Page 12 of Hitchhiker Mountain Man

Whatever he was about to say is cut off by the sound of a truck horn. He sighs, a flash of frustration crossing his face before his usual controlled expression returns.

"We'll talk later," I say, wanting to reassure him, though I'm not sure of what.

He nods, then turns to head down the path toward the approaching vehicle. I watch him go, my fingers rising unconsciously to touch my lips, still warm from his.

One kiss. That's all it was.

I watch his tall figure disappear around the bend, knowing with absolute certainty that nothing will be the same after this.

six

Slate

Thatkisswasamistake.

I tell myself this as I follow Mitchell's son back to his truck. The parts for Eleanor are in the bed of his pickup—a new radiator hose, some coolant, basic tools I'll need for the repair.

But all I can think about is the softness of Jordyn's lips, the small sound she made when I pulled her against me, the way her body fit perfectly against mine.

A mistake. A complication I don't need.

"You need a hand with the install?" Mitchell's kid—Ryan—asks as we reach the end of the cabin's driveway.

"I got it," I reply. "Thanks for bringing the parts out."

He nods, helping me unload everything. "Storm did a number on the roads. Still clearing some downed trees on the main highway, but this stretch should be passable now."

Good. The sooner I can fix Eleanor, the sooner I can put distance between myself and this cabin. Between myself and Jordyn.

Ryan leaves, and I stand for a moment, tools and parts at my feet, staring down the road where my truck waits. I should head there immediately. Instead, I turn and walk back toward the cabin, telling myself it's just to let Jordyn know I'll be gone for a few hours.

The truth is more complicated.

She's on the porch when I round the corner, hair pulled back in a ponytail now, looking more natural than when I first saw her at the truck stop. Something about seeing her like this makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with something far more dangerous.

"Got the parts?" she asks, eyes carefully not meeting mine.

"Yeah. Heading to the truck now."

She nods, finally looking up. "Need a ride?"

"I can walk."

"Don't be ridiculous," she says with exasperation that somehow sounds affectionate. "I'll drive you."

I should refuse. But I find myself nodding, and minutes later we're in her SUV, the silence between us charged in a way it wasn't before.

"About what happened—" we both start simultaneously, then stop.

She laughs, the tension breaking slightly. "You go first."

I stare out the windshield. "That shouldn't have happened."

"Why not?" The directness of her question catches me off guard.

"Because you're—" I struggle for the right word.

"I'mwhat?" she challenges. "Too spoiled? Too privileged? Too much of a 'princess'?"

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