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I pull my backpack out of the front seat and stuff my laptop in it before hearing a faint rumbling. Straightening, I find a dark gray truck driving toward me.

This highway goes directly to Autumn Ridge. Maybe whoever is driving wouldn’t mind dropping me off at Town Hall.

I throw my backpack over my shoulder and close the car door behind me, moving quickly to the front of Miss Sunfire. Holding out my right hand with a thumb up, I hoist it awkwardly in the air. Is this what real hitchhikers do? I don’t want to wave my hands in the air like some desperado, but I don’t want to scare off the driver, either.

Keeping my thumb up, I wait as the truck slows, and relief fills me before Dad’s warning returns.

“Never trust a man.”

He always finished with a wink and a, “Unless it’s me.”

I brush aside his first warning. Maybe a girl is driving the truck. Or a nice, old grandpa. Anyway, Dad taught me self-defense growing up, so I’m fairly confident I can escape the clutches of a psycho if push comes to shove.

Not that psychos exist in the realm of Autumn Ridge.

I lower my thumb when I’m confident the truck is stopping, then look intently through the glass in an attempt to see who my rescuer—or attacker—is. Unfortunately, the sun’s glare shines off the windshield, and the tint of the front window is too dark to see anything beyond a shadow.

I don’t have to wait long as the window rolls down, but I do have to stand on the tips of my toes to see inside the tall truck. I put on my most approachable smile and peer through the open space.

Then I freeze.

“Hey, there,” greets the deep, smooth tone I would recognize anywhere. Dark eyes watch me from beneath a tan cowboy hat. “Need some help?”

Archer Kade.

I’m being rescued by Archer Kade.

My day just got a whole lot better.

Archer

I’ve never seen a prettier hitchhiker.

Long brown hair in a braid, slightly turned-up nose, blue eyes that would put the Atlantic to shame.

Six years ago, when I first drove here all the way from Texas, I passed by bearded men with nothing but the shirts on their backs, young couples with massive rucksacks, and even a man who resembled a convict escaping from a local penitentiary.

I hadn’t stopped for any of them. I usually don’t for hitchhikers. You never know what you could be picking up. But I’d made an exception for this lady.

Smoke plumes from the car behind her as she stares at me, unresponsive, as if she’s just seen a ghost. No, not a ghost. She looks way too happy for that. Delighted, even.

I can’t help but stare in return. Her features are magnetic, and looking at her causes a pleasure in the base of my stomach that’s too satisfying to stop. I think my approval shows on my face because her smile grows.

“Hi,” she finally greets with a cheerful tone and no response to my earlier offer of help.

I chuckle. “Hi.”

Again her stare continues, shifting only a moment to my left hand resting on top of the steering wheel. When she returns her eyes to mine, there’s a look in them that tells me I’m missing something.

“You doing all right?” I ask after another second.

She blinks, smoothing down her hair and licking her lips before speaking. “Yes. Just surprised.”

Her voice is light and smooth.

“Surprised that I stopped to help you? Weren’t you signaling for that?”

She nods, a few locks of her hair fluttering down her cheeks. “Yeah, I’m just surprised it’s you.”