Page 11 of Wilde Secrets

The blanket might be old, but it was clean, and she looked like she needed it more than he did right now.

He stepped out of the truck and rounded the hood, the headlights briefly blinding him as he approached her.

“Here.” He held out the blanket. “I didn’t see you until I’d passed. Sorry about the mud.”

She looked from him to the blanket and back. She had stopped laughing, much to Logan’s relief. She clearly didn’t trust him, judging by the way she continued clutching her bag to her chest and took a step back as he moved the blanket toward her.

She reminded Logan of a wounded animal; reluctantly, she reached forward, grabbed the blanket, and then quickly stepped back.

“I didn’t see a car. You need a lift somewhere?” He smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring and opened the passenger door for her.

She hesitated, glancing down the road in the direction she had come, as if weighing her options, before wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and climbing inside.

“Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible above the sound of the rain.

Logan closed the door and rounded the hood to climb into the driver’s seat. Once they were both safely inside the warm, dry cab, he turned to face her. “Not many people come out this way.”

She stared straight ahead through the windshield. The headlights cut through the rain, illuminating the road as far as the torrent would allow. Water rushed across the road in a sheet.

Logan glanced back at the woman sitting next to him. She stayed silent, and he didn’t move the truck. Something told him she needed a little time. If the road flooded over, well, he’d deal with that when it happened. Right now, this woman was tired, soaked through, and scared. He could take a little time if it meant helping her feel safe. “What’s your name?”

Her head whipped toward him and her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He didn’t answer, waiting patiently instead. She looked down at herself, tugging at her soaking wet sweater, then pulling the blanket more tightly around herself when she shivered.

“It’s Harper,” she said, though she didn’t offer a last name.

Logan offered his hand, and she hesitated briefly before sliding her much smaller one into his. Her palm was smooth, but her fingertips were callused. What kind of work did she do to cause that?

Her hand felt perfect in his, as if they had touched a thousand times before.

“I’m Logan,” he managed to say, his heart thumping in his chest harder than it had any right to. She nodded and pulled her hand back, making him realize he had been holding on longer than necessary. He let go with an embarrassed cough.

“My car is back there,” she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

Logan didn’t recall seeing a car—he would have remembered if he had. The only houses along this road belonged to him and old man Weatherley, and he was sure this woman wasn’t related to his neighbor.

Either way, she was soaking wet and needed to get warm and into clean, dry clothes.

Putting the truck in gear, he turned around on the narrow road, heading back the way he had come.

“Where are you going?” Harper asked, gripping the blanket tightly.

“To see your car.”

She glanced at him and then gave a small nod.

“Alright.”

Logan smiled. At least she was talking now.

“Who were you looking for?”

“Why do you think I was looking for anyone?”

He noticed how she was avoiding his questions but decided not to push. She’d talk when she was ready.

“There are only two houses on this road,” he said. “Mine and my neighbor’s.”

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