about Jackie made him realize that he might not get to Key West in time. Not with this detour. What if no one came along in the morning?
To keep from fretting, he did mental math. Tomorrow was Thursday. They were sixteen hundred miles from Miami. If they drove an average of sixty miles per hour then it would take about twenty-six hours. He had to factor in at least four stops. If by some miracle someone came by, they got the car repaired and were back on the road by noon tomorrow, he could reasonably expect to get to Key West by late Friday night or early Saturday morning. Still plenty of time to stop Jackie’s late-afternoon wedding. But that was assuming everything went well.
Boone never assumed anything, and he always prepared for the worst, but what he’d never factored in was getting in the path of Hurricane Tara.
THE SOUND OF a tractor woke Tara at dawn.
She came out of the tent blinking, yawning and stretching. Boone was sitting on the blanket, strapping the metal brace to his leg. He stopped in midmotion, his gaze fixed on her.
She realized then that the oversized T-shirt she slept in had risen up along with her stretch, revealing the edge of her pink panties. Struggling against the heat that flooded her cheeks, she ducked her head and immediately lowered her arms.
“Pink?” One quizzical eyebrow arched on his forehead.
Tara pretended she hadn’t heard him. Somehow, the knowledge that Boone had seen her underwear bothered her more than the kiss they’d shared the night before. There was something just too intimate about it. Quickly, she found her blue jeans and tugged them on, almost tripping herself in her haste.
The sound of the tractor grew louder.
“Someone’s coming,” she said.
“I was trying to get my brace on and get out into the road to wave them down,” Boone explained.
“I’ll do it,” Tara offered.
He gave a fake cough, glanced at her chest.
She straightened, glanced down and saw that her erect nipples were poking through the thin cotton material of her T-shirt. Good grief!
Boone’s mouth pulled up in a smirk, even though she could see him fighting against it. “You might want to put on a bra.”
Sexual tension vibrated between them and her breath slipped rapidly between her teeth as she imagined exactly what he must have been thinking. She nibbled a thumbnail, glanced around on the pretense of finding her bra, but honestly, she was just trying to look anywhere but into his eyes.
Then she remembered she’d left it inside the tent. She crawled back inside, found her bra, wrestled it on and then stepped back outside.
In the meantime, Boone had made it to his feet. He wore the same cargo shorts he’d had on the day before, and he had his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze grazed over her, moving from the top of her tousled hair, to the slope of her breasts (now safely harnessed), to the thighs of her snug-fitting jeans on down to her bare feet.
“Have you seen my flip-flops?” she asked, feeling flustered, her pulse pounding erratically.
He pulled them out from behind his back. “You’re a bit scattered. I found them in the field last night and thought about hiding them from you just to teach you to pay attention.”
“So, why did you take pity on me?”
“I realized it’s not my place to change you. And, you need them to flag down the tractor. You can get out there before I can.”
“It kills you, doesn’t it?” she asked, and from the glint in his eyes she knew it was true.
“I hate being helpless,” he said. “H-A-T-E, hate it.”
She leaned forward to put on her flip-flops, teetering on one foot and then the other. Boone put out a hand to steady her. An immediate heat flamed through Tara. His touch had always revved her up, but after last night, she seemed extra sensitive toward him.
“Are you okay?” he asked hoarsely.
“Sure, fine, terrific, great,” she chattered. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“You’ve got goose bumps.” Gently, he moved his hands up and down her forearms as if to warm her.
It only made the goose bumps worse and kicked her heart rate into a gallop. For a long, agonizing second, she couldn’t speak. All she could do was absorb the warmth of his skin.
The sound of the tractor chugging into an idle snapped her from the spell Boone had woven over her. “Tractor’s here,” she said, yanking her hand away to wave at the green vehicle that had come to a stop behind the U-Haul.
Then, she turned and raced toward the farmer, feeling both unsettled and relieved.
THE FARMER’S NAME was Paul Brown and it was his field they’d spent the night in. Paul graciously volunteered to give them a ride to Fairville, the closest town. Paul went back to his house and returned with a pickup truck. Hopefully, they could find a place to shower and change their clothes in town. Boone took his knapsack from the Honda and Tara retrieved her overnight bag.
For the entire twenty-minute trip, Boone kept glancing at his watch. Tara knew he was nervous about making it to Key West, but they had plenty of time. It was only Thursday morning and his sister’s wedding wasn’t until late Saturday afternoon. Boone was a fretter. She could reassure him all day long and he would still worry, so she didn’t even bother.
She sat in the cab of the pickup, sandwiched between Paul and Boone. The truck smelled like hay, motor oil and Nebraska loam. Reaching over, she laid a hand on Boone’s good knee, just to let him know that she understood, but the second her fingers settled on his bare skin, she knew that touching him had been a mistake.
His muscles were so firm and masculine. With every pump of blood that pushed through her veins she was aware of everything about him—the sound of his breathing, the tension in his body, the smell of his scent, unique and utterly male. Her own body tightened and it felt as if—
Knock it off!
She slipped her hand off his knee, shifted her attention to Paul and started bombarding him with questions about farming, anything to get her mind off Boone.
Paul, she learned, had been born and raised in Fairville and he thought Nebraska was heaven on earth. His wife’s name was Peggy and they had three kids, all of whom were grown and living elsewhere. That saddened him quite a bit.
“Young people today.” Paul shook his head. “You’re always in such a blasted hurry. Always on your computers and whatever else is the new-fangled thing of the day. Do they ever pick up the phone and just make a call?”
“But you know,” Tara pointed out, “because of social media, people are actually more connected. My mom texts me every day.”
“It’s not the same as hearing their voices,” Paul complained. “Hell, for all I know someone stole their phones and is sending those text messages.”
“Paul’s got a point,” Boone pointed out. “A lot has been lost in our technological world.”
“And that cyber-bullying,” Paul put in. “It’s ten times worse than when I was kid. Back in those days, if you wanted to stand up to a bully, you took boxing lessons. Nowadays, those poor kids have no recourse. Some even end up taking their lives over it. Such a damn shame.”
“Look at all the advantages technology provides,” Tara said. “We can go online and pay our bills—”
“Leaving us wide open to identity theft.”
“We can send messages instantly. No need to wait for letters.”
“It’s killing the post office.” Paul readjusted his green John Deere cap on his head.
“But saving trees.”
Paul