She chuckled. “I don’t think they can help you.”
He pulled them up in his contacts. “Sure, they can.” He brought the phone to his ear and frowned.
“Yeah, this is McCullough Mountain. The whole thing is basically a dead zone for cell service.”
He climbed out of the car again and attempted the call from several different locations, pacing from one side of the dirt road to the other.
She rolled down her window. “Just an FYI, I didn’t ask for permission to show you around here, so we’re technically trespassing. The McCulloughs tend to be the sort who shoot first and question after, so maybe we should just swap out the spare and get on our way.”
He pocketed his phone and popped the trunk. Leaning back in the seat, she blew out a breath and waited. Her brow pinched. The whole car smelled like Gage. Her finger nudged the window down a smidge to get some fresh air. “How’s it going?”
“Fine, just stay put.”
That was fine by her. Resting her head on the fine leather upholstery, she patiently waited, her gaze scoping out any personal items sitting in the rental car.
An expensive pair of sunglasses sat on the dash. She brought them to her nose and recognized the scent of his skin on the heavy frames. She couldn’t recall ever being so enamored with a man’s smell, but there was something addicting about Gage’s.
“That must be some expensive cologne,” she mumbled to herself, setting the glasses back on the dashboard.
A gas receipt was tucked behind the visor with a room key for the Motor Inn. She snickered, having a hard time picturing fancy Gage in their town’s little trucker motel.
A leather bag sat on the back seat with a laptop peeking out of the slit. That was probably where he kept his plans for dismantling small towns and world domination. Why the hell had she agreed to this trip?
She waited several more minutes. “How’s it going?”
“Fine. Just a few more…”
He didn’t sound like his usual confident self, so she decided to check on him. When she rounded the car, she frowned. He didn’t even have the jack set up yet.
“What’s taking so long?”
“I, uh, was just getting started.” He set the jack under the car.
“You’ve got that upside down.”
“I know.” He flipped it right side up and her concern grew.
“Have you ever changed a tire before?”
“Of course, I’ve—shit!” He swatted at his neck as a yellow jacket buzzed past his ear. “That little fucker stung me.”
She swatted it away and searched the trees. “There’s a hive over there. He’s probably got friends, so we should hurry up.”
“Why don’t you go back in the car? I’ll only be a few minutes.”
She noticed his phone sitting on the ground beside his leather shoe. The owner’s manual opened on the ground to instructions for changing a spare. This wasn’t good. “Or I could help.”
“I’ve got this.”
But he didn’t. And when the jack slipped out of his grip, he sliced his hand and cursed again. She couldn’t watch anymore.
“Okay, you’re fired.”
“What—”
She nudged him out of the way, examined the tire, then his hand. The hand needed attention first. “Hold it above your heart.”
She removed the red bandana from her hair, and a swoop of blonde tumbled over her eyes. Blowing it out of her line of vision, she tucked a hank behind her ear and went to work wrapping his hand. He silently watched her as she tied the red cloth. She carefully slipped the small corner into a secure knot and lifted her stare to his.
“That should hold for a while. Just keep it up and put some pressure on it.”
“Thank you,” he rasped, holding her stare.
Her throat went dry. She turned her attention to the tire. It was a simple fix. She quickly set the jack and loosened the nuts. Once the hubcap was removed, she glanced over her shoulder and flushed when she found him watching her.
“Hold out your palm.”
He did as she asked, keeping his injured hand lifted and out of the way. One by one, she placed the nuts in his palm. His hands were so large he had no problem holding all of them. She slid off the tire and rolled the spare closer. Once she had it in place, she returned the nuts and fastened the spare.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
She gave him a cocky smirk. “I’m a small-town country girl. It’s part of our standard education. We have to know how to bake a pie, throw a punch, darn a sock, change a tire, and jump off a rope swing. That’s what kids do when there’s no cell service around.” She shut the trunk over the ruined tire.
He cleared his throat, the sound scratchy. “Impressive.”
As she brushed off her hands and turned, she frowned. “Are you allergic to bees?”