anticipated to select and purchase the knot-free planks she needed; now she was worried Samantha might fall asleep before they got home. Taking a nap in the car, even a short nap, usually screwed up her daughter’s sleeping schedule, and Shannon needed to start cutting the pieces for the signs and the letter boxes today if she was going to fill Glorie’s order as promised.
Shannon climbed into the cab, slamming the door behind her. The engine ground for a second, then sputtered into life. She breathed a sigh of relief and popped a children’s cassette into the tape player, hoping a sing-along would keep her daughter awake and entertained for the next twenty minutes.
Cheerfully warbling a silly ditty about lost little ducks, Shannon turned onto the highway. Blossom Valley, located in close proximity to Canada’s arid desert region of Osoyoos, was framed by rugged hills covered with sagebrush and antelope-bush and the occasional stand of ponderosa pine and cottonwood. Orchards of ripening peach, apricot, apple and cherry trees lined the highway, and vineyards crept up the hills, irrigated by the many crystal-blue lakes that abounded in the Okanagan.
Shannon had picked this area because her aunt Jayne, who lived in Halifax and knew the bleak cold rain of the Maritimes, had toured the region with a friend several years ago and had come home raving about the dry climate.
A few minutes outside of town, the highway climbed, winding between a lake and a ridge of mountains. The curves were sharper. Shannon felt an insistent tug on the steering wheel as it seemed to resist her efforts to stay in her lane. What was going on? With fear mounting that they might plunge off the road, she reduced her speed and gripped the wheel tightly.
The truck continued to lean to the right, and it took Shannon a full minute before she realized she probably had a flat tire. There was no shoulder here where she could safely pull over, but she knew there was a lookout over the lake not far ahead. Knuckles white with fear, Shannon slowly negotiated the curves, feeling as if she was trying to coax a recalcitrant bull into submission. By the time she pulled safely into the lookout, her heart was pounding and her face was damp with perspiration.
Now what? She didn’t belong to an auto club that gave roadside service. And she’d never changed a tire in her life. Shannon slowly climbed out of the truck and examined the deflated right front tire. There were many things she’d never contemplated doing before Rob had assaulted her. Changing a tire should be a piece of cake.
“NEED SOME HELP?”
Shannon looked back over her shoulder in alarm at the driver of the blue sedan that had pulled up behind her. She’d been so intent on figuring out how the jack worked and at the same time soothing Samantha, who was mewling with growing indignation at being confined to her car seat, that she hadn’t heard a car approach.
She gazed up warily at the brown-haired man who’d offered his assistance. He had a hard dangerous look to his face, or what she could see of his face beneath the reflective sunglasses concealing his eyes. Something about the sharply chiseled nose and the shadow of stubble clinging to his jaw made her throat go dry as she rose from her crouched position. “Thank you for offering,” she said firmly over the sound of Samantha’s distressed cries, “but I’m sure I can manage. It’s the twenty-first century. Women change tires. I’m setting a good example for my daughter.”
The man laughed dryly and removed his sunglasses, clipping them onto the ribbed neck of his navy T-shirt. “She’s a little young, wouldn’t you say? It’d really be no trouble to help you, ma’am. The least I could do is drive into town and call someone to assist you. My name’s Luke Mathews.” Quiet intense gray-blue eyes gazed back at her. Pulled at her in a curious way Shannon didn’t understand.
“Thank you, but it’d be faster to change the tire than wait for a tow—” she broke off as Samantha let out an eardrum-piercing wail. Shannon instinctively turned toward the truck and her daughter. Samantha’s face was red and tear-streaked. Shannon reached through the open window and stroked her sticky cheek. “Oh, Samantha, it’s all right, baby. We’ll be home soon.”
Samantha’s mouth opened, her little pink tonsils quivering, and her eyes squeezed tight as another pitiful wail erupted from her tiny body.
Shannon’s heart clutched at her daughter’s obvious discomfort. Over the noise of her daughter’s cries, she heard the engine of the sedan suddenly extinguish and a car door open. She looked back over her shoulder, alarmed to see Luke Mathews striding purposefully toward her truck.
“Ma’am,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lean mouth. His eyes were lit with a deference that inexplicably soothed her apprehension at his approach. “It looks to me like you’ve already got your hands full. Why don’t you take your baby out of your vehicle—it’s safer and she’ll be cooler—while I change the tire? It’ll only take me a few minutes. Have you already set the emergency brake?”
Shannon decided Samantha’s women’s-lib training could take place another time. Right now her baby needed to be held and comforted. And her instincts were telling her that Luke Mathews didn’t mean her or her daughter any harm. Not with those eyes.
“Yes, I set the brake,” she replied as she jerked the door open to unbuckle Samantha’s car seat. Her usually meek daughter’s arms and legs waved in a fury as Shannon pulled her into her arms. Shannon grabbed her keys and her purse—just in case her instincts about Luke were wrong.
Shannon rocked Samantha in her arms as Luke popped the hubcap off the wheel and used some weird-looking tool to loosen the nuts slightly. Then he put the jack in place and began pumping the tire iron with practiced ease. The front right corner of the truck rose steadily off the ground.
“Are you a mechanic?” she asked, watching the smooth play of muscles rippling beneath his T-shirt. He wore faded jeans and scuffed running shoes.
“No, I’ve worked in construction mostly…well, until recently.”
That explained the muscles that bulged in his arms like rocks. “Recently?”
“I was working for my brother-in-law’s company in Vancouver. But he and my sister are going through a bitter divorce, and I didn’t like being caught in the middle. He was cheating on her.”
Shannon didn’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry.”
“I am, too. They’ve got kids.” He nodded at the illustrations painted on her truck advertising her Garden Patch collection. “You in business for yourself?”
“Yes, I am. Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Mary Calder. I’m a crafter, mostly wooden crafts—letter boxes, birdhouses, yard ornaments and other home accent pieces.”
Luke’s smile as he glanced at her warmed her with frank admiration. “Good for you. I’ve been thinking about starting up my own custom-finish carpentry business—you know, molding, cabinetry. I’ve taken a few months off to scout out possibilities.” Luke expertly finished loosening the nuts and slid off the damaged tire.
Shannon noticed his face turn serious, his lips pressing into a thin line as he examined the puncture. “What is it?” she asked, coming closer to peer over his shoulder.
He showed her a four-inch-long slit. “There’s your trouble.”
Shannon sighed. “And they’re new tires. Maybe I can have it repaired under the warranty.”
Luke didn’t say anything. He put the damaged tire in the truck bed and hoisted the spare into his arms.
Shannon tried not to stare at the flexed muscles in his arms. She couldn’t remember ever being fascinated by her ex-husband’s physique. Or was it that ever since Rob had hit her, she was more aware of the threat a man’s physical strength imposed? She pushed the disturbing thought away and focused on what Luke had just told her about his employment situation. An idea took form in her mind. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a part-time job while you’re scouting out those possibilities?” She went on quickly, feeling heat climb into her cheeks. “I’m looking for a woodworker to cut the shapes I need for my crafts. With your experience it sounds