Page 1 of May's Cowboy Roman
CHAPTER 1
ROMAN
I didn’t have the time or the desire to stop. The car sat on the shoulder a few miles outside of town. Hazard lights blinked against the dark. I was close enough to catch the pale, yellow paint in my headlights, but I didn’t recognize the car.
I wanted to keep driving. Whoever it was could sort out their own problems, call someone else, wait for daylight or roadside assistance, or do whatever the hell people did when their vehicles quit on them in the middle of nowhere.
Instead, I took my foot off the gas, pulled off behind the car, and cut the engine. In Mustang Mountain, when someone's stranded and you've got the tools to help, you stop. Simple as that.
I stepped out, my boots crunching on the gravel, the May air cool but not cold. The car's hood was closed and the engine silent. There wasn’t any smoke, and I didn’t catch the smell of burnt rubber or oil. If I could offer help, I would, but I hoped whoever sat inside the car had already called for a tow and would send me on my way.
A woman got out of the driver’s side and turned toward me. She was a curvy little thing and stood there with her arms crossed, her weight shifted to one hip, and her body language settling somewhere between irritated and defiant. Something inside my chest stirred as I let my gaze run over her, catching on the flare of her hips, and the way her shirt fit tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination.
I tried to shake it off. Whoever she was, she was way out of my league, even before I had the accident that left my face looking like I’d met the wrong end of a chainsaw.
She didn’t look panicked or scared. Her stance made her look like she was personally offended by the inconvenience of a breakdown. Her dark blonde hair caught the light from my truck. She had it pulled back from her face, making it easy to watch her tracking me in the dark.
Most people looked away when I stepped into their line of sight. They dropped their gaze or found something else to focus on so it wouldn’t look like they were staring at the ragged scar that cut down the side of my face. But she held her ground and watched me approach, her gaze steady and unflinching.
“My car broke down,” she said.
“Looks like it.”
“And I haven’t had much of a signal since Marion.” Her mouth twitched into something not quite a smile. “I don't suppose you're a mechanic.”
“Close enough.” I moved past her toward the hood, not waiting for permission. She stepped to the side to give me some space. I crouched down, running my hand along the edge of the hood until I found the release. “Pop the hood?”
She leaned in through the driver's side window, found the lever, and the hood lifted with a soft click. I raised it the rest of the way and leaned in, noticing the faint warmth from the engine block.
I checked the battery terminals first. That was always the simplest answer. My fingers brushed against the connections and found the negative terminal loose. Corrosion had built up around the clamp enough to cut the power completely. It was an easy fix… the kind of thing that only needed thirty seconds and a steady hand.
I didn't offer an explanation, just grabbed the wrench I’d shoved in my pocket, tightened the connection, then scraped the edge of the terminal clean with the flat of my knife blade. The corrosion flaked away, and I wiped my knife against my jeans before securing the clamp.
“Try it now.”
She disappeared into the car without questioning me. The engine turned over on the first attempt, then hummed smooth and strong, like it had never stopped. Problem solved.
I lowered the hood, let it drop into place with a solid thunk, and stepped back. That should have been the end of it. A simple roadside fix didn’t require any kind of conversation.
But when I looked up, she was standing next to the car again, her door still open, and the engine running clean behind her. And she was watching me with a kind of curiosity I’d never gotten used to.
“Thank you.”
I nodded. Then I turned back toward my truck because there wasn't anything left to do, and I'd already given her more time than I wanted.
“Wait.”
I stopped but didn't turn around.
“What's your name?”
Most people didn't ask. Most people took the help and drove away, relieved to be moving again and not particularly interested in the stranger who'd made it possible. But her tone made it sound like she wasn't done with me yet. Like she wasn’t trying to be pushy, just… interested.
I turned far enough to see her standing there with her arms uncrossed, her posture open but not vulnerable.
“Roman.”
She offered a small smile. “I’m Rachel.”
