Dancing in the Moonlight - Harlequin.com

10 DANCING IN THE MOONLIGHT
The only reason for someone to be on this road was
if they’d taken a wrong turn somewhere or they were
heading to one of the eight or nine houses and ranchettes
between his place at the mouth of the canyon and
the Cold Creek.
Since he knew every single person who lived in those
houses, he couldn’t drive on past one of his neighbors
who might be having trouble.
The little silver Subaru didn’t look familiar. Arizona
plates, he noted as he pulled in behind it.
His headlights illuminated why the car was pulled
over on the side of the road, at any rate. The rear passenger-side
tire was flat as pancake and he could make out
someone—a woman, he thought—trying to work a jack
in the damp night while holding a flashlight in her mouth.
He bade a fond farewell to the dream he had so
briefly entertained of sinking into his warm bed anytime
soon. No way could he leave a woman in distress alone
on a quiet ranch road.
Anyway, it was only a flat tire. He could have it
changed and send the lost tourist on her way in ten,
fifteen minutes and be in that elusive bed ten minutes
after that.
He climbed out and was grateful for his jacket when
the wind whistled down the canyon, rattling his car
door. Here on the backside of the Tetons, April could
still sink through the skin like a thousand needles.
“Hey, there,” he called as he approached. “Need a
hand?”
The woman shaded her eyes, probably unable to see
who was approaching in the glare from his headlights.