how her mother could move on only a year after Daddy’s death was something Grace would never understand. “Hey, look, I need to get things going here, so I’ll talk to you later, Luce.”
Grace ended the call, eager to be done with any and all talk of Roger, grabbed work gloves from her saddlebag and unhitched her trailer from her bike. With a firm grip on the tongue of the trailer, she maneuvered it back and to the right, a position that would afford her a nice view, as well as some privacy.
Forty-five minutes later, both her trailer and a separate canopy she’d use as a lounge/kitchen area were ready to go. Sure it was small, but compared to her cramped quarters on the aircraft carrier, it was the Taj Mahal.
She giggled then, remembering that was exactly what her father used to call it. When he was alive, he would take a monthlong road trip on his motorcycle every summer. Sometimes he’d go to bike rallies or visit her if she wasn’t at sea. Wherever he went, though, this camper was his home away from home.
A tear spilled onto her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. If only he could be here now. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so alone. So vacant. He’d wrap her in one of his famous bear hugs and help her make sense of her life.
I miss you, Daddy.
She ducked under the canopy and collapsed in her favorite lawn chair, suddenly exhausted. The sun had barely risen when she pulled away from her sister’s house in Flagstaff this morning. Lifting the lid on the cooler beside her, she snagged a Diet Dr Pepper and was just about to kick off her riding boots when she noticed the back tire on her motorcycle was flat.
“Are you kidding me?” She groaned, setting the unopened can on the cooler, and went to investigate. Once she removed the saddlebags, it didn’t take her long to find the nail lodged into the tread. Thankfully, it would be an easy repair.
After pulling her hair into a quick ponytail, she opened the first saddlebag and dug through it, searching for a plug kit. Coming up empty-handed, she moved on to the next one. “Where are you?” She always carried at least two plug kits.
“Aha!” She pulled out the orange box and opened its lid.
Her heart dropped. Everything was there. The tools, the rubber cement... But no plugs.
She looked at her watch. Five thirty. What time did stores close around here anyway? She’d spotted a hardware store on her way in. Hopefully, they’d not only be open, but have what she needed, as well.
She tucked her saddlebags inside the tent, then briskly walked the six blocks to the hardware store.
“I’m sorry, but we’re temporarily out of both the plugs and plug kits.” The clerk’s apologetic smile did little to comfort her. “But you could check with one of the Jeep tour places. They might be able to help you.”
Seriously? A Jeep place?
Okay, so they had a lot of tires to worry about, but she was only familiar with one Jeep place and the idea of going back there again today didn’t settle well. What if Kaleb thought she was one of those women who was merely looking for an excuse to return?
You could check with your mother.
Definitely not. Besides, she was planning to walk to work tomorrow.
What if there’s an emergency, and you need your bike?
She blew out a frustrated breath. Logic left so much to be desired.
Trekking across the street, she swallowed her pride and walked into the somewhat dingy office of Mountain View Tours. A gallon or two of paint would do wonders for this place.
Kaleb stood behind the desk, his back to her. “Be right with you.” The overhead fluorescent bulbs highlighted a bit of blond in his short sandy-brown hair.
She waited in silence, her anxiety building.
“Grace?” His smile was easy and he appeared almost happy to see her. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a flat on my bike. By any chance do you sell tire plugs?”
“No, we do not.”
In that instant, her tire wasn’t the only thing that was deflated. Oh, well. At least she was within walking distance of work. She’d just have to wait for the hardware store to replenish their stock. Or check with one of those other Jeep places the clerk had mentioned.
“But I’d be happy to give you one.”
Her gaze jerked to Kaleb’s. “Really?”
“Mountain View Tours always takes care of their customers.”
“I’m not a—”
“And their employees.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks grew warm and she turned her head to hide the reaction.
“I’ll be right back.” He rounded the counter and disappeared through the door that led to the garage. A minute later, he reappeared. “Here you go.” He handed her a bag with three plugs. “You need any tools?”
“Those I have, so no—” she dared to look at him “—thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He glanced at the generic round wall clock behind the desk. “I’m about to lock up. I could give you a lift and help with that tire, if you like.”
“Oh, that won’t be—”
“Grace, a gentleman does not let an unaccompanied female fix her own flat tire.”
“But—”
“No matter how capable she might be.”
Again she felt herself blush. Totally weird since she couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed. Still, she didn’t need or want Kaleb’s help. She didn’t like to rely on other people. She could take care of herself.
“Look, this wouldn’t be the first plug I’ve done.” No, it would be the second. “I can have it fixed—”
“Grace.” The look he gave her left no room for question. Much like her commanding officer. “I’m coming to help you, and that’s all there is to it.”
Great. So her boss thought her a damsel in distress.
She’d just have to prove him wrong.
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