to put this man down if I need to. Can I even reach his face? He has to be over a foot taller than me, and at my short five-foot-two, I’m not even sure if the stream of toxic spray would phase him.
I take him in as he approaches. He’s got a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, a strong jaw locked tight with a few days’ worth of chestnut scruff growing on it. Wearing a pair of dark wash jeans, a black hoodie, and a brown Carhartt jacket—all of which do nothing to hide the clear brute strength this man possesses.
He’s tall, broad, clearly strong, and I’m feeling smaller by the second as he comes to stand before me. Gulp.
“Are you hurt, ma’am?” His voice is a deep, deep baritone growl that sends shivers up and down my spine.
“N-No,” I force out, gesturing to the opened hood. “It’s my car. I don’t know what happened. I just lost all power, and I don’t seem to have any cell service. Do you have a phone I could use by chance?”
“This section of the road is a dead zone,” he tells me, shifting his attention to under the hood of my car. He reaches in, messing with…who the heck knows. “Get in and try to start it.”
“O-oh, okay,” I say, unsure before hurrying into the front seat and attempting to start it like he told me to. The car turns over some, and just when I think it might fire up…it goes dead.
“Stop,” he shouts, and I do. He slams the hood closed, and my stomach drops.
Is…that it? Did he fix it?
I get out, holding the door as if my life depends on it. Let this one thing go right, please.
“Your transmission is blown and you’ve got oil pouring out the pan. You’re not going anywhere in this,” he says sternly, my heart sinking lower with every word. “Town is about ten miles north. Phone service kicks back up in another mile or two. I can give you a ride, call a tow, get this taken wherever you want.”
I shiver, and hug into myself, not able in the slightest to stop the tears from flowing. I’m not sure how much more I can take of this—this thing where nothing can go right and everything goes wrong. “Where, um, should I send it?”
He’s silent for a moment. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Is it that obvious?
I shake my head. If the admission gets me chopped into tiny pieces with him wearing my skin as a suit, then so be it. It’d be the cherry on top at this point.
The man sighs heavily, scratching his chin and gesturing over his shoulder. “I own a repair shop in town. I’ll call one of my guys to come out and tow your car in for the night,” he says, giving his chin a jerk toward my car. “Grab what you need and leave the keys on the front seat.”
My eyes widen. “I-I can’t do that. Everything I own is in this car,” I blurt out, then promptly cringe at how that makes me sound homeless—even though I sort of am. I mean, I have a portable storage unit waiting for my call to deliver, but the majority of my belongings that are important to me…yeah, they’re stuffed in the back at the moment.
“You’re living in this car?”
“No, I’m, uh, moving.”
“Moving,” he repeats as he leans down, peering in my car. “Where you movin’ to?”
My eyes narrow, suspicion seeping in. “That’s none of your business, buddy. Now, if you’ll just—”
“Duke,” he grumbles. “My name’s Duke Montgomery, I own Montgomery Repair Towing.”
Of course, he does. “Well, Duke,I can’t leave my car here with all my belongings for just anyone to come by and take.” Do people around here really leave their cars unlocked like he’s telling me to do now? Surely not.
Duke huffs. “All right, fine, how much shit you got?”
“Excuse me?”
“How much stuff do you have?” he asks again, a bit more condescending than before. “I’ve got room in the backseat; I’ll take you to wherever it is you’re goin’.”
“I’m…” I trail off, not able to stop the tears. I turn away, wiping roughly at my cheeks as I start to cry. Dammit, Maci, you should’ve stopped at that last rest stop.
How do I tell this guy that—I don’t know—I have nowhere to go besides a cheap motel?
“I didn’t mean to upset you, ma’am,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or sorry. “If you’d like to get your purse at least, we can ride up the road for service. I’ll make a call and get the tow out here while we wait.”
A harsh gust of freezing wind whips across my face and my tears turn to ice over my cheeks.
“I’m going to need a decision here, ma’am. There’s a storm coming in, and I’d rather not be out here when it hits.”
Of course, there’s a storm coming—because why wouldn’t there be? My luck never ceases to amaze me. And what choice do I have?
I nod quickly, leaning in my car to grab my purse and phone charger. Duke holds the door to keep the wind from closing it on me as I get what I need. Reaching in the backseat, I take my pre-packed duffle containing basic toiletries, a few changes of clothes, and my laptop.
Duke takes the duffle from me. “Turn off the headlights and leave the hazards on,” he instructs. “Keys on the front seat.”
I do as he says, even if I hesitate for a second before dropping my keys into an unlocked vehicle, then follow his lead to his truck. I squint, trying to focus enough to read the company-wrapped name now that he isn’t speeding past me. Montgomery Repair Towing. At least he was telling the truth about that. There’s a phone number alongside the words: Whitetail, Montana.
Guess I did cross into Montana.
He tosses my bag in the backseat and opens the passenger side door for me, offering his hand to help me inside.
Broody and chivalrous. What a combination.
Reluctantly taking his hand, I hold it tight so my boot doesn’t slip off the icy running board. The heat from his rough, calloused fingers is insanely soothing in a way that says, I’ve got you—and I’d love nothing more than to curl up on his hands alone. They’re just that warm.
And I’m just that desperate for human contact.
Get it together, Maci, this is a stranger.
I mumble a quiet thanks, and he closes the door. He jogs to the driver’s side, hops in and immediately turns up the heat. He takes the truck out of park, and a steady rumble starts down the road.
I tug my seatbelt on, glancing around the new-to-me space. It’s suspiciously clean—for a working man’s truck—but smells like male musk, oil, and fuel. It’s kind of nice, actually. And coming from this pregnant nose with heightened senses, it’s a compliment.
“How long were you out there for?” he asks.
I peer around curiously while trying to get a sense if I’m being led to a quieter area to be murdered. “Half hour, maybe.” There are a few scattered tools in the back I take note of, a larger wrench that I could easily crack him on the head with if I need to get away. “Why?”
“Your hands are like ice,” he growls, turning up the heat even higher. “You warming up over there?”
“I’m okay,” I say, watching his every move as he checks his phone and comes to a stop on the side of the road a few minutes later.
He makes a call, sparing me a glance before looking away. “Hey, Joey. Listen I’ve got a white SUV dead out here on 237 heading north right in the dead zone. Yeah, I’m gonna need a tow. No, I want it done now. I don’t give a fuck. We’ll be here waiting so try not to dick around, asshole.” Duke sighs. “Yeah, all right, see ya in a bit.”
He hangs up and tosses the phone in the cup holder, rubbing his face roughly. “Might be a while,” he says, “Friday night an all.”
I’m not sure what that has to do with getting my car towed, but… “Is there, um, a motel in this town?” I ask.
Duke turns to me, his dark eyes making his intense gaze harsher as he glares at me. “Do you have any idea where the hell you even are, lady?”
I narrow my eyes at him. How did we go from ma’am to lady so quickly? “My GPS stopped working a while ago, I thought I was still in Wyoming,” I admit, fishing out my phone from my pocket. “And my name is Maci. Maci Baker.”
He scoffs. “The border between Wyoming and Montana is probably a good four hours back. How the hell do you not know where you are? Do you have any idea how unsafe that—”
“Yes,” I snap, hot tears stinging my eyes for the third time in the last hour. I put a protective hand over my belly at the nauseating wave of emotion that sweeps over me. “I do know, and if you could stop making me feel like crap about it, that’d be far more helpful than whatever it is you’re doing now.”
I’ve had a rough four weeks with no one in my corner for any of it, the last thing I need is this jerk reading me the riot act.
His gaze lingers on my hand and his brow furrows as I slowly slide it back to my side. The dry air blasting from the vents feels twenty degrees hotter in this tense silence.
When he finally locks eyes with me once again, there’s a glimmer of hurt in them that wasn’t there a moment ago.
And I can’t help the pain in my heart that follows.
Who the hell is this guy?