Falling For The Hometown Hero. Mindy Obenhaus

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       Chapter Two

      Kaleb held the passenger door of his Jeep open as Grace, now sporting a ponytail and a plain gray T-shirt, reluctantly climbed inside. Clearly, she was a strong, independent woman, evidenced by the fact that she drove a motorcycle and was staying alone at the campground. Still, he preferred to make sure things were done and done right.

      “This really isn’t necessary, you know.” Grace’s tone held a hint of annoyance, which he chose to ignore.

      “So you’ve said.” He tossed the door closed, continued around to the driver’s side and hopped in. “But given that you’re new in town, it’s only logical that I should offer my newest employee a hand. People helping people. That’s how we are in Ouray.”

      While she stared out the window, he started the vehicle, crossed Main Street and headed down Seventh Avenue.

      Grace jerked her head in his direction. “How do you know which way to go?”

      “Easy.” He eyed the cross streets for traffic. “There are only two RV parks within walking distance of Main Street. I saw you coming up Seventh before turning into the hardware store.” He shrugged. “Simple process of elimination.”

      She didn’t say anything, but her narrowed eyes told him she wasn’t necessarily pleased with his observation. Not that he cared. War had taught him to pay attention to detail.

      He made a right onto Oak Street, gravel crunching beneath the Jeep’s heavy-duty tires. “I’ll have to rely on you to direct me to your campsite, though. Either that or drive around until I see your motorcycle.”

      “Wouldn’t take you long. I’m just a few sites into the campground.”

      Sure enough. Once they’d passed the office on the right and showers to their left, he spotted her motorcycle and camper.

      Grace was halfway out the door before he even brought the Jeep to a stop in front of her campsite. She moved around the vehicle and continued straight on to her tent.

      Women. He hoped she wasn’t going to be this stubborn about everything.

      She had a tire that needed fixing, though, and he intended to do just that.

      He stepped out of the Jeep and retrieved his toolbox from the backseat. When he turned around, Grace reappeared—carrying a toolbox.

      Uh-oh. Tread lightly, Palmer.

      “For the record—” he set his toolbox on the ground beside her motorcycle “—I’m not a chauvinist or anything. I just like to make sure things are done correctly.”

      She set her toolbox down with a thud, then crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t think I can do it correctly?”

      “I didn’t say that.” He eyeballed the flat tire, spotting the nail right away. “It’ll just make me feel better, that’s all.”

      Kneeling on his good knee, he lifted the lid on his toolbox and reached for a pair of pliers. “Do you have a compressor or something to inflate the tire once it’s repaired?”

      She continued to glare at him. “Wouldn’t take a road trip without one.”

      “Glad to hear it.” Using the pliers, he pulled the nail from the tire. “You said you had a plug tool?”

      Her brow shot up. “You mean you don’t have one?”

      He pondered the spitfire staring down at him. “Actually...” He dug through his toolbox until he found his own plug kit tucked in the bottom. “Yep.” He held it up.

      Threading the thick rubbery plug through the eye of the tool that was best described as a giant needle with a handle, he glanced over his shoulder.

      “That’s an interesting setup you’ve got there.” Definitely not like the campers he was used to seeing. Instead of the pop-up going up and out on both ends, it went up and then out on one side, making it look like a tent sitting on a wagon.

      “Thanks.” Arms still crossed, she watched as he jammed the tool into the tire. “It belonged to my dad.”

      Melancholy wove its way through her last statement, telling him far more than her words.

      “I take it he’s no longer with us?”

      “Cancer.” She scraped a booted foot across the gravel. “Four years ago.”

      Even with the distance of time, her grief was evident.

      “He must have been a young man.” Kaleb pulled the tool back out then grabbed a pair of cutters to trim the excess plug.

      “Fifty-six.”

      That had to be difficult. Losing someone who, by all counts, was in the prime of their life. He knew what that was like. Tossing his tools back into the box, he stood and looked at her, his annoyance fading. “I’m sorry.”

      “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.” Despite a momentary chink, her armor was back in place. “I’ll get that compressor.”

      She turned and СКАЧАТЬ