OLIVIA LOGAN SUPPOSED it could be argued that she wasn’t heartbroken, so much as she had broken her own heart. But it could not be argued that she had flattened her own tire.

Someone had left something sharp in the road for her to drive over with her little, unsuspecting car. Because people were eternally irresponsible, and Olivia never was. She never was, and still, she often got caught up in the consequences of said irresponsibility. Because such was life. That the idiot who left something treacherous in the road wasn’t the one with the flat tire was another painful reality check.

Olivia had had quite enough of life being a pain in the rear. If there was a reward for being well behaved, she hadn’t yet found it.

She got out of her car to look at the flattened tire in the back on the passenger side, bracing herself against the frigid wind that whipped up right as she did so. The typical chilly Oregon January weather did nothing to improve her mood.

And there it was. Silver and flat, sticking into her tire. A nail.

Of course. She was running late to work down at Grassroots Winery and she had a flat tire as well as a broken heart. So, all things considered, she wasn’t sure it could get much worse.

She scowled, then looked down at her phone, trying to figure out who she should text. Normally, it would have been her boyfriend, Bennett, but he was now her ex-boyfriend because she had broken up with him last month at Christmas.

She had her reasons. Very good ones.

She couldn’t text him now, obviously. And she probably shouldn’t text his older brother Wyatt, or his other older brother Grant, because their loyalty to Bennett made them off-limits. Even for pitiful Olivia and her flat tire.

She was pondering her quandary, sitting on the outer edges of Gold Valley with her car halfway in the ditch when a beat-up red truck came barreling down from the same direction she had just come. Her stomach did a somersault and she closed her eyes, beseeching the heavens for an answer as to why she was being punished this way.

There was no answer. There was only a flat tire. And that red truck that she knew well.

Oh well. She needed rescuing. Even if it was by Luke Hollister. She moved closer to the road, crossing her arms and standing there, looking pathetic. At least, she had a feeling she looked somewhat pathetic. She felt pathetic.

Luke would stop, because despite being a scoundrel, a womanizer, he had that innate sense of chivalry that cowboys tended to possess. All yes ma’am and opening doors and saving damsels from the railroad tracks.

Or the side of the road, in this case.

The truck came closer, and she registered the exact moment Luke saw her. Felt it, somehow. She took a step back, making room for him to pull off and up next to her car.

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