You shouldn’t be here.

I feel my eyes narrow. I don’t like anyone telling me what to do, no matter how hot they are. My back stiffens, and I stand up taller, taking on the posture my research colleagues jokingly call my “feminist power posture.” My hands go to my hips, and I look up into the tall, dark, handsome stranger’s face.

“What the hell does that mean?” I ask, no longer feeling the slightest bit nervous—only furious.

The dark-haired stranger raises his brows, and I wonder if he’s a little shocked. It’s possible he might not have been expecting this level of attitude from some lady with a smoking car, stranded on the side of a country road beneath a leaden sky.

He clears his throat. “I meant no offense,” he says, though he doesn’t look particularly penitent, “I only meant that this road leads to one place and one place only.” He glances around at the empty road. “Are you sure you’re meant to be on this road?”

My eyes narrow even further, and I try not to scowl at this man. “Not that I have to explain myself to you—stranger—but I’ve come to see my father.”

And just like that, the guy’s eyes shutter. His whole face—not exactly friendly to start with—closes up like a house against a storm.

I take this in, wondering what that reaction is all about.

“Is that a problem for you?” I ask.

“Your father?” he repeats, his voice a low growl.

The sound of it makes my fingers tingle, but I really don’t have time for this. “Yes,” I say impatiently, “my father. William Cunningham. He’s called me back from the States. He’s sick, and I need to get to him. That’s where I was headed,” I say, gesturing toward the car.

If I’m expecting any reaction to this information, I’m disappointed. Green Eyes nods once, then turns and starts to work, hooking the rental car up to his truck.

I stand back and watch him work, trying not to stare at the way the muscles in his arms flex as he pulls the heavy chain.

When he’s done, he looks up at me and nods, jutting his chin toward the passenger side of his truck.

Understanding, I walk over and pull myself into the seat.

He climbs in without a word and slams the door after him. He starts the ignition, and the truck roars to life so loudly I start.

He glances over, then looks back at the road without comment. “My shop isn’t far from here,” he says, his voice strangely neutral.

I nod and glance at the time on my watch. It was a gift from my father when I graduated from boarding school, and the sight of it makes the knot in my stomach tighten. “How long will it take to repair the damage?” I ask anxiously.

The guy shrugs, his eyes still on the road. “Hard to say. I didn’t really get a good look at the car or whatever damage you did to it,” he adds, and doesn’t look over to see me glare at him. “I’ll know more when I get it into the shop. But—based on the smoke—I’d say the engine overheated, maybe. Or maybe a split hose.”

“Okay, and?” I press.

“If that’s what it is, I should be able to replace the hose and get the car started again.”

I twist my watch around my wrist. “I’m still not hearing how long it’ll take to do this,” I say, trying not to snap. I don’t know how I feel about this guy, but he did just rescue me from the side of the road, and I am counting on him to get me going again, so I remind myself to tread lightly, no matter how stressed I feel. “I really need to see my father as soon as possible.”

“I understand,” he says, in that slow, Vanarian way that makes me sure he doesn’t understand. “But I have to look at the car before I’m sure, and I can only work as fast as I’m able. I only have two hands, lass.”

“I’ll pay,” I say quickly. “Extra. Whatever you need to get the repairs done quickly. I can double your regular rate.”

I’m trying to show him that my demands can be reasonable, but this is apparently the wrong thing to say, because as soon as the words are out of my mouth, the guy whips his head to glare at me, his green eyes snapping.

“You can stop with all that, lass. Money doesn’t solve everything,” he says sharply.

I stare at him, even after he looks back at the road. “I’m—yeah, no, I know,” I sputter. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying…” I trail off for a moment. Then, “I’m Skye, by the way.”

The man glances over, and I can see his expression is slightly less stormy. “Logan,” he says. His voice is gruff, but he doesn’t look quite as mad, so I lean back in my seat, hoping this means the mechanic and I have struck a tentative truce.

***

I look down at my phone, willing the call to connect. It finally does, and my heart leaps. But as I listen to my father’s phone ring and ring—and ring—my heart sinks again.

With a sigh, I end the call. It’s the fifth one I’ve made, and I’ve yet to get through. I really just want to hear my father’s voice—just to know that he’s still alive.

I tap my fingers on the side of the phone, feeling anxiety coursing through me. And I call again.

But this time the call doesn’t connect. I check the top of my screen and see that there’s no service. I have no connection at all. The service hasn’t been great since I’d arrived in Vanara, but this is the first time there’s been none at all.

I look around the waiting room, wondering if this might just be a dead zone. Given the chilly car ride over, under normal circumstances, I might just stay where I am and wait it out, but I’m too desperate for that now. So—looking down at my phone—I walk out of the waiting area and into the garage portion of the shop, hoping for better reception.

Still nothing.

I look up with a sigh and take in the shop. It’s small, but unusually clean for an auto repair garage. Mine is not the only car on the floor—there are three others—but I’m really hoping Logan is focusing on mine. I walk over to my little rental—a green Fiesta with a long scrape on one side I am proud to say I wasn’t responsible for—and look around for the mechanic.

When I don’t see him anywhere, my anxiety ramps up. And so does my frustration. I thought I’d made it clear how desperate I was to get going. Why would he just bail?

I’m about to call his name when I look down and see a pair of work boots jutting out from under my rental.

Relief washes over me. “Um…Logan?” I say tentatively, extremely glad I hadn’t just shouted his name.

He doesn’t move for a moment. Then, when he finally rolls out from under the car, I see his face is streaked with grease. It’s all over his hands and forearms, too, which somehow makes him look even hotter than before.

Not that any of that is important, I remind myself sternly. I have more pressing matters to think of.

“Looking for me?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” I say, ignoring the slight squeak in my voice. “I was wondering if there was a place around here where I could get better cell service?”

He looks at me for a moment. “Didn’t you say you were from Vanara?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“So you should know that cell service in this country is always bad.”

I squeeze my phone in my hand. “Yeah, I sort of remember that. But it’s been years since I’ve been back. I guess I was hoping things had gotten better—at least when it came to cell towers.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he mutters. He looks up at me, and I can almost see a moment of conflict behind his eyes—like he doesn’t want to give in. But his curiosity must have won out, because he asks, “How long have you been away, Skye?”

The sound of my name on his lips does something strange to my stomach, and I feel my face flush. “Long enough,” I say evasively. “And that’s why I need to get home.”

He looks at me for a moment longer, then pushes himself to a sitting position. “Yeah, well, I can’t do a thing about your phone, but the car’s fixed.”

“What? Really?” I say, astounded. “But that was so fast.”

He stands and gives me a leveling look. “You said you wanted it done fast. Quite insistent on it, actually.”

“Yeah, I know, but—”

“So here you go,” he says, striding over to the workbench and handing me the keys.

“Thanks,” I say, putting my hand out for them.

Logan drops the keys into my palm, then surprises the hell out of me when he suddenly grabs my hand.

I look down in shock, then up at him. His eyes are blazing again, and his voice holds a warning note:

“Don’t stay in Vanara longer than you have to, Skye.”