Page 5 of Winning Winnie’s Hand

“No, I don’t suppose so,” he said, still looking at the wheels. “I’ll check it out for you. See how stuck it really is.”

“Would you? I’d really appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He gave a single nod, retrieved his lance from the ground as easy as one lifted a toothpick, then made his way to the back of the car, clearly shifting from theatrical knight to modern-day man with a problem to solve.

Winnie didn’t mind whatever type of guy he chose to be—just so long as he kept that swagger up. She watched in the rearview and sideview mirrors as he walked around the back of the car, his armored shoulders swaying from side to side with each step he took. He rested his lance against a tree nearby, tied his horse to a thick branch, then hunkered down behind the Aston Martin.

Winnie pursed her lips together, straining to see more of him in the mirror, but with the man out of view, she settled back down in her seat with a sigh, rolling up her window and catching sight of his large, black horse instead.

The gelding was stunning. She’d always wanted one like him growing up. Dark and glistening and powerful. But that dream had dissolved a long, long time ago.

The car rocked back and forth, and her head bobbed a bit with the motion. She shifted her attention to the knight in the mirror, whose top half had finally reappeared behind the car. Despite his efforts, the Aston Martin didn’t budge.

After another moment, he returned to her side. She rolled down her window halfway as he approached.

“Yeah, it’s fairly stuck,” he said. “But if you drive a bit forward while I push, I think we can manage just fine.”

His accent, while distinctly British, had a roguish twinge to it, a little rougher round the edges than a typical English accent, with the vowels sounding slightly more clipped in some places while elongated in others.

She preferred it to the posh-sounding knightly accent from before.

“I can do that,” she responded.

He made for the back of the car again, but when she caught sight of his hands, she paused, calling after him. “Oh, wait.”

He stopped, looking at her over his shoulder.

“Will you make sure to be careful?” She motioned to his gloved hands, the gauntlets covering half of them. “This is a rental, so I don’t really want it to get scratched.”

He peered down at his gloves, then gave her an amused look. “I would never dream of injuring thy steed, my lady,” he said, then he walked away without another word, his armor clanking with every step.

Winnie’s brow pulled together. Her request hadn’t been that ridiculous. What did he want her to do, accept thousands of dollars’ worth of damage to a car that wasn’t hers? Worse than that would be the lecture she’d receive from Dad.

“Were you driving recklessly, Winnie? You really need to pay closer attention to things.”

Bleh. Nothing was worse for a twenty-eight-year-old woman.

She glanced at him in her rearview mirror again, the taillights glinting red on his wet armor, and she once again shook her head in slight bewilderment. Was this really happening right now? Was she really being rescued by a knight in shining armor?

She caught sight of him waving his hand in the mirror, signaling for her to move forward, so she shifted into first gear, placed her high-heeled foot on the gas pedal, and eased slowly forward.

Unfortunately, the water from the open window had pooled near her feet, so when she pressed down on the gas, her heel slid forward, and her engine revved to life.

She gasped, the moment lasting only a second as she instantly slammed on the brakes, but she knew what the result was of her slip-up.

Sure enough, as she glanced in the mirror, she saw clear as day the mud striped across the knight’s face and even more of it strewn across his metal shoulders and dripping from the tips of his hair.

Oops.

Winnie rolled down the window. “Sorry!” she called out. “My foot slipped.”

“No problem,” came the knight’s strained voice from behind the car. “Just a little slower this time.”

She nodded, trying again on his signal, this time easing gently into the pedal.

Slowly, the car shifted back and forth with the help of the knight, the vehicle inching forward until the back wheels finally caught, and the Aston Martin—her trusty emerald steed—escaped the clutches of the mud.

Winnie breathed a sigh of relief, setting the car in park with all four wheels securely on the road. Now she wouldn’t have to walk in her heels and pencil skirt to the doors of Foxwood and embarrass herself further with a lovely wet-dog look.