"For if you forgive
men when they sin
against you, your
heavenly Father will
also forgive you.
But if you do not
forgive men their
sins, your Father
will not forgive
your sins.
Matthew 6:14-15, NIV
Chapter One
The silver lining in this cloud would have to be that the flat tire was giving the radiator time to cool.
Catching the low heel of her cowboy boot over the end of the tire iron, Brianna Burton grasped the edge of the truck bed for balance and shoved downward. The wrench didn't budge. The lug nut remained frozen. Standing on the wrench, she applied her entire one hundred twenty odd pounds to the task. Nothing gave. She bounced up and down on the end of the wrench.
Her ponytail fastener loosened. Her grip on the truck loosened. Her grip on her temper loosened. But the lug nut? Of course not. She had already released five of the eight nuts holding the ruined tire in place, but this wasn't horseshoes, or even bowling. Close didn't count for a hill of beans, as Rene always said.
The constant Montana wind picked up dust from the edge of the road and coated her already less than spotless appearance. She stepped off the wrench to wipe the grit from her damp face.
She hadn't forgotten the wind. Over the past eight years she had been in and out of the state enough to remember the weather, the shape of the mountains piled one upon the next, and air that didn't smell of exhaust fumes, animals, or bumping, sweating, talking humans. But in those eight years, she hadn't been this close. She hadn't planned to return. Until three months ago, she hadn't considered the option.
Slowly, she removed the tire iron. Maybe this was a sign. It wasn't time. Regardless of what her boss, Dave, had said and his wife, Rene, now insisted, she wasn't ready. She couldn't face her family if they blamed her, shunned her. She couldn't.
She dropped her forehead against the truck and struggled to check her tears. They wouldn't do any good. They never did. Yet they were close to the surface. And so were the pain and the fear. Brianna couldn't remember the last time she'd had internal peace. But, oh, how she craved it.
Distantly, she heard a vehicle. She straightened and brushed at the dampness clinging to her eyelashes. Perspiration had built on her nose and upper lip. She scrubbed her face with the tail of her T-shirt, leaving it completely untucked from her jeans. Stepping over the tongue of the horse trailer connected to her pickup truck, she positioned herself at the opposite back tire. The "good" one. The one she'd had patched yesterday when it had gone flat.
Now she was thankful she'd bothered to replace the spare and have the original patched. She hadn't wanted to spend the cash, but she'd be in a worse mess now with the extra five dollars and no spare. The truck was near death, but she was within fifty miles. Possibly less if she took the back roads and no more detours for repairs.
She could see dust rising from the north, the direction she was headed. This would be the first vehicle to pass in the thirty minutes she'd been pulled over. Surely they would stop.
Ideally, one of the "they" would be a he, a strong he with a breaker bar carried specifically for inconsiderate lug nuts. And she didn't mean the human kind. Ideally, he would be happy to help and wouldn't expect any form of payment. While she was dreaming, she might as well have him patch the flat with a piece of chewing gum and blow up the tire. It had been a long time since Brianna's world was ideal. She would be content with the breaker bar.
When she saw the truck, she realized it was traveling too fast to stop for her. Even when she heard the gears downshift as it swept past, she kissed the breaker bar goodbye. The world was too busy. But some forty yards past the horse trailer, the truck stopped, and immediately reversed. Before it came even with her outfit, it backed onto the opposite berm. The driver's door popped open.
Brianna watched the man emerge. If big meant strong, her ideal was heading straight for her. He covered the distance in long, unhurried strides that gave equal emphasis to the length of his legs and the width of his shoulders. It was the walk of a cowboy who had lost his horse, but still had places to go. He still wore his boots.
"Ma'am." His long, tanned fingers barely skimmed the brim of his dusty brown hat. "You having problems?"
Brianna ducked her own head in response and summoned a rueful smile. "Flat tire. I can't break free a couple of the lug nuts."
"Let's see what I can do." He stepped past her, over the trailer tongue, and around the pickup.
Brianna followed. "They're awfully tight. You wouldn't happen to have a breaker--"
The muscles in his biceps bunched beneath the gray work shirt and the muscles in his forearms tightened to a sharp ridge beneath his bronzed skin. The lug nut creaked and relinquished its hold on the bolt.
"Hmm?" he murmured as he moved the tire iron to the next lug nut.
"Nothing." She smiled to herself, acknowledging that this was definitely a time when big and strong was an asset.
"Where's your jack?"
"Somewhere," she answered absently. She watched the play of his rippling muscles as another lug nut submitted to his greater force.
"I'm going to need your jack," he stated calmly.
"Oh. Oh!" She stepped backward. "I'll get it." She hurried to the front of the truck where she had left the jack when she'd fetched the tire iron.
Returning with the heavy contraption, Brianna started to explain how it worked.
He took it from her and placed it in the correct spot under the frame. Without the slightest hesitation, he began to raise her truck.
Brianna shut her mouth. Good. He knew how to work the contrary contraption. So what if it had taken her the better part of twenty minutes yesterday to figure it out? Which was all the worse because Dave had made sure after they had bought the truck that both she and Rene knew how to change a tire, check the oil, and fill it with the correct fuel and any other fluids it might need. Of course, Dave had continued to do it until--
"You're going to need a new tire."
Everything was kind of hazy, but she wouldn't cry. Not about Dave's death or the tire she couldn't afford to buy.
She blinked hard and attempted some friendly banter. "Doesn't look like chewing gum will do the trick."
He chuckled softly, poking his finger through a hole in the road-worn rubber. "Not on this one, I'm afraid. How's your spare?"
She almost quipped that it had worked yesterday, but she didn't need to lay her woes on a stranger. Particularly one who was in a hurry.
He had retrieved her spare while she'd considered her response, and now, he checked it over for himself.
He said, "This ought to get you to the next town, but it's seen better days, too. You shouldn't put too many miles on it. Where are you headed?" He placed the spare on the hub and tightened the lug nuts.
Home. Except it might not be that. Except no one might be there.
Brianna caught the cowboy's steady gaze as he set aside the tire iron. She told herself he wasn't prying, but old fears dug deep into her consciousness. She said, "Up the road a ways."
His face tightened. She hadn't realized how open it had been until his eyes narrowed in speculation. Turning from her, he released the jack, then straightened. "The only thing up this road is the Tumbling Timothy. A guest ranch."
She shrugged defensively and stepped backward. "Maybe I'll stop there for the afternoon."
He shifted to a flat stance on both feet. He seemed bigger. "Maybe you'll continue right on into Condon and buy yourself a new tire."
If she could make it to Condon, she could make it home. She backed down. "Yeah, I probably will." If the forty-two dollars in her pocket would buy her a new tire, gas, accommodations for her and Dancer if she wasn't welcome, and--
"Look." He yanked his hat lower, almost onto his eyebrows. "I need to get going. Can you put the jack away?"
"Sure. Thanks. I mean, I wish I could--" Reluctantly, she fished for the folded bills in the front pocket of her jeans.
"Keep it," he said sharply. "If I had any cash on me, I'd give it to you." His gaze slid over her in piercing awareness before he turned abruptly and strode back to his waiting pickup.
Brianna felt her face heat in acknowledgement. She looked like a beggar. A wayward kid down and out, in need of charity. Funny how eight years hadn't changed that.
Her jeans were worn and comfortable, faded across her thighs where they hugged her flesh, faded below her knees where they bore the stress of constant bending, faded at the curve of her bottom where they rode against the saddle. Her deep blue T-shirt was stained. She'd be surprised if her face wasn't showing her lack of nutritious meals and the strain of travel over the past couple of days--and now, road dust and grease.
Sighing, she bent to pick up the jack.
The stranger's truck roared, and against her better judgment, she dropped the jack and straightened to watch him pull out of her life. He reversed onto the road and, to her surprise, continued backward until his truck was even with hers.
He leaned through the open window, his wide shoulders filling the space, and called, "Hey. Stay on the paved roads to Condon. It may seem longer on the map, but I think your spare will hold up better."
Brianna nodded her understanding.
He looked at her for one long, intense moment as his right hand found first gear and the truck began to roll forward. He shifted his gaze to the windshield and the truck picked up speed.
Brianna watched him grow smaller and smaller. She blinked, trying to focus. Was there another person in the passenger seat? She could just make out the truck, then it too disappeared.
She hadn't seen if the person had been male or female. It didn't matter. The cowboy had fixed her tire. She could get on her way. If he was married and had kids, it was no concern of hers. He was no concern of hers.
Brianna considered his narrowed stare. It seemed familiar. Was there any possibility that she had seen him before? Probably in a crowd. Laughing with his family. Enjoying the rodeo like so many others. She shoved away the mental picture.
She replaced the jack and the tire iron, then retrieved one of the two gallon containers of water she carried in the truck bed. She had been using and refilling them since Colorado. She put three-fourths of the gallon into her radiator. A gallon and a quarter would be enough to make it to Condon. Surely. That morning she had traveled from the Wyoming border on three quarts. If her luck held, she would be there--home--before dusk.
A short, caustic laugh burst from her lips. Who would want luck that brought two flat tires within two days? Only someone who had known worse.
She checked on Dancer, promised the Appaloosa beauty she could stretch her legs at their next stop, and crawled behind the wheel of her pickup.
She had better get on to Condon and then decide what to do about the tire. There was no way she could afford a new one, but maybe a used one. That thought gave her hope.
She pulled the truck and trailer onto the road. It scraped and bounced on who knew what, but all tires were intact and rolling. Although it was past noon, she didn't want to eat. Maybe when she reached Condon. Maybe not until she faced them. Maybe not ever if they rejected her.
And why wouldn't they? After what she had done, she should be thankful if they spoke to her civilly. Why was she going back? Rene was wrong. She wouldn't find peace this way.
The flash of a red light on the dashboard brought her back to the present. It faded before she could see which part of her vehicle now needed her attention. Was it the "hot" coming back to haunt her? "Hot" she had learned she could ignore for a number of miles, maybe the whole way to Condon.
The light flickered again and then stayed on. Oil. Oil? How could the oil be low? She had checked it that morning, and it had been fine. Something new. How exciting.
Except Brianna was close to tears. Did she have any oil behind the seat? Where was a good place to pull off without ruining the spare? Hadn't he said to keep it on the paved road?
The motor died.
Brianna gasped. What had happened now? Forgetting about the spare, she eased the outfit off the road where it coasted to a standstill.