Chapter 1

chapter

one

Brook

People like to say that when God closes a door, he opens a window.

I've been working really hard to make that analogy work for my life. So how does that go, exactly?

When God burns your life's work to the ground, he …. what?

I haven't figured out the end of that sentence yet.

I'm trying really hard not to be a whiny, morose, sad sack about the state of my life. Really hard.

After all, I'm not destitute. When a wildfire took out nearly all of the vineyard I've been working my ass off to establish up in the panhandle, it was bad, but not a total disaster.

I mean … legally, according to the insurance, it was actually a disaster, but … well, you get what I mean.

At least, I had insurance. I have the means and the knowledge to rebuild, and this time I'll do it someplace … moister. Less prone to acts of God.

And, luckily, my half-sister, Natalie, has settled down in Saddle Creek, the perfect little town in the Texas Hill Country. So I'm rebuilding my life here.

I will say this, the rain is a welcome sight after living in the panhandle for so long. Dry and flat there. It's the exact opposite here, and I have a good feeling about this move, even if it means I'm temporarily living in her guest bedroom and sharing a room with a baby goat.

I'm fairly certain I see a rainbow peeking through the clouds, and I smile. But then a squirrel runs into the road in front of me. He freezes, and I swerve to try to miss him, only to hydroplane and run myself off the road.

When the car comes to a stop, I open my eyes. Well, that's no good. I shouldn't have closed them in the first place, considering I was driving. Further proof that I'm not so excellent at impending danger.

Thankfully my airbags didn't deploy, or my car would be screwed. Nope, I'm just on the side of the road in the grass, and Mr. Squirrel has just run up a tree. Little shit.

I mean can anything else go wrong?

Don't answer that. Of course it can.

Because when I put the car in reverse, my car doesn't budge. No matter what gear I put it in, no matter how light or heavy I hit the gas, all I get in response are spinning tires.

I am stuck.

In the mud.

Trapped.

This feels like a metaphor for my life.

I slam my palms on my steering wheel and stomp my feet. Then I scream, because sometimes life kicks you in the teeth and you need a good scream.

"You about done?" A man's voice comes from outside my car.

I scream again, this time for another reason when I look out my window and see him. It's raining men. Alleluia, indeed.

He's beautiful. Well, I guess he's too rugged and hairy to be considered beautiful. But definitely handsome and clearly full of trouble if that grin is any indication.

He makes the motion for me to roll down my window.

I do as he asks.

Then he leans forward so his face is closer to mine. Now I can see the golden flecks in his pretty brown eyes. His hair is brown. Well, I think it is; he's actually got a ball cap on backwards hiding most of his hair. But he's got a pretty, full, brown beard covering the lower half of his face.

"If you want to keep trying to browbeat your car into submission I can leave you to it, but I figured you might need a hand."

"Yeah, that would be great. Thank you."

Rain droplets stick to his impossibly long lashes, framing those chocolate pools that seem fathomless. He blinks, releasing those drops, then new ones fall.

"You know, if you wore that hat the way you're supposed to, the bill would keep the rain out of your eyes."

He smirks. "Maybe, but then you wouldn't be staring at my eyes like you have been since I walked up."

"It was only because it seems stupid to walk around in the rain, with a hat on and still get water I your eyes. You do you, I guess." I cross my arms over my chest. It's hard to be indignant when: A) he's not wrong, I was totally staring, and B) I drove my car off the road to avoid a squirrel.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Does this ‘aww, shucks, ma'am' schtick usually work for you?"

He just tosses his head back and laughs.

My eyes follow the line of his throat where it's visible beneath his beard, and I see a hint of a tattoo peeking out from his t-shirt. A shirt that is now pretty much molded to his mouth-watering torso. Tell me I am not seeing the outline of ab muscles through a wet shirt!

This man is dangerous. Danger with a capital D. You know what else starts with D?

No, Brook! You will not find this annoying man attractive. Hot fudge sundaes are attractive too, but they make your hips and ass even bigger than they already are.

"Listen, darlin, as entertaining as this is, I don't normally stand in the rain just to be insulted by a pretty girl. Now then, here's what's gonna happen, I'm gonna get the hook from my truck and attach it to your front bumper. You're going to follow my instructions or else your bumper will pull straight off. Got me?"

I glare at him, and my mouth and my brain want to give him a sassy retort. I don't take orders from anyone. But thankfully, the logical part of me rears her head. "Yes. I got you."

He nods.

As he's about to turn, I see the undeniable barbell shape pressed against his shirt.

"Are your nipples pierced?" I blurt out. Clearly, logical Brook has left the building.

"That's not all that's pierced, darlin."

My gaze darts to his septum. And then his ears. His eyebrows. No, no, and no.

Almost against my will, my eyes drift down to his …

He chuckles.

Oh damn.

Why is that hot? "I'm not your darlin."

He just winks and then walks back to his truck. I watch him work. Guilt gnaws at my belly. He pulled over in the rain to help me and I've been nothing but rude and ungrateful to him. It's not his fault he's so stupidly hot.

He gets everything hooked up, and then he's barking orders at me from his open truck window.

"Just turn your wheel, like that. Not too hard. That's it, just like that."

Damn, why does that sound so filthy? I ignore my body's reaction—because that is just unnecessary—and surely I can blame damp panties on the rain. My car lurches, then springs free from the mud. When he's got all four of my wheels back on the road, he puts his truck in park and comes to unhook me.

He saunters back over to my car, his snug jeans riding low on his hips.

"Darlin, try to keep yourself out of trouble," he says. Then he leans down into my window again. His features harden. "And don't fucking swerve for squirrels or anything else; you're gonna get yourself killed."

The command is gruff and rumbly and does wicked things to my nipples. I don't even understand what is happening right now because I do not find bossy, hairy men attractive.

"Wow, thanks for the tip."

Then he turns and walks away.

My eyes drop to the perfection that is his ass. Wranglers highlight his asset with a snug fit.

"You can take a picture, if you want," he hollers over his shoulder. "It'll last longer." He climbs into his truck and drives away.

I pound on my steering wheel again. Dammit. There is nothing worse than a cocky man. Except a cocky man who keeps catching you checking him out. Here's hoping that's the last time I'll see him.