Page 12 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

I waved, stepping away from her truck as she put it in drive. As quickly as she’d come to a stop, she was off, racing down the highway and leaving me in the dark.

I got back in my car, swatting at the bugs that had latched on to my skin and hitchhiked their way into the car. Then I waited, watching the clock as ten minutes ticked by. Then fifteen. At twenty, I was starting to wish I’d hitched a ride with Sally after all, but then two headlights came around a bend.

I got out and waited in my same spot by the hood, only this time, my own headlights were shining too.

The tow truck came to a slow stop, the engine running as the driver opened the door and stepped onto the road. His dark, tall figure was shadowed as he walked through the streaming light.

“Ma’am.” His hand lifted as he stepped close and his features came into view. “Heard you needed a tow.”

I swallowed hard. Was I asleep? I had to be asleep. Sally was a dream and so was he. I had no experience with tow truck drivers but surely this wasn’t what they all looked like. Otherwise the women of the world would be constantly popping their tires.

He shifted, blocking out more of the light with his broad shoulders. The move gave me a clearer view of his face and highlighted the line of his straight nose. Stubble dusted his strong jaw. His arms were roped with muscles so defined I wouldn’t be surprised if he picked up my car with his bare hands to set it on the tow’s flatbed.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes.” I blinked, forcing my gaze away from his soft lips to return his handshake. “Sorry. I, uh . . . have a flat and can’t change it.”

“Hmm.” He walked to the car, peering down the side pressed against the guardrail. “Looks like you got more than a flat.”

My eyes drifted to the man’s ass. Day-um. As he turned, I forced my eyes to his face. The last thing I needed was for him to leave me on the side of this road. “I scraped against the guardrail as I skidded to a stop. I don’t even want to think about what the side of my car looks like.”

“Probably not pretty. But we’ll get it to the garage and take a closer look.”

“Thanks.” I smiled. “I appreciate you coming out here so late to help me.”

He chuckled. “When Sally calls, it’s best you answer, ma’am.”

I cringed at the third ma’am. “It’s Londyn. Spelled with a y.”

“Londyn. Pleasure.” Oh lord, that voice, so rich and smooth. I hoped his name was something plain like George or Frank. Something to combat the perfection. “I’m Brooks Cohen.”

Not George. This was definitely a dream.

Chapter Three

Brooks

Tonight wasn’t the first time I’d gotten a tow call from Sally Leaf well after midnight. Normally, she needed me to tow her out of whatever ditch she’d managed to drop her old truck into. The woman drove like speed limits were a minimum and lines on the highway a suggestion.

Regardless, whenever she called, I came running. I’d hauled my ass out of my bed, then dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I’d hurried the few blocks from my house to the garage, where I’d swapped out my silver Ford for the tow rig. As Sally had promised, almost exactly ten miles out of town, I’d spotted the car sandwiched against the guardrail.

A gorgeous car. And a goddamn knockout owner.

Londyn. Spelled with a y.

Her Cadillac was loaded onto the flatbed and she was riding shotgun with a purse clutched in her lap. The sweet scent of her hair drifted my way each time she made the slightest movement to shift her handbag or cross her legs.

Thank goodness it was dark and she couldn’t see my wandering eyes. They’d skimmed her from head to toe, taking in that long blond hair as it draped over her shoulders and the swells of her breasts. Her loose jeans couldn’t hide the rounded contours of her hips or the firm lines of her legs.

My mother would be ashamed to know I’d checked out her ass more than once.

I ducked my head, sneaking a quick sniff of my arm. Oh, hell. I smelled like sweat and grease. I’d showered before bed, washing away a day of grime from the garage and the stink of the five miles I’d run after work. But after loading up her car in the sticky heat, I’d melted right through my quick swipe of deodorant.

“You just passing through?” I asked as I rolled the window down a few inches. I knew the answer to that question. If she lived around here, I’d know it. Summers was my hometown and I’d lived here all my life. After thirty-three years, there weren’t many people I didn’t know. But we’d ridden two miles in uncomfortable silence, and I was desperate to ease the tension.

“Yes. I’m on my way to California.”

“From?”