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s expected, the news about what’d happened dropped in the group message like a nuclear bomb, even when I downplayed it to the best of my abilities.

My simple, “Hey, Hunter thought you should know that someone tampered with my car, so we had to fill out an incident report with the police,” was shadowed so quickly by Hunter’s more in-depth explanation that he had to have expected me to send something watered down, and when I did exactly that, he’d already had his text locked and loaded in the barrel, ready to fire off.

HUNTER ARMSTRONG: What I’m sure she meant to say was some grown man walked by dozens of other cars in the parking lot to cut her brake lines specifically. She was targeted.

Ben’s text appeared almost simultaneously as Hunter’s, so I very much doubted he’d read it before he sent his.

BEN: That was why your car wouldn’t start?

Then his second text came in, and I knew he’d read Hunter’s message by then.

BEN: What?

SPAMMER: The fuck?

RALPH: Are you kidding me?

There was a cascade of texts from that point, but I couldn’t read any of them because Ben called, his face overshadowing the conversation. Allowing myself a single sigh, I swiped to answer.

“Hi,” I said.

“Are you okay?” he demanded immediately, and his familiar voice soothed some of the shakes that hadn’t released their grip on me yet.

“Yes, I’m fine. The Jeep wouldn’t start, so I wasn’t driving or anything.” He released a sharp breath but otherwise didn’t comment. “Ben?”

“Sorry, I’m—Willa, that’s terrifying. How does Hunter know someone cut them?”

“Well, the police pestered the Save-a-Lot manager for access to the video feed—”

“The police? The police were there? And they caught this person?”

“Ah, no, they didn’t. The man kept his back to the camera or the quality was too grainy to matter.”

Silence stretched out before Ben blurted, “Wait, what? Why wouldn’t the police do anything?”

I frowned. All I’d said was they couldn’t identify the suspect. “How did you—”

“Sorry, Willa, Kolton is reading the texts to me. We’re on our way to get you. Coach let us skip out early since Hunter said you’d need a ride—not that I don’t want to see you, but why isn’t your dad picking you up?” Ben allowed that to simmer for a moment before asking, “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“About the car he gifted me less than three hours ago winding up in a repair shop? He hasn’t texted back yet, actually.”

“Nice try. About the attempted murder.”

Shivers broke out, and I sorely needed some warmth. I jumped to my feet and beelined for the exit, spilling into the heat of the August sun.

“What are you doing?” a loud voice demanded, and I spun to see Hunter marching after me, scowl fixed firmly in place.

A frown marred my brows. “I was cold.”

“Is that Hunter?” Ben guessed.

“Yes, it is,” I replied, not apologizing for seeking some warmth as I stared the aggravated guy down. All the excitement had leeched any timidity for the giant from my system.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hunter retorted. “I was coming to get you. You shouldn’t be out here alone. Someone tried to murder—”

“Will you guys stop saying that?” I blurted, and to my horror, my eyes burned with tears.

To his credit, Hunter didn’t run screaming in the other direction at the sight of a girl crying. He nodded. “Fair enough, but I would have appreciated it if you’d waited so you weren’t on your own.”

I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat, because if he could meet me halfway, then I could do the same. He was right anyway, but my foundation had been shaken from my damsel in distress role, and I was over it.

Hunter’s voice softened. “Is that Ben?” Another nod, since I seemed incapable of speech. “Do you mind if I talk to him?” I passed the phone over without fuss. “Hey. Yeah, I’ve got her. She’s a little shaken. She was in shock earlier, but eating seemed to help. I have her Jeep up on the flatbed, but I’m taking her with me across the street. Pick her up there. This guy targeted her once, and he could still be in the area.”

The hair rose on the nape of my neck as I glanced around, studying the trees lining the northern edge of the parking lot.

Was Hunter right?

Could the man be hiding somewhere?

He could be closer, like inside a car.

My gaze bounced from vehicle to vehicle.

Hunter nudged me to start walking when he returned my phone. A quick glance showed the call was still open.

“Willa?” Ben said when I held it up to my ear, following Hunter out to where he’d already loaded and strapped my Jeep down to within an inch of its life. It seemed a bit overkill when we were only crossing the street. A lack of brakes didn’t mean we couldn’t still put the Jeep in park to keep it in place.

But hey, no one asked me about that or if I wanted to go sit in a mechanic shop while I waited for my boyfriend and his tagalong to arrive.

Stop it, Willa! You’re being petty and bitter because you’re scared, and none of them deserve to have your feelings taken out on them.

Hunter didn’t help me into the truck, even though it was a climb, and I was grateful for the inches of self-sufficiency and autonomy that returned to me, even if I couldn’t tell if he’d done it on purpose or not.

In no time at all, he’d guided the truck to TJ’s Auto Shop, introduced me to TJ, the owner, and pulled up an uncomfortable metal stool typical of guys’ garages the world over. I perched there, watching Hunter change the oil on a couple of cars before it hit me that I should help him catch up on his work. I was the reason he’d missed all afternoon and now had a lineup of vehicles waiting for his tender loving care.

“Where do you keep your drain pan?” I asked, hopping down from the stool.

The sound of the monkey wrench slowed. “What?”

“Your drain pan,” I repeated. Nothing was orderly or pristine, but there seemed to be a system. Still, a quick search near the barrels of engine oil turned nothing up. “You’re changing the oil on that lady’s car, right?”

“How did you know?” Hunter asked.

“That it was a lady’s car? Well, gee, the fuzzy steering wheel cover and soccer mom sticker on the back was a pretty big—”

“Not that,” he interrupted. Oh, someone was rather impatient, wasn’t he? “How’d you know what I was doing?”

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “Based on where you are and the tools you grabbed. Besides, aren’t oil changes a large part of the customer base for car shops? Easy bet.”

His eloquent reply came in the form of a wordless grunt.

Despite the situation, or maybe because of it, I grinned.

Seriously, I’d been intimidated by Hunter Armstrong because he was big?

Maybe if I hadn’t been truly threatened this afternoon, I would be nervous around him, but even with his brusque, bossy manner, he’d been very understanding to have stuck by my side. Even my brother fled at just the hint of waterworks—not to mention, it was subtle and I’d missed a lot of it during my shock, but he’d taken on the role of protector without hesitation.

That said a lot about a guy’s character.

The clicking sounds of his wrench resumed. “We have built-in floor drains.”

“Oh.”

He rolled out from under the car on his creeper to study me for a moment. “But,” he added, “you could bring me a thirteen millimeter socket from the tall blue tool box over there. Third drawer down. These damned foreign-made cars use metric.”

“On it.” The tool was easy to find, and when I returned to where he waited, still watching, I made sure not to immediately release my grip on it until he’d met my gaze. “Thank you,” I told him but didn’t elaborate.

His gray gaze, the color of the concrete floor, scanned my face before he nodded.

I released the tool to him, glad he’d allowed me to keep hold of it in the first place, and he rolled back under the car without fuss.

From there, we fell into a nice rhythm. He’d give me directions on where to find a tool, and I’d fetch it for him. Sometimes, I thought he recognized my need to be helpful because some of the things he rattled off for me to retrieve shouldn’t have been anywhere near what he was working on. Like, who needed an angle grinder to change a flywheel?

It was obvious to me he didn’t even use it. Those tools screamed and shot a flare of hot metal slag ten feet in the air.

Even so, we both kept quiet on it. He named whatever outlandish tool, and I’d secretly smile when he wasn’t looking and not comment on it when I handed it over.

After a while, Hunter’s torquing rhythm slowed. “Willa?”

He didn’t joke around much, but his tone sounded especially serious.

“Yeah?”

A minute passed before he straightened from the motor of the fourth car we’d started. “I owe you an apology.”

My mouth dropped open. “What? If anyone owes anybody an apology, it’s me. You missed work and added more to your plate.”

They had quite a steady flow of jobs in their queue, and my Jeep just piled onto their strained resources.

Hunter snapped off the black nitrile gloves he’d donned. “No, don’t worry about that. It’s nothing. But I owe you an apology because I didn’t believe you about your car, not when it fired up so easily.”

He didn’t believe me? An irrational stab of pain pricked my feelings, but I tamped it down. He owed me nothing. We were acquaintances at best. “Oh, well, maybe one of the plug wires was loose and you reconnected it when you checked them.”

He stared. “The Jeep still should have started if it was a plug wire when I was testing it. It’d run rough as hell, but it wouldn’t be any different than a misfire. They all worked, though, and none of them were loose. I didn’t even get to touch your fuel injectors, so it was like your car miraculously fixed itself.”

My cheeks burned. “Oh.”

He wiped his hands on a towel, probably force of habit from working in his own garage at home, since they’d been gloved and clean. “Yeah, I’m still trying to figure out what happened. Who knows? Maybe two of your wires were loose. It kept you from driving off though, so that’s all that matters.”

I gave an awkward laugh. “Not sure if I would have assumed any different if the roles were reversed.”

Hunter’s gray eyes pierced me to my soul, pinning me in place before he sighed and scratched the back of his neck. Only after he broke the stare did I feel like I could breathe again. “You’re letting me off the hook too easily. That day, on the trail, right before your accident? I saw your brake lights flash.”

Right, when I’d hallucinated about seeing a figure.

“I think only I caught that because Ben was right beside me in the front seat and didn’t mention anything, so I thought you braked on purpose because you wanted attention or something stupid.”

Nope, I was just a tad insane, because how was that for a better truth?

“When I got there today and realized there wasn’t anything wrong with your Jeep except for the fact that someone had purposely cut the lines, I thought this was another grab for attention—that you had done it yourself.”

I shook my head, considering the situation from his viewpoint. “Then why did you insist I call the police if there wasn’t any real danger?”

“Because I figured you’d back down if you’d been behind it. Thought it might force you to tell the truth.”

“And when I didn’t?”

He grimaced. “Yeah, I initially stuck around because I wanted to see if you’d make up some lie to the police as well. It wasn’t until we saw that dick on the surveillance that I believed you.”

A beat passed before I nodded. “But you believe me now.”

It wasn’t a question, but he confirmed it anyway. “Yes, I believe you now. I don’t know why you stopped before you got to the top of the hill when you knew how dangerous that could be, because you seem to know your way around driving and cars.”

Icy chills dotted my skin, and I gave my best nonchalant shrug when all I wanted to do was crawl under my bed and hide from the world. “I’ve blacked a lot of it out. I probably just saw a root or something and panicked.”

Hunter took my response at face value. Here he was, coming clean to me, and I lied straight through my teeth. “And just so you don’t think I’m a total asshole, I’ve dated a lot of girls who wanted me to be a bad guy so they could get attention and sympathy from their friends or make someone jealous. They wanted the beast instead of a gentle giant, and it’s sort of turned me into this jaded douche.”

Horror painted my expression. “That’s awful.”

An actual deprecating laugh escaped him, a half grin curving his lips. “That’s the truth, though, and also why my mind jumped there, but I want you to know that you couldn’t be further from those manipulative schemers.”

We worked in companionable silence after that, and there might have even been some jokes and teasing tossed in. I finally got brave enough to call him out on the angle grinder, and he actually laughed.

When Ben and Kolton arrived fifteen minutes later, my top half was buried in the engine bay of a truck that’d seen better days, trying to help Hunter grab the bolt he’d dropped but couldn’t reach because his hands were too big.

“You know,” I started, stretching on my tiptoes and ignoring the fact that grease stains now covered me to my elbows. Hunter had loaned me some overalls to protect my clothes, but they were so large, I had to roll them to my biceps to get the sleeves to stay. “They make these telescoping magnet sticks for—”

“I have some.”

My hand slipped on the truck’s body, and I basically laid myself out atop the grimy engine. I winced at the smell of burned engine oil and tranny fluid. Was there a worse, more acrid smell than burned transmission fluid? And while we were on the subject, how’d it even get this high up on the motor?

The cool, slimy feeling of liquids absorbed through layers of clothing hit, and I knew, without looking, that my shirt was ruined, protective overalls or not. I was glad I’d thrown my hair up in a messy bun and not a ponytail, or it, too, might have been covered in liquid car.

It was too late to do anything about the shirt now, so I used my new stabilized position to really stretch out for the dropped bolt. My feet came off the stool as I scowled. “Then why, for the love of all that’s holy, am I down in the trenches risking my life, when you could have used the tool?”

“You seemed like you needed something to do.”

My entire body froze, even as a scowl crossed my face. “Hunter Armstrong, did you drop this bolt on purpose ?”

“Fuck, I would have too if this was the promised view,” a new voice chimed in, and it took me a minute to place the owner since we didn’t normally talk in person. Kolton continued, “Though in those car posters, the girls are half that dirty with half that many clothes on. How’d you manage to get grease on your forehead, wordsmith?”

A loud thump sounded. “That’s my girlfriend, you idiot!”

My ire melted away.

Ben.

His presence soothed the buzzing nerves inside me, and my body demanded a hug this instant.

“Ben!” I wiggled, shimmying around to feel for the step stool I’d abandoned.

Honestly, how far could it have gone? I’d just been on it!

Hands fisted the borrowed overalls and hoisted me off the motor. The unique scent of Ben’s musk washed over me. I couldn’t describe it if I tried, other than masculine, but if I smelled it a hundred years from now, my mind would jump to all the moments I’d sat pressed up against him on the bench seat of his truck, talking the hours away until the edge of curfew.

“Ben!” I repeated, not letting him get far after setting me down. My arms wrapped around him, followed by my legs when he straightened to his full height.

This was what I’d needed.

We’d only truly known each other this summer, but how quickly he’d stepped into that position of comfort that only my dad had filled before.

I buried my face in his shoulder.

“Careful,” he warned as his arm snaked around me in a quick hug before returning to my thighs to support me. “I smell like a boys’ locker room.”

I laughed, because, honestly, sweaty Ben still smelled better than most guys. “That’s okay. I smell like a dead car.”

“A dead car?” Kolton piped up. “What the fuck’s a dead car supposed to smell like?”

“Come a little closer,” Hunter rumbled. “I’ll shove your face in the motor, and you can find out.”

The motor! The filthiest motor I’d stumbled across to date—and considering most motors I saw were caked in mud from off-roading, that was really saying something.

I gasped and leaned away. “Ben, I’m filthy. You’ll ruin your clothes.”

Ben didn’t seem too concerned about releasing me and saving himself. His steel grip kept me locked to his waist. “It’ll be fine.”

Kolton snorted before breaking into hysterical laughter. “Oh, that’s rich. You think he cares about a little dirt when he has your legs—”

This time, it was Hunter who thumped Kolton.

“Thanks,” Ben said.

Hunter wiped his hands on a dirty rag. He’d left a smear of grease on Kolton’s unimpressed face, so he had to have touched something oil-stained on purpose. “He needed it.”

Ben’s amusement faded. “Now, tell us everything.”