One Snowy Night (Heartbreaker Bay #2.5)(12)

“Stay here,” Max said.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He spared her a look as he pulled up his hoodie. “Going to help them out.”

He said it like it was his problem the SUV was in trouble. Like he could no more pass another car in need of assistance than he could stop inhaling and exhaling air for his lungs.

“But—-” she started. But nothing, because he was already gone. She watched him trudge through the snow, lit by his high beams, toward the other SUV.

Two -people got out to greet him, an older -couple by the looks of them. They spoke to Max, who nodded. Even smiled. He said something to the older man, patted the woman reassuringly on the arm and . . . went to the back of his truck, probably for tools.

“He’s going to say he doesn’t need anything from me,” she said to Carl. “But we’re going to offer to help anyway.” She pulled her wet sweater and jacket back on and slid out of the truck, smiling at the -couple. She moved toward Max, on his knees in the snow now, wrenching off the bad tire with easy strength and ability.

He could be such an ass. But he was also selfless. Kind. Funny. Well, at least with everyone else anyway.

The older woman smiled and shook her head at Rory. “We’re so grateful that you stopped. We’ve been here for an hour with no cell ser-vice. We couldn’t call for help. Our kids and grandkids will be so worried.”

Rory managed a smile around a suddenly tight throat. Would her family be worried? Or would they just assume she’d flaked yet again? “You have a big family?”

“You might say so.” The woman laughed. “Six kids. Twelve grandkids.” She laughed again at the look on Rory’s face. “We’ve been together since the dawn of time, you see.” She looked toward the men, shaking hands now since Max was already finished, and beamed. “And after all these years, he still makes my heart flutter.”

“That’s incredibly sweet,” Rory said.

The older woman squeezed her hand. “Whatever you two are arguing about, my dear, you can work it out.”

Rory looked at her, startled. “How do you know we’re arguing?”

“Since the dawn of time, remember? I know the signs.” She smiled. “Would you like a hint on how to fix it?”

Rory looked into her kind eyes. “Yes, please.”

“You use the past to fix the now,” she said. “You make your mistakes—-which is allowed, by the way. After all, you’re only human, but you learn from them. Grow from them. Things can’t always be forgotten, but they can be forgiven.”

Rory turned to look at Max. She’d most definitely learned from her mistakes. Grown from them. But . . . had she been forgiven for them?

The old -couple got into their SUV and drove off. Rory helped Max gather the few tools he’d used.

“Get in the truck,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

She stubbornly went to the back of the truck with him to put the tools away. They both leaned in, reaching out to close the toolbox at the same time, their faces close, their hands colliding. She took in the scent of him, some sort of innately sexy guy soap. He hadn’t shaved that morning and the sight of the stubble on his strong jaw had a funny slide going through her belly.

Suddenly he appeared to realize how close their faces were and jerked back. “Get out of the snow,” he said.

He was just as covered in it as she. In fact, every inch of his jacket was layered in fresh powder. “Right back at you,” she said.

Reaching out, he ran a hand over her head and shoulders, brushing snow from her, an action that had the quiver in her belly heading south.

She didn’t want to feel anything for him, she really didn’t, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. A low sound that came horrifying close to a moan escaped her and Max stilled.

God. He’d heard and now her humiliation was complete—-

“Get in the truck and out of this weather,” he repeated, his voice still low and rough but somehow softer. “Please.”

She drew in a surprised breath at that. She wasn’t used to the “please,” not from him anyway. She nodded and left him alone.

Two minutes later he’d joined her and Carl in the truck and . . .

The engine wouldn’t start.





Chapter Five


“SHIT,” MAX SAID after a few more tries. He leaned back, frustration in every line of his body.

“What’s wrong?” Rory asked, afraid she already knew.

“Dead battery.” He shook his head. “I was going to give the truck an overhaul this week with my dad and that’s one of the things I was going to replace. I think the frigid temps finished her off.”

Rory looked at the time. Eleven thirty. On Christmas Eve, no less. Not good, not good at all, but she tried not to panic.

And failed miserably.

“So . . . what now?” she asked in what she hoped was a casual voice.

He glanced over at her as if maybe she’d given away her panic regardless. He pulled out his phone and looked at the screen. “Still no cell ser-vice,” he said in disgust. “I’m going to have to flag someone down for a jump--start.”

She had no idea how long that would take but it surely wasn’t going to be quick and her heart sank. Getting home by dawn wasn’t looking good, but surely someone would stop. She looked out into the night.