Page 1 of Wrecking Boundaries (SteelTrack Racing #2)
I tap the small desert box resting in the passenger seat. Tiramisu and hot chocolate are the perfect vacation dinner. The only remaining decision is which novel to read next. Do I want a cowboy hero or a Regency pirate? It’s a trick question because a vacation means having time for both.
POP!
My car vibrates and pulls to the left. I jerk the steering wheel, hoping to drive a little further along. My cabin in the woods is two miles away. That short distance won’t destroy the rims, right?
The vibrations intensify. Resigned, I pull onto the shoulder, flick on the emergency lights, and exit the car to inspect any damage. All that remains of the right front tire are bits of rubber gingerly held together by threads.
If something breaks, there are usually two simple solutions. First, turn it off, wait 30 seconds, and then turn it on again. The second solution is a little more dramatic.
I kick the damned thing. “Take that, you stupid tire.” It doesn’t work.
This isn’t a problem. I’m a Rivers, born into a family of race car drivers. Boone is busy rebuilding an ugly, old Camaro. I spent many childhood hours watching Boone and Dad building carts. Pit crew members can change a tire in seconds. How difficult can this be?
Very difficult. The answer is very difficult.
I shiver and rub my arms through the cozy sweatshirt. It will be dark soon. At least it isn’t snowing. January in North Carolina is cold enough; a snowstorm will make it worse.
Despite all my efforts, half the lug nuts remain. I kick the shredded tire again. “Stupid tire.” The car wobbles on the jack, so maybe that isn’t the brightest idea. I kick it a third time. “You deserve it.”
There’s always a tow truck. Aren’t those available for emergency services? Bonus: I passed by an auto shop on the edge of town.
“Thank you, GPS,” I say aloud and dial the number.
Tiramisu, hot chocolate, and a cowboy will be with me soon.
“Thank you for calling Smith Auto Shop. We open tomorrow morning at…”
I screech and hang up.
That leaves two awful options. I can spend the night in my car while I hope for a rescue or walk. Not a single vehicle has passed by since the tire blew out. What does that say about a potential rescue? Plus, there are stories of people trapped in their cars when snowfall hits. Those never end well.
The road’s edge is a mix of gravel, dirt, and brown snow. My winter boots crunch with every step. The hazard light flashes, illuminating everything and casting me right back into darkness.
My determination shatters.
Walking suddenly feels like a very foolish idea. I could call Boone and Maddie, but they’re several hours away. Also, after listening to my big brother’s lectures over this trip, the idea of calling them for help is galling.
I regularly brag about my ability to solve problems. I also once believed I was always right. Recent events show that neither of those statements is true .
It’s dark outside, and I’m the only person in the world.
I lean against the trunk and blink at a white light in the distance. It grows brighter and comes to a stop a short distance away.
Is it my rescuer or worse?
Someone steps out of the vehicle; only the car beams blind me, so I can’t see them. Frantically, I dig into my purse.
“I have pepper spray. Step any closer, and you’ll wish you didn’t.” Is that enough of a threat? I can do worse. “Also, I know karate, and I’m armed.”
Does anyone else know the game, two truths and a lie?
I raise the can and prepare for my attack.
“Princess? Is that you?” asks a familiar voice.
My arm drops. “Jake?”
I thought there were two ways out of this jam. The universe found a third and somehow made it worse than either.
“You need help.” Jake comes next to me, peering past my shoulder to the jacked-up front tire. The hazard lights cast him in amber light, then shadow, and back again.
It would be Jake Knowles because that’s the luck I have with men. My brother Boone calls him surfer boy, which he means as an insult, even though it’s true. Jake has sun-kissed blond hair, even in the middle of winter. It’s always perfectly tousled. His blue eyes are a perfect blue. You add in his square jaw and the light dusting of strawberry freckles across his nose and cheeks; is it any surprise I almost did something foolish?
I lean back against the car and cross my legs.
See? Look. Your presence doesn’t bother me at all. Not even a little.
I toss my hair over my shoulder. “A tow truck is on the way. There isn’t anything to do. ”
“Is it from that shop I passed by in town?” Jake points with his thumb towards the road behind us. “The one with an empty parking lot and no lights on. Try again.”
“My brother is on the way.”
“Boone Rivers would not let his little sister be alone at night in the middle of nowhere. Your headquarters are hours away, so we know he isn’t coming. Did you even call him?”
I raise my chin, refusing to answer him because he’s right. Boone delivered a sharp lecture when he first heard my vacation plans. It contained something about crazy ax murderers and young women, but it’s hard to be sure because I tuned him out.
“He’ll be here tomorrow,” I lie. “The tire is a trick, so no one steals my car while I take my evening walk.”
Jake doesn’t respond, choosing to stare down at me instead. At 5’10”, I’m taller than average, and he still towers over me. I don’t like it. “Your nose is red,” he finally says, removing his knit cap to place it on me. “You aren’t dressed warm enough for an evening walk.”
I’m wearing a 29 car sweatshirt and jeans, which were perfectly fine with a car heater. I refuse to rub my arms in his presence. “Us Rivers are naturally warm-blooded. We don’t feel the cold.”
“Even a Rivers girl needs help sometimes, Sarah. Hold on.” Jake strokes my cheek and leaves to open his truck’s passenger door. He quickly returns with a bundle in his arms. “You should be in a proper coat, but this will have to do.”
He drapes the bundle over my shoulders and pulls it closed. It’s a handmade quilt, an item I would never expect Jake to carry. I don’t ask where it came from, choosing to offer a simple thank you instead.
“Let’s look at that tire.” He hands me a flashlight. “Hold this up so I can see.”
To my great annoyance, the remaining lug nuts are quickly removed, and my dearly departed tire lies on the ground.
“The spare is in my trunk,” I tell him. “It’s a donut, but that will last until tomorrow. My cabin is close by.”
His head jerks at my mention of a cabin, but he doesn’t respond, choosing to get the spare out instead. “Sarah, when was this last inspected?”
“Inspected for what?”
“Your spare is flat.” He takes the flashlight back and shines it into my almost empty trunk. “You can’t drive on that.”
“My cabin is very close by.” Even a flat spare tire can go a short distance, right? I can call a tow truck in the morning, and everything will be magically fixed. No further help from Jake Knowles is required.
As if sensing my thoughts, Jake shines the light on my face, blinding me. “Don’t even think about it. I’m not letting you drive on that thing.”
“It’s not your job to protect me, Jake,” I stubbornly say. He’s correct, too, which makes me even more determined to disagree.
“That’s not my fault,” he reminds me. “It should be my job. I should have been on this trip. Tell Boone you need a flashlight, spare batteries, and a portable jumper. I’ll send you a list. This way, you’ll have some emergency supplies in case I’m not around.”
The insinuation he might be the one to rescue me again rankles.
“That’s unnecessary.” Reluctantly, I remove his quilt and hand it over. The temperature instantly drops, and I shiver. “Thank you so much for your assistance tonight, but it’s no longer required. I’ll see you in Daytona next month. ”
He doesn’t accept it. “I’m not leaving you on the side of the road, Sarah.”
Jake laughs. My perfect vacation is ending in a disaster. My goal this week was to find a new purpose and clear my head. Instead, I’m confronted by the man who tried to break my heart, and he’s laughing.
“I enjoy walks at night. They help me to relax. You can keep going to wherever it is you’re going.”
“A prickly princess,” he says, and I glare at him. “It’s one of my favorite parts of you. Going on the attack is a great defense.”
“Insults are one of my least favorite parts of you, surfer boy.”
His smile is sinful. “You’ll need to try harder than your brother, Princess.” The last word oozes out of him. Boone coined the surfer boy moniker, and it always riles Jake up.
“Why are you here?”
I meant the particular stretch of country road, but all Jake says is, “You needed me.” I would protest, except he scoops me until I lie across his shoulder. “Don’t kick me.”
“Then put me down.”
“Gladly.” He drops me into his truck’s passenger seat, pulling a seatbelt across my chest and waist. “You’re coming with me,” he says.
“This is kidnapping.”
“No, Princess. I’m rescuing you.”
“I’ll press charges.”
Jake smirks. He actually smirks. “No, you won’t.”
No, I won’t.
Dammit. After months of not speaking, I’m back in his car and heading to my place. It’s not fair. This cannot happen again. “Wait. Before we go, there’s tiramisu in my car. It’s supposed to be dinner tonight.”