“Wyatt?” Even as she said his name, Erin wanted to groan. The man was profoundly deaf and couldn’t hear her even if she screamed. Running along the opposite side of the truck bed and waving her arms to get his attention, she got him to stop just before he reached the driver’s door. His gaze became riveted to her face. “The chain, Wyatt? You still haven’t unhooked it.”

* * *

Wyatt could not believe that he’d forgotten to detach the chain from Erin’s car, not once, but twice. Being around the woman screwed with his brain. He never made stupid mistakes like that. If he had, Slade would have fired him years ago. But around Erin, he became a dimwit, so aware of her on a physical level that his thoughts bounced around inside his head like lottery balls in a blower machine. He needed to deliver her to her cottage, tell her goodbye, and get away from her before he did something else stupid. As it was, she probably thought his IQ was lower than the winter room temperature of a poor man’s house.

Disgusted with himself and unable to talk while he drove, he turned on the sound system, which he never used. She gave a violent start, and Domino started to bark, which Wyatt knew only because the dog’s front feet parted company with the leather seat each time he emitted a woof. Wyatt quickly turned off the stereo.

“What?” he asked as he fixed his gaze on Erin.

“The volume is way up,” she said. “So loud it almost burst my eardrums.”

“You turn it on, then,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “I’m good. Not in the mood for music.”

Wyatt wasn’t in a mood for small talk. “I can’t read your lips while I’m driving.” He flicked his gaze back to the road. “It’d be just as dangerous as texting.” He didn’t know if she agreed, disagreed, or said nothing, and he wasn’t about to pay less attention to the road in order to watch her lips. After messing up her car by making a stupid mistake, all the day needed was for him to have a wreck. “I thought music might compensate for the lack of conversation.”

He stared straight ahead. It seemed to him that tension electrified the air. He mostly drove with only his brother as a passenger. With Erin, it was different.

He felt relieved when they passed the city limits and entered Mystic Creek. He drove to the town center and took the roundabout. He saw Blackie, the pawnshop owner, and Ma Thomas, who owned Simply Sensational, standing by the water feature, chatting up a storm.

When he reached the turnoff for Mystic Creek Lane, he took a sharp right. He’d never been to Erin’s rental cottage, but Slade had told him where she lived, in a small, white cottage that backed up to the creek. He figured he could find it easily enough, and just following his nose would be far less trouble than asking Erin for directions. He’d have to pull over in order to know what she was saying.