Dammit. She drew as deep a breath as she could and rode. She rode between mountains smothered in forests so thick it was like being swallowed up by a green comforting throw. Above her, the sky was a rare brilliant blue, streaked with a few white, puffy clouds. About fifteen miles out of Lucky Harbor, on a narrow two-lane road that she wasn’t exactly sure of the name of, she caught sight of a sign for Yellow Ridge, and then another for some mud springs. She’d heard about the mud springs from Lucille, who knew everything about every square inch of the entire county. Years ago, beavers had created a meadow when they’d chewed their way through the surrounding forest and inadvertently flooded it. Early settlers had then discovered it and come to bathe nude in the mud for its healing effects.
Intrigued, Chloe turned off the highway, riding through a canyon lush with giant moss-draped trees. A mile or so up the road, she parked in the small clearing, in front of the trailhead to the mud springs. She pulled out her phone to text her sisters that she was alive, but she couldn’t send it because she had no cell service.
This didn’t stop her. It was a fairly easy climb, which was a good thing. Not anxious to have an asthma attack out here all alone, she didn’t push herself. The trail was wet, meaning there was no pesky dust rising as she walked, which helped. The trail branched off several times with no rhyme or reason, or further sign. Staying to the right so that she wouldn’t get lost going back, Chloe took it all in. The way was lined with wildflowers and offered up spectacular views of the peaks towering over her. Awe-inspiring, and very effective at clearing her head.
Twenty minutes in, the forest suddenly opened up, and she stood in the small meadow Lucille had told her about, filled with pockets of the promised mud springs.
She sure could use some healing effects right about now, she thought, slipping out of her shoes and socks. And hey, this was research. If the mud was good stuff, well, then she owed it to her clients to check it out before incorporating it into a product. Stepping to the edge, she dipped a toe into the mud.
It was warm.
And she wanted in. Taking a careful look around, she realized just how alone she was. “Crazy,” she said out loud. “This is crazy.” But she had to admit, she’d done far crazier. Her knit top was long, well past her butt so she stripped out of her jeans and told herself she was still decent if anyone happened upon her. Then she stepped into the mud up to her shins, and it oozed between her toes, toasty and oddly comforting. Wading in a little farther, she sighed in pleasure. The temperature of the mud gliding up her legs was so incredibly soothing that she went out even more, up to her thighs now.
All around her, the woods pulsed with life. Birds, insects, leaves dancing on the light breeze, and she felt…alive. If only she could bottle this feeling, with the sun on her face, the forbidden sense of being outside in her shirt and panties, with the mud soothing her skin in a way she hadn’t expected, she’d be a millionaire.
She bet her sisters would take notice then…
She wished she was better prepared, because she would’ve liked to strip down even more and treat herself to a good soak. But she didn’t have a towel or water to wash off with afterward, so she turned back to shore and…
Her foot slipped.
Chloe did a perfect imitation of a cat scrambling for purchase on linoleum, but it was no good. A second later, she was on her butt. She gasped but didn’t bother to scramble up. It was too late now; she was in up to her belly button. Never one to waste an opportunity, she took another look around, then carefully pulled off her half-muddy shirt and tossed it to the shore to join her jeans. Relaxing, she soaked in her bra and panties beneath the wide-open sky.
As the mud worked its magic, she finally admitted to herself that what she’d felt earlier was more hurt than anger. She’d honestly tried to fit in, to pick up the slack around the B&B. And just because her mother’s death and going into business with her sisters had forced her life into a one-eighty, it didn’t mean she could ignore her other responsibilities. Dammit, she’d been serious about the skincare line she’d been working on, and her client list hadn’t been developed overnight. Didn’t that alone prove she’d grown up some?
But with some distance—and warm mud—she could admit to herself that she understood her sisters’ concern. Renovating the sunroom would cost time and money. And yes, they were right, Chloe’s track record was spotty. But there had to be a compromise. She could promise to commit to a certain number of days a week where she’d stay in town, for instance. And they could promise to believe her. With a resigned sigh, she rose and walked out of the mud.
She looked around, then with a philosophical shrug, she stripped out of her bra and panties, rubbed the excess mud off the best she could, and put her clothes on.
Commando.
Then, with the mud drying on her skin, she moved gingerly back down the trail, telling herself she was merely amplifying the healing affects by keeping the mud on so long. Hell, she’d probably look like a movie star after this. By the time she got to her Vespa, she’d talked herself into believing it. Hard to do when she felt like she’d been wrapped in concrete, but she managed.
That’s when she discovered problem number two. Her Vespa wouldn’t start. Okay, this was more than a minor setback. With no cell service, she had little choice. She walked down the road to the highway. Unfortunately, by the time she got there, her lungs had had enough. The two long walks had tightened her chest uncomfortably. Her inhaler helped with that, but she still didn’t have cell service. She was going to have to flag someone down off the highway while looking like a swamp thing.
So much for being a grown-up.
In less than five minutes, a shiny black truck pulled off to the side of the road. Todd’s baby.
“Hey, cutie,” Todd said with his good-old-boy smile as he leaned over and opened the passenger door. He wore a Mariner’s cap on backward, a ratty T-shirt, equally ratty jeans, and steel-toed boots, none of which took away from his easy good looks and tough build. A roofer by trade when he chose to work, he was clearly on his way to or from a job. “Problem?” he asked.
He didn’t blink at the mud. This was probably because he wasn’t looking at her limbs. Nope, that honor went to her braless breasts, now outlined with extra-special clarity thanks to the mud acting like an adhesive. “My Vespa’s battery is dead,” Chloe said. “And I don’t have cell service.”
“No one does right here.” He didn’t say a word about the fact that her Vespa was nowhere in sight. “You know what this means, right?” he asked. “You’re at my mercy.” He grinned, and she sighed. One hundred thousand sperm and he’d been the fastest.
“Come on,” he said. “That was funny.”
“Why are you out here?”
He shrugged. “On my way home from work.”
“Isn’t this way out of the way?”
Another shrug, and he stared out his windshield. “Sometimes I like to be alone, to hear myself think.”
More like he’d gone somewhere remote to get high. But he didn’t look buzzed.
“You getting in?” he asked. “Us outcasts need to stick together.”
“Outcasts?” She shook her head. “You’re not an outcast.”
“Misfits, then.” Something came and went in his eyes when he said this, but she couldn’t read him. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” she said, softening. Because she did know. Exactly.
He had a duffle bag on the passenger seat, which he took and stuffed behind them instead. Then he patted the passenger seat.
He was Jamie’s brother. And Jamie was Tucker’s friend, and Tucker was Lance’s brother—but six degrees from trouble was still trouble, and she’d been trying so damn hard to stay out of trouble. But she was cold now, and getting even colder. Sawyer would hate this, but she couldn’t help the extenuating circumstances.
“Come on, sweet thing. I’ve got somewhere I’ve gotta be.”
Guilt didn’t begin to cover how she felt about getting into his truck, but she did it anyway. She glanced over her shoulder and saw his open duffle bag.
She thought she caught sight of ziplock baggies stuffed with—
Todd reached back and shoved the duffle bag farther down so she couldn’t see into it. “You’re going to owe me,” he said, shoving the truck into gear and speeding back onto the highway, flashing her a grin. “Big.”
She straightened and looked at him. Was he carrying drugs? She hadn’t gotten a close enough look, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to ask him while they were out in the middle of nowhere. Besides, she could admit that she hadn’t gotten a good enough look to accuse him of anything. “I’ll pay for gas.”
“Not the kind of payment I was banking on.”
“Shut up and drive, Todd.”
He grinned again. Ignoring him, she huddled into herself for warmth, staring out the window. Clouds sifted through the trees like wood smoke, distracting her for a while. Out here, the growth was extravagantly thick with spruce and hemlock. Moist air rode in from off the coast, something her lungs liked but made her even more cold.
Twenty minutes later, she sat up straight. “Pull over.”
“Yeah, baby,” Todd said, and braked.
“Not for that! Lucille has a flat.”
“Hell no,” Todd said. “I’m not helping that old bat. She’s always calling the damn cops on me.”
“We can’t just leave her there.”
“Hell, yeah, we can.”
“Todd, goddammit, pull over!”
Todd shook his head and slammed on the brakes as he pulled onto the shoulder. Dirt rose. “I’m not changing her tire. She told Kelly Armstrong I was a menace to society, and her husband, Manny, fired me. Cost me three weeks of work.”
“We can’t just leave her out here. It’s chilly, and she looks cold. I’ll help her myself.” Chloe swung out of the truck.
“I’m not waiting,” Todd warned, revving his truck. “I’m late.”
“Then don’t wait.” She slammed the door, not surprised when he peeled out and was gone, leaving her literally in his dust. “Idiot.”
Just as she walked toward Lucille, another truck pulled up.
Sawyer Thompson ambled out of his truck, then stood there in low-slung Levi’s and a soft-looking, thin black sweater over a black T-shirt, eyes hidden behind dark, reflective sunglasses.
Off duty, Chloe thought as a violent shiver racked her.
“My white knight,” Lucille said, dusting off her hands. “I called him a few minutes ago.”
When Sawyer walked up to Lucille’s little Prius, the older woman was giving the flat a kick. He glanced at Chloe, who was very busy studying the highway. “Hey,” he said, taking in the mud all over her. “You okay?”
“Perfect.”
Okaaaaay. He watched her shiver and handed her his keys. “Go wait in my truck; crank the heat.” He headed toward Lucille, not all that surprised when he heard Chloe follow him. “Nice job on listening,” he said.
“Maybe I’d listen if you ever asked.”
“I ask.”
She snorted.
Lucille had stopped kicking her tire and had picked up a lug wrench.
“You didn’t mention you had a passenger when you called me,” Sawyer said.
“I didn’t.” Lucille glanced at Chloe. “She just got dropped off.”
Sawyer turned to Chloe, who was back to studying the highway like her life depended on it. “What does she mean, you just got dropped off?”
“I believe I have the right to remain silent,” Chloe said.
Shaking his head, Sawyer crouched at Lucille’s side by the back rear tire and took the lug wrench.
Lucille backed up and smiled knowingly at Chloe’s condition. “Mud springs, right?”
Chloe nodded.
Sawyer narrowed his gaze on Chloe. “You were at the mud springs?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get here?”
Before she could answer, Lucille cut in with, “I used to take my stud muffin up there, back in the day. That mud has healing effects, you know. And also, it’s an aphrodisiac. Not that you need an aphrodisiac with this one,” she said to Chloe, gesturing to Sawyer with a sly smile.
Sawyer grimaced, but Chloe cocked her head and studied him. “You don’t think so?” she asked Lucille doubtfully.
“Honey, just look at him.”
Both women studied him now, and Sawyer, afraid of nothing except possibly these two, found himself squirming.
“Where’s your uniform?” Lucille asked. “I like looking at you in it.”
“I’m off duty,” he said.
“Aw, and you still came out to help me instead of calling someone else to do it.” She patted him on his arm. “Such a sweet boy.”
Chloe made an indistinguishable sound, but when Sawyer looked at her, she was all green-eyed innocence.
“I talked to Suzie today,” Lucille told Sawyer. “She told me what you did for her boy this week, how you stepped in for him.”
Suzie Tierman worked with Sawyer in dispatch. She was a single mom, and she had an eight-year-old terror named Sammy who’d gotten caught last week cutting off a girl’s ponytail in class. Her parents had wanted to press assault charges even though their little “princess” had been mercilessly tormenting Sammy for months about being a “stupid loser.”
At Suzie’s request, Sawyer had stepped in and mediated. Sammy would be doing hard time pulling weeds, and the girl had written an apology for calling Sammy names. Sawyer would have liked to see her do some hard weed pulling as well, but the letter would have to do. “I didn’t do much.”