Chapter Two
By the time Lottie left Lucy’s house, her Toyota Corolla was packed with two enormous floral arrangements that filled the backseat with the smell of pine, rose and chrysanthemums. She adjusted the heat in the car as she pulled onto the road, but it was fighting a losing battle against the cold.
The snow was falling harder now, thick flakes tumbling through the beams of her headlights. The narrow country road stretched ahead, winding through shadows, empty and unsettlingly quiet.
“Just a little farther,” she told herself. “Town’s right there.”
The engine sputtered.
“No, come on. Don’t you dare,” she hissed, fingers clenched on the wheel. The car lurched once, twice, and gave up, the headlights flickering out as she drifted to a stop.
She tried the ignition. A cough, a rattle, then silence.
“Great. Freaking great,” she said, smacking the dashboard. “Of all the nights.”
She pulled out her phone and checked the screen. No bars. Still, she tapped her dad’s number and held her breath. The call dropped before it even rang.
“Seriously?” she groaned, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. Outside, snow pounded the windshield in thick, blinding sheets. She leaned forward, breath fogging the glass, trying to make out anything beyond the swirling white.
Her pulse kicked up, heart hammering against her ribs. Breathe. This is fine. She gripped the wheel, knuckles pale. Okay. Not fine. Think, Lottie. Stay put? Wait it out? What if no one comes? What I get buried, and no one finds me until spring?
Wind howled around the car, rattling the frame like it was trying to claw its way inside.
I could walk. Maybe there’s a farmhouse nearby. Lights. Shelter. Something.
Her hand twitched beside the door handle. Or I freeze in a ditch. That last turnoff—how far back was it? A mile? Two? Ten?
She was one panicked breath away from doing something reckless—when a pair of headlights punched through the storm.
She straightened, watching as a hulking tow truck rolled past and crunched to a stop ahead. She didn’t need to see the driver to know exactly who it was.
The door creaked open, and a man emerged, his broad silhouette cast in the red glow of the taillights.
He pushed forward through the storm, slow and steady, boots crunching through snow that swallowed his steps.
Wind whipped flakes around him, clinging to his coat, but he didn’t hesitate.
Hands buried deep in the pockets of a heavy winter jacket, he moved like a man who knew cold—and didn’t fear it.
Even beneath the layers, his build spoke for itself: strong, capable, used to work that left your hands rough and your back sore.
As he drew closer, his face came into focus in fragments: a chiseled jaw dusted with stubble, dark hair curling from under his beanie, snowflakes melting on his skin. She still couldn’t quite make out his eyes, but somehow, she felt them. No doubt about it—this was Cole Ashford.
It had been a little under a year since he’d arrived in Hickory Falls. Lottie had caught glimpses of him here and there—head down, never lingering. He’d never spoken to her. As far as she could tell, he barely spoke to anyone.
Of course, that didn’t stop the gossip. In a town like this, people filled in the blanks all on their own.
Doris Hadley swore he was fresh out of prison.
Steve Thorton’s aunt’s friend—totally reliable, apparently—claimed he’d fled Bay City to dodge alimony and a string of vengeful exes.
And Lucy Parker, never one to be outdone, declared he was running an illegal chop shop out of his garage.
Even knew a guy who’d helped pour concrete for a secret storage room.
He was by all accounts trouble. The sort of man who could ruin your life simply by looking at you.
A sharp rap on the glass made her jump—Cole, peering in at her. She cracked the door open, letting the freezing air rush in.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice muffled by the wind and laced with something she couldn’t quite pin down—concern, perhaps. Or amusement.
“No, I’m out here clearing my head,” she shot back, more out of frustration than anything.
“Funny,” he said, and she was pretty sure there was a smirk in there—though with the darkness and snow, it was anyone’s guess.
“Yeah, well—glad I could spice up your night. Really though, what are you doing all the way out here?”
“Work,” he said simply, knocking on the roof of her car. “And this?”
“Dying.”
He nodded. “Figures. These old things aren’t made for a Michigan winter.”
Lottie huffed. “It’s not that old.”
He gave a noncommittal grunt. “Pop the hood—I’ll take a look.”
She sighed, leaned forward and tugged the latch. The hood released with a metallic clang. Cole stepped around to the front, lifted the hood, and vanished behind it. Moments later, he banged it down and walked back to her door.
“Could be the battery. Or moisture in the fuel line. Hard to say for sure in this weather. I can tow it back to the garage—check it properly.”
Lottie hesitated. The idea of being stranded on the side of the road was bad, but being towed to his garage—or chop shop, depending on who you believed—wasn’t a comforting thought either.
“I’m good,” she said quickly, holding up her phone. “I’ll just wait for—”
“Signal’s not coming back in this storm,” he cut in. “You’ll freeze before you get through to anyone, and besides, I’ve got a landline.”
She bristled at his bluntness, but knew he was right. The cold was already creeping in through her coat.
“Okay, fine,” she muttered. “But only because I’m kind of attached to my toes—and those flowers in the back.”
“Whatever helps you sleep,” he replied, with a nod to his truck. “Climb in the cab. Shouldn’t be long.”
Lottie made the quick dash to the truck, hauled herself inside, and sank into the cracked leather seat with a puff of cold breath. A few minutes later, Cole climbed in beside her, slammed the door shut, and steered them back onto the snow-covered road.
She kept her gaze fixed outside, watching snow whip past in hypnotic waves—anything to avoid looking at him. The cold bit at her cheeks, and she tugged her collar up like it could block the awkward tension as much as the draft.
Cole grunted and tapped the heat dial with a gloved finger.
Lottie took the hint and leaned forward to crank it to full blast. As she settled back, she let her eyes flick sideways. Nothing too obvious. Strictly curious.
And okay—wow. Hazel eyes, flecked with green, caught the glow of the dashboard display like they knew exactly what they were doing. And—of course—he chose that exact moment to tug off his beanie, his hair falling into obnoxiously messy waves across his forehead. And—urgh—great. Dimples.
No wonder Samantha Morris had dubbed him a “temptation with a toolbox” the time she’d taken her pickup in for a tire swap. Lottie had laughed it off. Now? It was all starting to make sense.
How had she never noticed how stupidly hot he was? Probably because she’d only ever seen him from across a parking lot—not up close, crammed into a car seat beside him.
For what felt like an eternity, neither of them spoke. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I’m Cole, by the way.”
“Lottie,” she said, offering a tight smile. “By the way.”
She adjusted her scarf. “And… thanks. You know, for stopping.”
Cole finally glanced at her, one brow lifting. “Well hey, there it is—that legendary Hickory Falls warmth.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I didn’t figure you for the type to get stranded,” he said after a beat.
She wrinkled her nose, twisting toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Like the kind that coasts by on divine intervention instead of oil and gas.”
“Oh, so you think you know me?” she shot back.
Cole shrugged. “I know of you. Pastor Whitaker’s daughter, right?”
Lottie shifted in her seat, her expression tightening. “Wow. Good to know I’m just someone’s daughter. Should I start tallying cows and goats for my dowry, or…?”
He gave an amused snort, and for some reason, that tiny sound—paired with the stupid dents in his cheeks—made him seem even more irritating.
She pinned him with a look. “And for the record, I’ve heard a thing or two about you.”
His mouth twitched as if fighting a grin. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Oh, you know Cole Ashford. The guy who rolled into town one day, bought up old Mr. Hitchcock’s busted garage, and barely says two words to anyone? Trouble, according to some.”
He didn’t appear rattled. If anything, her words seemed to amuse him. “And what do you think?”
Lottie tilted her head, pretending to consider. “I think you’re good at towing cars in the snow. Beyond that? Jury’s still out.”
Cole gave a bellowing laugh, the sound catching her off guard. “Fair enough,” he said, his eyes meeting hers for a moment longer than necessary.
Heat crept up Lottie’s neck, and she quickly turned to stare out the window. “Can we just not talk?”
“Fine by me.”
Ten minutes later, Cole’s tow truck rumbled to a stop at the end of a long gravel driveway.
In front of them stood a converted barn, now clearly functioning as a garage—the original wooden frame patched with mismatched sheets of metal siding, wide double doors propped open enough to reveal the cluttered workspace inside.
A few cars were scattered out front, some missing wheels, others stripped of door panels.
Attached to the garage was a tired-looking single-story house, its paint dulled to a washed-out gray. The windows were dark, except for the faintest glow from inside.
Lottie exhaled in a big, showy huff, twisting in her seat as Cole yanked the parking brake and cut the engine. “Gloomy,” she said, nodding toward the house. “I take it there’s no Mrs. Cole?”
Cole didn’t even blink. “Nope,” he said, voice flat.
She shrugged, pulling her phone from her pocket with a show of disinterest. “Riiight. Mister Mysterious. Noted.”