Page 5 of Love Harvested on Thanksgiving
The tires spin, kicking up dust, and the car lurches before sinking into the thick ruts. I press the gas a little harder. The engine revs, the wheels spin, and I go nowhere.
“No, no, no…” My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. I try shifting into reverse. The car jerks back an inch, then digs itself deeper.
My heart starts to climb into my throat. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
I glance at the numbers on the dash. 10:48. I’m supposed to be there in twelve minutes.If I even make it there.
I grab my phone and stare at the screen, debating. Do I call him? Do I try to figure this out myself? My stomach twists, panic, and embarrassment creeping along the edges of my thoughts.
I could call Kellan, have him help me, go home, pretend this never happened and tell Finley something came up.
“Perfect first impression, Alex,” I mutter under my breath.
I let out a long, frustrated sigh, grab my phone, and shove the door open. The air outside smells of hay and a hint of something unpleasant. I circle around to the front of the car, crouch, and snap a picture of my front tire—half buried in sand.
Back at the driver’s side, I lean against the door and stare at the photo. I type out a message, erase it, and type again. Finally, I type out a message, attach the photo, and hit send.
Running late, stuck in the middle of your road.
I slip the car into neutral and shove my shoulder against the driver’s side door. And push with everything I have.
The car doesn’t move an inch. My boots slide uselessly beneath me, and I groan between my heavy breaths.
Out of breath and more than a little desperate, I climb back inside and pull up my browser. My fingers tap across the screen.How to get car unstuck from sand.
Dozens of results pop up. I skim them—rock it back and forth, try putting something under the tire, let air out of the tires.Air out of the tires? Huh.
I squint down the stretch of road, the late morning sun bouncing off something metallic. Slowly, the shape of a large truck comes into focus through the rays of sunlight and dust.
“Please be nice,” I murmur, brushing my hair out of my face as I step away from my car. “Please don’t yell at me for blocking the way.”
The truck grows larger, the engines roar filling the road. It rolls to a stop in front of me and the door swings open.
The man who steps out is huge—taller than the truck he exited. Muscles flex under a tan t-shirt, the dirt-stained fabric stretches across a broad chest. Short, mahogany brown hair, a thick beard framing a sharp jaw, and—oh. A little curl of chest hair peeks out of the collar. My throat goes dry.
Wow.He might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
And when his blue eyes meet mine. For a second, I swear my heart stops beating. My mouth opens but no words come out.
He doesn’t bother filling the silence. Just walks past me. He bends down to look under the car, his back muscles flexing beneath his shirt.
The truck dips and bounces as he grabs something from the bed. Thick rope with heavy hooks on each end.
Without so much as a glance my way he fixes one hook to the front of his truck. Then he moves to my car, attaching the other. Still no words.
I clear my throat, desperate to break the silence. “Did your boss at the farm send you?” I manage to say without stuttering.
He pauses mid-motion, then lifts his head. His gaze locks with mine, sharp and so blue.
“I don’t have a boss.”
The words roll out low and rugged, gravelly enough to scrape against my nerves almost making my knees weak. Heat creeps up my neck.
“Oh.” I manage.
He turns back to the rope, giving it a final tug before walking back to his truck. He opens the truck door and flicks his hand in a back-and-forth motion signaling for me to move.
I scurry back into the field behind me. He shifts into gear, and the rope tightens as he rolls back, my SUV rocks, then begins to inch forward.
