he was wasting even more time standing in the pouring rain trying to convince a stubborn woman to accept his help.
He was tired and irritated and ready to put this day behind him, but he couldn’t in good conscience leave her to hoof it to town. It was out of the question. His parents and grandparents had raised him too well to leave her stranded. He could practically hear his father reminding him that a gentleman never left a woman in distress while his mother stood in the background, nodding and murmuring in agreement.
He rubbed a hand across his neck.
The woman lifted her cute little chin in hardheaded resolve.
“Look, I can’t just leave you here. I have a sister, and I hope someone would stop and offer assistance if her car broke down. I also hope she’d have sense enough to take the ride.”
“Even with a man she’s never seen before in her life?”
Brandon huffed out a breath. She had him there. “My name is Brandon Danielson. I own a restaurant in Sweet Briar.”
He reached into the back pocket of his jeans, removed his driver’s license from his wallet and held it up for her to see although he doubted she could read it from the distance that separated them. “This is me. You can keep it if it makes you feel better. Hell, you can drive if that’s what it takes for you to feel safe.”
She nodded but still looked unsure. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “Thanks.”
“Thank me after we get out of this storm.”
Slipping and sliding on the unpaved shoulder, the woman reached the passenger door. She stepped on the running board of the truck, then grabbed at the hanging strap to pull herself up the rest of the way. Suddenly her foot slid out from under her. Instinctively, he reached out to help her, grabbing her around her impossibly small waist.
The feel of her soft body sent a jolt of awareness surging through him. He set her away as quickly as he could and frowned at the reaction of his body. He was a Good Samaritan, not some player picking up women on the side of the road.
“I’m going to help you into the truck.” Before she could respond, he lifted her into his arms and settled her into the passenger seat. Even soaking wet, she couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and fifteen or twenty pounds. Closing her door, he lost no time getting to the other side and slipping behind the wheel. As soon as he started the truck and the air began to circulate, he got a whiff of her scent. Man, she smelled good. Like rain and shampoo—which was expected—but also like sunshine and flowers. Like happiness. Where had that come from? He shook his head slightly in the hope the foolishness would rattle out his ears, then glanced at his passenger.
Even with most of her makeup washed off, she was incredibly beautiful. She had remarkably clear caramel-colored skin and light brown eyes. With high cheekbones and a perfectly shaped nose and lips, she could have been a model. Of course, he would have appreciated her beauty more if he didn’t need to start building an ark. And, like any beautiful work of art, she was best viewed from a distance. He would do well to keep that in mind.
She returned his glance with wide eyes. Her teeth were chattering, whether from nerves or because she was drenched and cold, he didn’t know. Maybe a little of both. He flipped on the heater and edged back onto the road. The wipers were on the fastest setting, yet they could barely keep up with the downfall.
“The truck has heated seats. And there’s a jacket in the back you can use.”
She moved her hand off the door handle and pressed the button he indicated. “I don’t need your jacket. I’m fine. Besides, you’re just as wet as I am.”
“Maybe.” He reached behind the seat and grabbed his denim jacket. “But perhaps you should look at your shirt. You might reconsider.”
She looked down and squeaked. “I look like a refugee from a wet T-shirt contest.”
He couldn’t help chuckling as she took the jacket and draped it over her torso. Although her breasts weren’t nearly the size of the women’s who entered such contests, they were still appealing. Not that he was looking. Much.
“What’s your name?”
The question really wasn’t that difficult, yet she hesitated as if trying to find the right answer. “It’s Arden... Arden W...West.”
“So, Arden, what brings you to North Carolina?”
She raised a suspicious eyebrow and leaned closer to her door. “How do you know I’m not from here?”
“No accent. You don’t have that Southern way of speaking.”
She nodded. “True.”
“And I saw your car, remember? Maryland plates.”
“Oh.” She heaved out a breath. A bit of remorse fell over her fine features and the stiffness left her spine.
“So, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“My car broke down here.” Arden had an impish smile on her face, which hit him in the center of his chest with unexpected force, momentarily making breathing hard.
“Sweet Briar is a small town. There’s a magnetic field that captures new people and won’t let them leave. Sort of like the Hotel California.”
“Where you can check out but never leave?”
Brandon nodded, pleased that she understood his reference to the classic Eagles song.
“Are you from here?”
“No.”
When he didn’t say anything more, she looked at him, her eyebrows raised in question.
“Chicago. I moved here three years ago.” A man who preferred to keep things on the surface, he didn’t normally volunteer information about himself. But being open seemed to put her at ease. So, as long as they kept to generalities, it was all good.
She tilted her head and looked him over, a mischievous expression on her face. “Did the magnet catch you or did you stay by choice?”
“Choice.” He hadn’t been able to leave Chicago and that lying Sylvia fast enough. When a friend mentioned his cousins loved living in Sweet Briar, Brandon had been on the first plane to North Carolina.
Arden nodded, then turned to look out the window. Lightning flashed, followed by loud, booming thunder. The rain was coming down too fast for the drainage system to keep up. At the rate water was beginning to flood the road, he wouldn’t be surprised if several streets in town were already closed.
After several frustrating minutes of inching down the highway and ten minutes spent sitting under an overpass when the downpour made driving too hazardous, they finally saw the sign welcoming them to Sweet Briar, population 1,976. He heard his passenger’s sigh of relief and wondered if maybe she was more nervous than she let on.
“Is there a hotel where you can drop me? Or, better yet, a garage where I can arrange a tow?”
“No hotel. We only have a couple of bed-and-breakfasts.” He wiped the condensation off the windshield and leaned forward for a better look. Just as he thought. There was close to three inches of water on the roads and the level was rising. “We have a garage, but I’m sure John has closed up for the night.”
She checked her watch, then glanced over at him, disbelief on her lovely face. “It’s only five o’clock.”
“He generally closes around four thirty or five. You know, small town.”
“I guess.” She agreed but still looked doubtful. “Is there another mechanic in town?”
“Nope. Just John. And, to be honest, the way the streets are flooding, he probably wouldn’t tow you now anyway.”
Arden considered a minute. “Okay. Then I guess you can just drop me at the B and B.”
“No