Easton pulled his old, faded red truck up next to her and hit the hazard lights. Stretching across the front bench seat to crank a manual window handle was easier for Easton than most. At six foot six, there was little the professional mountaineer couldn’t reach. He didn’t want to frighten her—a strange man arriving unannounced on the side of the road when she was all alone—so he tried for a pleasant smile. The beard would hide it, but the effort was there.

“Do you need any help, ma’am?”

The instant Easton opened his mouth, she wheeled on him. Tilted sideways from the weight of her suitcase, she threw her free hand up in apparent disgust.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Now, for the record, he’d had a very pleasant morning. Pleasant wake up, pleasant breakfast, pleasant trip into town to see his friends. Pleasant drive down the Turnagain Arm, a few miles below the speed limit. The kind of morning that made a guy relax in his seat and think, Yep, got life handled.

The fist on her hip as she glared at him said Nope, not handled at all.

Easton rubbed his neck awkwardly below the bun he’d twisted his hair into. “You looked like you might need a ride,” he hedged.

Her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. “Don’t think I’m oblivious, buddy. I know what you and your lackeys are up to. You’re messing with us on purpose.”

Easton had absolutely no idea what to say to that. He couldn’t tell much about her from the way she was bundled up, except no one he knew would be wearing a jacket in early July. This woman was dressed as if it were winter, wrapped in layers from head to toe with only her nose and glacier-blue eyes poking out above her scarf.

“My lackeys?”

“Minions, flunkies, those with whom you’re in cahoots. Trust me, I know.”

Easton’s response was squeakier than what he’d hoped for when opening his mouth. “There’s no cahoots.”

“Sure.” She obviously didn’t believe him one bit. “You know, out here on this road, everyone is so helpful and wonderful and keeps stopping.” She gestured in the direction of Moose Springs. “Which would be great back there, where everyone has been awful. I’ve found the nexus of evil in the nicest state in the country.”

“I wouldn’t call us a nexus,” Easton defended. “Maybe more of a node.”

“Great, the last one was a creep, and this one is a thesaurus. Jessie, what is wrong with this place?”

The woman dropped her suitcase to the ground. She pushed back the hood of her jacket, revealing sweat-dampened auburn hair tucked beneath a white winter-appropriate headband. If he’d been wrapped up like a burrito in seventy-degree heat, Easton would have been sweating too. Doubtful he’d look as striking as this stranger did though.