Page 2 of Mountain Man’s Hayride Honey (Wildwood Valley Harvest #4)

CALLIOPE

T he thingamabob was broken. Or maybe it was the thingamajig. No way to know.

That wasn’t exactly what the mountain man said, of course, but it all sounded like gibberish to me. All I knew was he was bent over, looking under my hood, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his ass.

The guy was hot. Beyond hot. Freakin’ sizzling as heck. When he first walked up to my car, I’d seriously thought I was dreaming. It wasn’t possible that someone could look like that. Maybe on billboards and movie posters, but not in real life.

Finally, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. “So, are you the guy who drives the hayride thingy?”

I gestured toward it with my left hand before crossing my arms over my chest again. He didn’t look back at me, and for a long moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. I was almost relieved when he spoke.

“Nope. Just delivering it to the entrance to the trail.”

That was more than I expected him to say. “I saw they’re starting up hayrides tomorrow. Sounds like fun.”

Silence. To his credit, I hadn’t asked a question or anything. But as always, I felt the need to keep an awkward conversation going. It was only slightly less uncomfortable than not saying anything at all.

“This is my first time in Wildwood Valley,” I said. “It’s really beautiful here.”

“It’s overrun with tourists right now,” he muttered, still focused on whatever he was doing under the hood.

I winced. “Tourists like me, you mean.”

He glanced up at me briefly, then back at the engine. “Nothing personal.”

“Right.” I shifted my weight, feeling awkward. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think this place is magical. All those mountains and the little lights strung up everywhere.”

He didn’t respond to that, just wiped his hands on a rag and straightened up. “Try starting it now.”

I climbed in and turned the key. Miraculously, the engine turned over. It sounded rough, like it was coughing up a lung, but it was running.

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. “I really appreciate this.”

He was already walking back toward my hood, his expression unreadable in the dim light from the festival’s string lights. “Don’t get too excited. This thing’s held together with duct tape and a prayer.”

“Hey now, that’s my baby you’re talking about.”

“Your baby needs life support.” He slammed the hood shut with more force than necessary. “How long have you been driving this death trap?”

“Six years. And it’s not a death trap. It just has character.”

“Character.” He shook his head. “That’s what people say when they can’t afford to fix something properly.”

The comment stung more than it should have. Maybe because he wasn’t entirely wrong. I’d bought the car used with every penny I had saved, and since then, I’d been putting off repairs I couldn’t afford, hoping it would just keep running through sheer determination.

“Not everyone has money to throw around on fancy new vehicles,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

He looked at me then—really looked at me—and I saw something shift in his expression. Like maybe he realized his words had hit harder than he’d intended.

“I didn’t mean—” He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not trying to be a dick. But this engine’s on its last legs. The alternator’s shot, the battery’s dying, and your hoses look like they’re held together with hope.”

“It got me here from Baltimore.”

“Baltimore.” He said it like I’d told him I’d driven from Mars. “You drove this thing from Baltimore?”

“It’s a perfectly good car.”

“It’s a miracle you made it.”

I was starting to get annoyed. Yes, my car wasn’t perfect, but it was mine, and it had gotten me to every festival this season without major incident. Well, mostly without major incident.

“Is there a point to this lecture, or are you just enjoying telling me how terrible my life choices are?”

He was quiet for a moment, studying my face. “You can’t drive this thing. Not in its current state.”

“I have to. I’m working the festival. I need to get back and forth from the inn.”

He was quiet for another long moment, like he was having some kind of internal debate. “I’ve got a guy who can look at this tomorrow. Ayden’s the best mechanic in town.”

“I can’t afford?—”

“We’ll figure that out later.” He cut me off. “Right now, you need to get back to the inn, and I’m not letting you drive this piece of junk.”

“You’re not letting me.” I repeated his words slowly, feeling my temper start to rise. “I’m sorry, but who exactly are you to not let me do anything?”

“I’m the guy who just spent twenty minutes keeping you from being stranded in a parking lot with a dead car.”

“And I’m grateful for that, but?—”

“No buts. This thing dies on you tomorrow morning, you’ll be stuck. Maybe somewhere without cell service. Maybe somewhere dangerous.”

The concern in his voice surprised me. Underneath all that gruffness, he actually seemed worried about my safety. It was sweet, in an overly protective, slightly caveman kind of way.

“So what exactly are you suggesting?” I asked.

“I’ll give you a ride back to the inn. Tomorrow, Ayden can take a look at your car and give you an honest assessment of what needs to be fixed.”

“And then what? I can’t afford major repairs right now.”

“Then we’ll figure something else out.”

The way he said “we” made something flutter in my chest. Like maybe I wasn’t just some annoying tourist to him, after all.

“Why would you help me?” I asked. “You don’t even know me.”

He was quiet for so long, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than I’d heard it all evening.

“Because nobody should be driving around in a car that unsafe. And because…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind. You want a ride or not?”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to prove that I could take care of myself, that I didn’t need some grumpy mountain man rescuing me. But the truth was, I was tired. And worried. And more than a little scared about what I’d do if my car completely died before the festival was over.

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. My truck doesn’t come with Halloween decorations.”

Despite everything, I laughed. “I think I can survive without spiders for ten minutes.”

“We’ll see.” But I caught the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he turned toward his truck.

After moving my car out of his way, I grabbed my purse and locked my car, trying not to think about how uncertain everything suddenly felt. Three days ago, I’d had a plan. Drive to Wildwood Valley, set up my booth, sell enough jewelry to cover my expenses, and maybe have a little left over. Simple.

Now I was climbing into a truck with a man whose name I didn’t even know, trusting him to help me figure out what came next.

“I’m Clayton, by the way,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Clayton.”

“We’ll see about that too.”

But he was definitely smiling now, even if he was trying to hide it.