Rally (Treasure State Wildcats Book 3)

Camping. It had seemed like such a good idea when I’d left Mission an hour ago to spend a weekend in the woods. I’d planned to enjoy the mountains. Breathe in some fresh air. Clear my head and disconnect.

Camping.

I was such a freaking idiot.

“I hate you.” I kicked the tire on my old Ford Explorer.

The flat tire.

“Ugh.” I closed my eyes and groaned. And because I was stranded and alone, always alone, I tilted my head to the lovely blue sky and screamed. “Gah!”

I was in the middle of nowhere. I barely had cell service, and even if I could manage a call, it wasn’t like I could afford a tow truck. Not this far from town.

Why couldn’t anything come easy? Why was it that whenever I did something spontaneous, it always ended in disaster? Why did life have to be so . . . hard?

“I should have stayed at work.” I sneered at my tire and kicked it again.

Tears pricked my eyes, but crying wouldn’t get me off of this lonely gravel road, so I blew out a long breath, then pulled my phone from the back pocket of my jeans.

“If there’s an angel nearby who feels like lending a wing,” I said, tipping my face to the tops of the towering evergreens and the heavens above, “I’d be forever grateful if you could send me enough data to let a single YouTube video load onto my phone.”

I typed in a quick search.

how to change a flat tire

Thirty minutes later, the last part of the video was still buffering, but I’d managed to get out the jack, tire iron and spare.

“I can do this,” I told myself, fitting the tire iron in place. I wasn’t a helpless waif. I could change a flat tire, right? I’d changed Gloria’s flat bike tire once. This couldn’t be too hard. “Lug nuts. Here goes.”

With all my might, I torqued on the tire iron. It didn’t budge. The lug nut wouldn’t turn. It was supposed to come loose. According to the video, it should have turned. I tried again. And again. And again. Except no matter how hard I pushed or pulled, it didn’t move.

“No,” I groaned. “Please don’t do this to me. Please.”

With my teeth gritted, I pulled on the tool, hoping for just a tiny bit of movement.

Nothing.

“Oh my God.” The iron clattered on the gravel as I buried my face in my filthy hands. They smelled like grease and dirt and metal. Maybe I was helpless after all. “Fuck.”

I let my hands drop and stared down the road. “Now what?”

As I’d driven into the mountains this afternoon, I’d passed a few ranches. How far back were they? One mile? Two? Five? If I started walking now, would I make it out of the forest before dark? Or should I camp out here, on the side of this gravel road, then walk in the morning?

I really, really didn’t want to get eaten by a grizzly bear or mauled by a mountain lion. Which meant this was my campsite.

Spinning in a slow circle, I surveyed the surrounding evergreens and thick underbrush. It certainly wasn’t the camping area I’d found on Google this morning. There was no charming mountain lake. No picnic table or firepit. After nightfall, once I was locked in the car, regretting all of my life’s choices, I wouldn’t be able to see the stars through all the trees.

“Worst. Idea. Ever.”

A bird flew overhead, mocking me with a cheerful tweet.

“Stupid bird.” I bent and picked up the tire iron. “Stupid lug nut. Stupid flat tire.”

Dusty had told me it was time for me to get new tires. She’d warned me that mine were bald and overdue for a change. This car was overdue for a lot of things.

I’d had my 1992 Explorer since my senior year in high school. It had cost me an entire summer’s worth of wages and tips, but it had never failed to take me from home to school to work, bald tires and all.

I guess camping was just too much for it to handle. The two-tone green and tan paint looked faded and dingy under the bright summer sunshine. The back window was coated with a sheen of dust. And this flat tire was as sad and pathetic as me.

If I called Justin, would he come out to get me? Probably. He’d undoubtedly bring Alexa along, and she was the reason I’d decided on this camping trip in the first place.

What did that say about our relationship that I didn’t want to call my boyfriend for help? That I’d rather sleep in the Explorer on the side of the road? That I’d hike however many miles tomorrow in order to beg help from a stranger?

That was another day’s problem after I sorted this mess.

At least I had snacks.

I opened the Explorer’s back door and reached for the plastic bag of foodstuffs I’d bought at the grocery store earlier. The box of s’more granola bars had seemed fitting for camping. So had the bag of generic-brand potato chips. And my splurge, a king-sized bag of Skittles.

As I reached for the candy, the sound of an engine ricocheted through the air. My breath caught in my throat as the noise of tires crunching on gravel grew louder and louder. My gaze stayed glued to the road, waiting. Hoping.

A black SUV with a shiny, silver grill emerged from a bend in the road, a cloud of dust billowing in its wake.

“Oh, thank God.” My hand slapped over my heart. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hike out after all. If I could get this tire changed, if this person could help me loosen the lug nuts, I’d be able to turn around and go home.

Screw camping.

I was sleeping in my own bed tonight. After a stop at Tire-Rama.

The money I’d been saving for a new apartment would be allocated to tires instead. But if I had to live in Justin’s trailer for a few more months to ensure this flat situation never happened again, so be it.

I raised a hand, about to wave so the driver knew to slow, except my hand froze midair.

Wait. I was a woman in the woods alone. What if the person barreling down the road was a serial killer or rapist? What if I was easy prey? As much as I wanted to get the hell out of here, maybe flagging down a stranger wasn’t the best idea. I had zero desire to be abducted or brutalized today.

There was a chance I’d been reading too many thrillers. But just in case, I whirled for the back seat, throwing Skittles and chips and granola bars aside for the other plastic bag on the floor. This one from Bucky’s Sporting Goods.

Dusty had made me promise not to leave Mission without bear spray, and the clerk at the store had been nice enough to show me how the canister worked.

Pull away the safety. Press the trigger. Spray at a slightly downward angle toward the bear’s feet.

What about people? Did you aim for their feet too? Or straight in the face? Should I try to get downwind? Which way was downwind?

“Shit,” I hissed, clutching the can as the SUV began to slow, the dust blowing into the trees with the breeze.

Okay, I guess that way was downwind.

The vehicle came to a stop about ten feet behind the Explorer.

I gulped as the driver’s side door opened and a tall man stepped outside. His eyes and most of his face were shielded by a royal-blue hat with a curved brim. His faded jeans hung low on his narrow hips, and his long legs ate up the distance from his SUV to the Explorer.

He was tall. Really tall. I was only five three, and he had to be at least a foot taller. His broad shoulders were testing the elasticity of his plain, gray T-shirt. It stretched tight across his chest and the sleeves strained around muscled biceps.

The Treasure State Wildcats logo was stitched in gray on the front of his hat. Was he a fellow student? It wasn’t exactly a comfort. Crime was a concern on college campuses across the country, and one of the most commonly reported crimes among college students was sexual assault.

Not that we were on campus. This wasn’t a raucous party or downtown bar. Still, I clutched the can tighter, ready to yank off the safety at the first hint this guy had ill intentions.

“Hey.” He jerked up his chin and grinned. It was crooked, higher on the left than the right. Charming, actually.

Serial killers were charming. In every true-crime documentary I’d ever watched, they were always, always described as charming.

I was dead meat.

“Flat tire?” he asked.

My gaze flicked to the flat tire.

“Right.” He chuckled. “Dumb question.”

He shifted his hat, spinning it backward, and my entire body lurched at the sight of his face.

His granite jaw was dusted with stubble. The corners were sharp and defined. His dark blond hair was long enough to escape the band of his hat, the ends curling at his ears. And his eyes were a rich, chocolate brown.

Straight nose. Soft lips. He was, well . . . hot. Scorching hot. So hot that a flush crept into my cheeks.

Seriously, Faye? Was I really blushing for a stranger who may or may not want to tie me to a tree and leave me as coyote food?

“Need a hand?” he asked, reaching for the tire iron on the ground. A tire iron that a man with that much muscle could easily turn into a weapon.

“Stop.” I lifted the silver can.

He held up both hands. “Whoa. Easy. Don’t spray me. Please. I’m just trying to help.”

“I, um . . . who are you?” At the very least, I’d know my murderer’s name.

“Rush.”

That sounded like a fake name. I narrowed my eyes. “Do you go to Treasure State?”

“Yes,” he drawled, confusion mixing into his expression like me asking if he was a Wildcat was the stupidest question in the world. Probably because of the hat.

Except those hats were sold all over Mission. Grocery stores. Gas stations. Grant’s General Hardware.

“What’s your major?” I asked.

“Business finance. Minor in economics.”

I opened my mouth, about to ask the name of his favorite professor, but I didn’t know any of the business professors. “What’s your student ID number?”

Rush blinked. “Huh?”

I raised the bear spray a little higher. “Your student ID number. Prove you go to Treasure State.”

“How will that prove I go to Treasure State?”

“Just tell me.”

He stared at me for a long moment then, with a slight head shake, rattled off, “38-19037.”

Seven digits. With the dash. And every student who’d started in the same year had a number starting with the same two digits. My ID started with 38 too.

So he was, in fact, a student. And so far, I didn’t think he was a liar. I let the canister drop to my side again.

“Can I change this tire now?” He pointed to the wheel. “Or do you have more questions?”

“Um . . .” Did I have more questions?

He gave me a sideways glance, then spun his hat forward again, the brim once more shielding his eyes before he bent and picked up the tire iron. He moved so fast, so gracefully, I startled, jumping back a foot and smacking into the Explorer’s open door.

“Easy,” he said, holding up his free hand.

“I’m a woman half your size stranded in the middle of the woods alone. Switch places with me. Wouldn’t you be a little jumpy?”

Rush’s gaze traveled down my body, head to toe, maybe because I’d just called out our height difference. “You can trust me.”

“Said all serial killers in history.”

Apparently, my fear was amusing because he flashed me that crooked grin again as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. I’m going to change your tire. While I do that, take your bear spray and go stand by that tree over there to watch.”

“We’re in the middle of a forest. We’re surrounded by trees. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

That grin widened. “Any tree you want.”

“Fine,” I muttered, sidestepping away from the Explorer and into the grass and brush that bordered the road.

I picked a pine tree that was closest to the car, standing next to its boughs. Then I watched as Rush—if that was his real name—got to work on my tire.

With barely a flick of his wrist, the nut I’d been wrenching on earlier turned. It took him only a minute to loosen them all.

I gritted my teeth. “Stupid lug nuts.”

The fear subsided as annoyance took its place. Here I was, being rescued by a big, strong man. Did I want to change a tire today? Definitely not. But it irked me that I hadn’t been able to do it myself.

“So you go to Treasure State?” Rush asked, glancing over his shoulder from where he was crouched.

“Yes.”

“What’s your major?”

“Human development and family science.”

He nodded, trading the tire iron for the jack I’d hauled out earlier. He positioned it under the axle, exactly like the video had shown, and began to crank. “Do you want to do this? I kind of took over, but if you want to change this yourself, I’ll get out of the way.”

That was actually . . . nice. Really nice. “Um, no. I’m good.”

Sure, it would be empowering to change a tire myself. But I doubted he’d leave until it was done, and I didn’t feel like fumbling through it, referencing my YouTube video with an audience.

This strong, strapping guy could rescue me from the side of the road.

No one rescued me. I usually rescued myself.

Except today.

There was an odd mix of relief and disappointment as he went back to work. I wasn’t great at asking for help or giving up control. I also couldn’t seem to walk away from this tree.

“What’s your name?” Rush asked as the Explorer lifted off the ground.

“Faye Gannon.”

“Nice to meet you, Faye Gannon. I’m Rush Ramsey.”

Rush Ramsey? “Is that really your name?”

He paused the jack, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at me. There was that confused expression again, almost like he expected his name to mean something. “Yes. That’s really my name.”

“Okay.” Still sounded fake.

“Are you sure you go to Treasure State?”

“Yes, I go there.” I scoffed. My ID was 38-20183.

“You’ve never heard of me?” It should have been an arrogant question, but it was genuine curiosity.

“Why would I have heard of you?”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” I said. “Have you heard of me?”

He worked his jaw, almost like he was fighting a smile. “No.”

“Then there you go.”

“There I go.” Rush went back to work like he’d done this countless times, unscrewing the lug nuts entirely before yanking my flat tire free.

The muscles of his arms flexed as he moved. That T-shirt molded to the honed strength in his back.

Who had muscles like that? A model? An athlete? Was that why he’d expected me to recognize his name?

“You never answered my question,” I said. “Why would I have heard of you?”

He paused and faced me, turning his hat around backward again. It was like being hit with a wave of raw sex appeal.

My pulse boomed as heat spread across my face. Rush might be the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on in real life. Probably not something I should be thinking, considering I was in a relationship.

I stared at the pine needles beneath my shoes.

“I’m on the football team,” he said.

“Ah.” So he was an athlete. “I’m not really a football person.”

“Kind of figured that,” he said as he took out the spare. He carried it like it weighed nothing and fitted it on the wheel hub with ease, shifting and angling it into place. Then he began refastening those blasted lug nuts. “Are you camping?”

“That was my plan. I was on my way to the lake.”

With the spare in place, Rush lowered the jack until the Explorer was on four wheels again. Then he quickly tightened the tire, standing to brush his hands on his jeans when he was finished. “All set. This is an actual tire, not a donut, so you should be good.”

“For how long?”

He shrugged. “I’d be more worried about your other three tires than this one.”

“I’ll be getting new tires.” Even if I couldn’t afford it.

I really should have stayed home to work this weekend.

Rush opened the back hatch, putting the flat inside along with the tools. “I’m heading to the lake myself. My parents bring their camper up every year for a couple weeks. They had a wedding to go to this weekend, so I’m going to stay up here while they’re gone. My campfire is always open if you stick around.”

“Oh, um . . . I think I’ll probably just go back to town.”

There were tires to buy. My own bed to sleep in, though the last place I wanted to be with Alexa visiting was home.

“All right. Drive safe.” He nodded, then strode for his SUV. He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared, his engine rumbling as he pulled onto the road, leaving a fresh cloud of dust in his wake.

I waited until the sound of his car was gone before I walked to the Explorer, tapping the freshly changed tire with the toe of my tennis shoe.

“Rush Ramsey.” Had I heard that name before? No. But I liked it. I liked that it was real.

The bear spray in my hand felt ridiculous now that he was gone. “Nice, Faye.”

I huffed a laugh and tossed it in the back seat, closing the door and rear hatch. Then I walked to the driver’s side door.

Time to forget about this ridiculous idea of camping. Time to go home.

Something I could do now, thanks to Rush Ramsey.

“Damn it.” I kicked a rock. “I didn’t say thank you.”