Page 47 of Grumpy on the Mountain

"You are fine and the truck's fine. Just... lighter on the brake next time."

"Lighter on the brake. Got it." I nod like he's just shared the secrets of the universe. "Light brake. Light, light brake."

"And when you're ready, just ease onto the gas. Gentle pressure."

I take a deep breath and press the gas pedal.

The truck shoots forward like it's been launched from a cannon.

"GENTLE!"

Beau's roars is deafening, his hand shooting out to steady the wheel as I overcorrect, sending us swerving toward the shoulder, nearly collecting a mailing box and a trash can.

"I was being gentle!" I protest, yanking the wheel back the other way, which makes us fishtail in the opposite direction.

"That's not—Jesus Christ, Molly—here, let me—"

Suddenly he's leaning across me, his chest pressed against my shoulder as he helps guide the steering wheel to correct the wheels. His beard brushes against my cheek and I catch that smell that makes my brain short-circuit completely.

God he smells good.

In my sexy-man-induced haze, I accidentally hit the windshield wipers when reaching out for the wheel again.

"Beau! Why are there windshield wipers flapping now?" I ask desperately as they scrape across the dry glass, the sound created ringing in my ears. "It's not even raining! How do I make them stop?"

"Wrong lever," Beau mutters, reaching across me again to turn them off. His arm brushes against my breast and I swear I feel him tense up. Or maybe that's just me.

Focus on the road, not his forearms. Focus on the road, not how good he smells. Focus on literally anything except how much you want to—

HONK!

"WHAT WAS THAT?" I shriek, jerking the wheel again.

"You hit the horn," Beau says, and I can hear him fighting laughter at how ridiculous this is. "Christ, woman. It's fine. Just... keep your hands on the steering wheel. Only the steering wheel."

"Why is everything so complicated?!" I scream, my voice hitting a pitch that probably only dogs can fully appreciate.

I'm pretty sure I'm having a nervous breakdown, but then Beau's hand covers mine on the steering wheel again and somehow, magically, the truck straightens out.

"Breathe," he says simply. "You're doing fine."

"I almost killed us. Twice. In thirty seconds."

"But you didn't." His voice is so calm, so sure, that some of my panic actually starts to recede. "Just… try again. Gentle gas, steady hands." He looks at me and I feel his glare. "No wipers."

"Okay."

I really focus this time, and when I press the pedal, the truck moves forward at a reasonable speed.

We're actually moving,andin a straight line. Without windshield wipers or random honking.

"Oh my God," I breathe. "Oh my GOD! I'm driving! I'm actually driving this beast!"

"You are," Beau agrees, finally settling into the seat beside me. "Told you I wouldn't let anything go wrong."

For the next twenty minutes, Beau patiently talks me through every turn. It's a bigger vehicle than I'm used to, and that requires a different technique.

By the time we reach the main road into town, I'm starting to feel almost... confident.