“What?” Hazel eyes searched mine, while a passerby shouted something incomprehensible at us out the window of a bright yellow sports car.
“Er...” I noticed the canary-colored vehicle threw on its brakes. Now I really wished I’d kept the turban on my head. “The lock is broken on my SUV—”
“C’mon.” Damien Fraser gestured for me to follow him toward the road and his massive pickup truck. “I’ve got some chains in the back.”
Okay. I won’t say where my mind went on learning that particular bit of trivia. Maybe I’d been spending too much time daydreaming up plot points for my secret novel. I focused on darting across Highway 1 without getting killed, all the while keeping a weather eye on the situation with the vintage yellow Porsche, which had pulled over fifty yards ahead.
“Miranda Cortland?” a woman shouted out the window of the Porsche, alerting me to potential trouble.
I scrambled into the passenger seat of the Ford 450—a fact I knew only because it said so in chrome along one side.
“Friend of yours?” Damien asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat, his size, warmth and general masculinity filling the cab. He kept his eye out the window on the sports car.
“No.” I didn’t need to look. I had become a recognizable face after the ten-week reality show I’d been on had turned into a surprise hit. I’d fallen into the job after a nice casting director who’d turned me down for virtually everything I’d ever tested for with her had recommended me.
While the show featured a few C-list celebrities competing in acts of daring to see who was the “Gutsiest Girl,” there were also a few “real people” to fill out the cast. I’d been one of them, and the directors had focused on my waitressing job in an upscale tearoom. I’d been the Nice Girl competitor. The contestant no one expected to win. But when the other women had started plotting against each other, everyone forgot about me because...honestly, I’m not that memorable and I’m just too nice. So the last one standing had been yours truly.
“She sure can’t drive worth a damn,” Damien Fraser observed as he pulled into traffic and stomped on the accelerator, his triceps flexing as he cranked the wheel.
I gripped the armrest as the powerful engine all but threw me backward into the seat. We put distance between us and the sports car in no time, and I decided I liked Mr. Surly. He was a no-nonsense kind of guy, different from the men I’d run across in Hollywood. I pictured him revving the engine of his badass truck to send members of the paparazzi scattering like ants under a boot.
“Thanks for doing this.” I knew I’d start chattering soon if he didn’t say something to fill the silence. Was he wondering how the woman in the Porsche had known me? Was he thinking I was a moron for not getting my SUV tuned up before a big trip? Joelle had told me to, but I hadn’t wanted to spend any of the money I might need for start-up cash. “I guess I left in such a hurry this morning I didn’t prepare as well as I should have.”
I yanked the green lace top over the pink one, covering up the belly-button ring and making me look a tad less disheveled.
“That you?” He pointed out my vehicle sitting at an angle on the shoulder, so that it looked as if it had already given up the ghost.
“Yes. Whoa!” I slid sideways into the passenger door as he flipped a U-turn and parked the truck in front of my broken-down SUV.
He shoved open his own door without another word.
“Wait.” I hurried to unbuckle and follow him. “I can help.”
I hated being Ms. Needy Female, but he was already hooking a metal cable around my front bumper.
“I thought you were using chains?” Stepping carefully around some brush off the side of the highway, I watched him work.
“The winch kit will work best for starters.” He pressed a lever to tighten the cable between my car and his. “Then we’ll add a couple of chains for good measure. You want to put it in Neutral and flip on the hazards?”
“Uh, sure.” I hoped this was safe. And while I was grateful to get my vehicle off the side of the road, I just hoped he wouldn’t hold it against me that I’d really inconvenienced him.
More than anything, I wanted to get settled in my new digs, since I was technically homeless.
And yes, I knew most people would call it insanity to leave one apartment without securing another, but I had never been one to play it safe. For me, there was never a plan B. When trouble came my way, I dodged it and moved forward. Some might call it conflict avoidance. Whatever. I considered it taking charge of my life. In my own way, I overcame obstacles and moved on.
I put the old Highlander in Neutral as he’d asked, and switched on the hazards, then hurried back to his truck, since Damien was already climbing into the driver’s seat. I got the impression he’d never wasted a second of time in his life.
Everything about Damien Fraser screamed that he did not suffer fools lightly. And me? I’d practically been born with a touch of foolishness. I considered it part of my charm. Up until recently, that is, when I realized that being on a reality show—if only for a few weeks—had made it easier for people from my past to find me and harass me.
Too bad Rick, the main offender, hadn’t stayed married to my sister. I’d always hoped him being married to Nina would keep the creep at arm’s length, but since their divorce, he seemed way too eager to see me again.
As if.
“Ready?” I smiled up at my rescuer as I buckled my seat belt again, but the effort was wasted, since he shifted into low gear and focused on pulling out onto the highway.
More silence.
“So, Mr. Fraser—”
“Damien,” he corrected, checking his side mirror.
“So, Damien. You have a Thoroughbred farm?” If I kept him talking, that meant I wouldn’t be talking. Which meant I couldn’t possibly say anything to potentially wreck my chances of buying the property.
“We breed racing stock. Sell shares in prospective winners.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but this seemed to say it all as far as he was concerned. I knew something about farming from growing up in Nebraska, but a Thoroughbred operation was a far cry from a small family farm that specialized in a few hybrid kinds of corn.
“And the property you’re selling. You just don’t need it?” I took in the stark interior of the truck cab. There was no iPod plugged in or coffee mug in the cup holder. No mail on the seat.
Tough to be nosy when there were no good clues to work with.
“It’s a good retail location with proximity to Highway 1, and there’s already a building there. That little patch of property is worth more to me if I sell it rather than convert it into anything usable for the farm.”
“Do you get many tourists up here?” I hadn’t done much market research to see who might support a tearoom in this area. I figured I had Joelle in my corner to help me figure out how to make the business a success. Plus I’d had years to gather ideas of my own while watching her work.
“We’re situated right along the Coast Highway. Some people come out to California just to see the sights up and down this road.”
And yet it looked plenty rural to my eyes. I’d been really enjoying the scenery until the SUV bit the dust a few miles back. There were trees and hills, the scent of the sea in the air. Every now and then you turned a corner and caught a view of the Pacific, so blue it made your eyes hurt.
This was going to be a big improvement over L.A. When I first moved there, I’d just wanted out of Nebraska and away from Rick’s betrayal. He’d upgraded to my sister after leading me on, wooing