Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)(89)
She couldn’t leave without coming clean and a promise to at least replace his screwdriver, but she couldn’t stay too long either because Nelson headed for home around sunset. And if she didn’t catch him tonight, her adventure would have to wait until Monday.
And Avery was tired of waiting, so with the first hints of orange peeking over the mountains, she pulled out her brightest lipstick—stiletto red with a gloss luminous enough to be seen from space that she’d bought when she’d decided to start living bold. Propping her knee on the hood of the car, she gripped the windshield wiper for leverage and pulled herself up.
Perched on top of his hood on all fours, she took a bold breath and ever so carefully scrawled across the front windshield: I OWE YOU A SCREW—
Damn it! Her lipstick, warm from the day’s heat, broke and rolled down below the wipers and out of sight. She leaned forward and slipped her fingers inside the crevice to get it, thunking her forehead against the windshield when she realized it was just out of reach.
“Either you were going to write in your ex’s phone number or this is my lucky day.”
Avery slowly turned her head, and what she saw sent her heart to her toes. Leaning against a lamppost, looking relaxed and incredibly dangerous in a pair of battered hiking boots, low-slung cargo pants with a million and one pockets holding a million and one surprises, and enough stubble to tell her it was five o’clock, stood a mountain of hard muscles and pure testosterone—wearing a Sequoia Lake Lodge ball cap.
She reread what she’d written and felt her face flush.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” she said, because it was so much worse. Two seconds into living loud and she was caught defacing the truck of a man who, although she had never seen him before, she could tell by the well-worn but well-kept Gore-Tex mountaineering boots, wasn’t a weekend warrior.
But a Sequoia Lodge member—and a serious climber. That he found amusement in her situation told her he knew she wasn’t.
“I figure you’re either testing out a new lip color or making a declaration, in which case you might as well save us both some time and just give me your number.”
“My mother warned me about giving my number to handsome strangers. She said they either call or they don’t, but either way you’re in for a world of hurt.”
“Handsome stranger, huh?” He pushed off the lamppost and approached the truck, his hand extended. She ignored it under the pretense of looking for her lipstick. “Easy fix. Name’s Ty.”
Just that. Ty. With a shrug. As though Mountain Man was too badass for anything more than a couple letters thrown together—and big enough to get away with it.
In her experience, big, badass men who pretended to be bulletproof were the first to take cover the second that whole through sickness and in health part came into play. Unfortunately, big, badass men who dropped five hundred bucks on a pair of hiking boots also tended to drop serious cash on adrenaline-pumping excursions, which meant she needed to appear somewhat neighborly.
And normal.
Eyes making direct and unwavering contact, she said, “I’m Avery. Avery Morgan.”
“Well, Avery Morgan, if you aren’t making an offer, then my guess is you mistook the hood of my truck for a mountain.” He chuckled, and she found herself smiling back.
He had a great laugh, warm, deep, and a little tired. Living loud might not require permission, but in this case is did require an apology.
“It’s not an offer, just an apology,” she clarified, giving her most apologetic look, which was completely wasted on him since he was too busy staring at her ass to notice.
“And just what does one need to do to receive that kind of apology?” When she went back to looking for the lipstick, he added, “You know, so I can be prepared.”
“Underestimate me,” she said, then smiled over her shoulder. “Or keep staring at my ass.”
Mountain Man grinned. Slow and sexy and completely annoying. “I was staring at your harness. It’s really wedged up there. Looks painful.”
Avery was well aware that she was sporting the biggest wedgie known to man, and yes it was not a comfortable experience, but she’d rather die than admit that to him. The man looked smug, capable, and like the kind of guy who could spot weakness a mountain away. And this wasn’t her finest moment. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” He stepped even closer, turning his ball cap around to get a closer look and—sweet baby Jesus—Mountain Man was seriously sexy. Rugged sexy with a strong jaw, piercing lake-blue eyes, which were currently sparking in her direction, and a confidence that said he was prepared and ready.
For anything.
And why that made her stomach flutter she had no idea. Avery was on a flutter-free solo adventure, damn it. No fluttering allowed, sexy stranger or not.
“Yes, just part of my job.”
“As what? A window washer?”
Shrugging off the little voice reminding her she was on the hood of a truck in a pair of strappy sandals, pressed capris, and a safety harness, she said, “As an adventure coordinator.”
She had to give him credit, he didn’t laugh. But he wanted to, she could tell. Why was it so hard for people to understand that she was perfect for this job?
Sure, she might have been hesitant at first too, but after settling in she realized that she had all of the skills required to be awesome at her job. She just needed time to gain her bearings, then she would be proficient. And, as Avery had learned over the years, with proficiency came respect. And confidence.