Fit To Be Tied. Carol Finch

doused with rain and mud, struggling in vain to change her tire. It was second nature for Devlin to lend a hand to a neighbor in times of need, but this wasn’t the usual, garden-variety neighbor. This was the infuriating female who refused to negotiate the terms of a truce over a peace-treaty dinner.

      Fact was, Devlin wasn’t accustomed to being turned down flat, and his male pride was still smarting. If Porter wanted his assistance, then she could swallow her pride and ask for it.

      “This is the drought buster I’ve been waiting for. Sure is wet out there, isn’t it, Blondie?” he commented conversationally.

      “Brilliant, Einstein.” She threw the words over her shoulder as she stabbed the end of the tire tool at the lug nut. Devlin could have—should have—offered assistance, but he sat in his truck, watching her fumble with a task that she didn’t have the physical strength to accomplish. He kept waiting for her to ask for his help, but after she had rudely rejected his attempt at a truce he figured she had too much pride to request assistance, for fear Devlin would tell her to fix her own flat.

      Teeth gritted, Jessica pushed up her sleeves, then grabbed the tire tool once more. She braced herself, favoring her tender ankle, then strained to loosen the lug nuts.

      While Jessica battled the lug nuts, Devlin sat there, grudgingly admiring her determination. Few women of his acquaintance would tackle such a task. But Jessica was as independent as the American flag and fully capable of teaching stubborn to a mule. She also had a jalapeño-flavored temper—not unlike his own, which was why he and Jessica clashed at every turn.

      Devlin chuckled to himself when Jessica, her patience worn threadbare, threw down the tire tool, then kicked the flat tire in frustration.

      “That’ll help,” he called over the sound of pounding rain.

      She lurched, steam practically rising from her soggy collar. “Oh, you…you—”

      “Yes?” he prompted, grinning devilishly.

      Jessica was so frustrated and furious that she couldn’t think of a suitably nasty name to hurl at him. Not that he could have heard her, because thunder boomed overhead.

      Defeated, she whirled, deciding to hike home and return later to tackle the tire. She stalked off with more speed than dignity, then instantly regretted her tantrum. Her tender ankle gave way when the heel of her muddy pump spiked against an oversize chunk of gravel.

      She skidded across the road, bumping her knees, hips and elbows, then wailed when hellish pain shot from her ankle. Jessica lay facedown on the road as rain hammered at her back. Near tears, she gritted her teeth against the pulsating throb that shot up her left leg to duel with the burning sensations in her kneecaps.

      Despite all the trials and tribulations she had encountered and conquered, the triumph of rising above her lowly birth, she was reduced to wailing sobs. This was her reward, Jessica thought broodingly. She lay sprawled on a gravel road in the middle of the boondocks, pelted by rain. To compound her humiliation, the man whose opinion shouldn’t have mattered in the least—but did, damn it—had witnessed her defeat. He had every right to taunt and ridicule her, because she had gone out of her way to irritate him every chance she got.

      So when Devlin pulled his pickup beside her, she expected him to tease her unmercifully, then go his merry way. To her surprise, he bounded from the truck and dashed through the pouring rain.

      DEVLIN CURSED HIMSELF soundly as he swooped to scoop up Jessica. The moment he saw her ankle give way on the uneven gravel, saw her skid on her knees and elbows, he knew that he was personally responsible for her injuries. Damnation, why hadn’t he ignored his battered pride and replaced her blown-out tire before she lost patience and hiked off in the rain? If he hadn’t wasted time harassing her, Jessica’s ankle wouldn’t be swelling up like a balloon and she’d still have skin left on her knees and elbows.

      Yep, no doubt about it, everything backfired in his dealings with Jessica Porter.

      “I won’t waste time asking if you’re all right, because I can plainly see that you aren’t,” he said as he carried her to the passenger side of his truck. Carefully, he situated her on the seat. He grimaced when he saw watered-down blood dripping from her shins. “I’m sorry, Jess.”

      She stared owlishly at him. “Why? I thought you’d enjoy this. I thought you hated me.”

      “We obviously have our differences, Blondie, and your temper and obstinacy are an equal match for mine, but I swear that I never wanted to see you hurt.”

      When he shut the door, then trotted around the truck to slide beneath the steering wheel, Jessica stared at him in amazement. She had seen concern glowing in the depths of those eyes that were as dark as a moonless night. He cared that her ankle hurt like hell blazing? He was sorry he hadn’t intervened before she injured herself?

      Pain, frustration, temper and exhaustion combined to put tears in her eyes. Lordy, she hadn’t cried since she was a frightened kid who had been uprooted from one set of foster parents and passed along to another. She’d become tough, resilient…and she was on the verge of blubbering like a damn baby!

      “Hurts, huh?” Devlin murmured as he shifted into drive, then started off. Involuntarily, he reached over to squeeze her fist, which was clenched in her soggy skirt. “Just hang on for a couple of minutes and I’ll have you inside your house. We’ll scrub the dirt from the skinned spots and ice down your ankle.”

      “Th-thanks,” she said on a hitched breath.

      Devlin flashed a cheery smile. “Hey, no problem. What are neighbors for? I’ll have you know I was selected as Good Samaritan of the Year twice. Got plaques to prove it, too.”

      “Really?” Her voice crackled in attempt to bite back a shuddering sob.

      “No, but if Buzzard’s Grove handed out such an award I’m pretty sure I would’ve won, being the swell guy I am and all.”

      His attempt to cheer her up worked. Jessica smiled past the pain. “I should have asked for your help instead of trying to do the job myself,” she murmured awkwardly. “I guess I’m just accustomed to taking care of myself. After the way I treated you last night…” She drew a shaky breath, then met his warm, sympathetic gaze. “I’m sorry I decapitated the roses. That was a thoughtful gesture on your part, and I was inexcusably rude.”

      “Don’t worry about it,” he said dismissively. “I deserved to have the door slammed in my face a couple of times. I’m the one who holds the title for rude and obnoxious.”

      “No, I do,” she contradicted, then sniffled.

      “Since we both made lousy first impressions, how ’bout we start over?” Devlin suggested as he came to a stop in her driveway.

      Jessica nodded and extended a skinned hand. “Deal. Hi, I’m Jessica Porter.”

      He squeezed her fingertips gently and offered her a smile. “Devlin Callahan. My friends call me Dev. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

      Jessica wiped her eyes on her grimy sleeve, then waited for Devlin to climb down and stride around to her side of the truck. When he slid his arm beneath her knees and around her waist, Jessica objected to being carried inside. “I think I can manage on my own. The last thing I want is for you to hurt your back.”

      “I’ve lifted hay bales heavier than you,” he insisted as he hoisted her easily into his arms. “I’m sure you can manage on your own, but why risk aggravating the injury?”

      When he unintentionally bumped her ankle on the edge of the door, she shrieked abruptly and coiled against his chest. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I…”

      His breath clogged in his throat when she cuddled against him and he saw a fresh batch of tears welling in those rain-forest eyes. Devlin swallowed uncomfortably, then cursed his all-male reaction to the feel of her supple body in his arms, the feel of her head pressed to his shoulder. The whisper of her breath stirred against his neck like a lover’s caress….