“I’m sorry.”
“You don't need to answer.”
He returned his attention to the connector.
“Yes.”
Alexandra said nothing.
His wife might have left.
Died.
Either possibility felt too personal to invite.
The wind moved through the pines.
Alexandra rubbed her upper arms.
Ethan noticed.
“You have a coat?”
“In the trunk.”
“Probably better suited to the mountain than that.”
He nodded toward the dress.
Alexandra looked down.
“I was told it looked elegant.”
“It does.”
The response was so matter-of-fact that she almost smiled again.
“You can say impractical.”
“It can be both.”
That sentence stayed with her for reasons she could not explain.
Ethan tightened something.
“Try it.”
Alexandra stepped toward the driver’s door.
Before getting in, she looked back.
“You’re sure?”
“If it explodes, I’ll apologize.”
“Comforting.”
She slid into the seat.
Pressed the start button.
The engine turned over immediately.
Alexandra stared at the dashboard.
No red battery warning.
No flicker.
The engine settled into a steady idle.
She laughed once in disbelief.
Ethan lowered the hood.
Alexandra stepped out.
“What did you do?”
“Reconnected the alternator lead.”
“That's all?”
“Mostly.”
“You make that sound disappointingly easy.”
“It’s better than disappointingly expensive.”
She opened her clutch.
“How much?”
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
Alexandra paused.
“No?”
“No charge.”
“You stopped, diagnosed it, repaired it, and saved me from spending several hours on the side of a mountain.”
“About seven minutes.”
“I pay people more for doing less.”
“I believe that.”
She pulled out several bills.
Ethan put one hand up.
“Keep it.”
Alexandra stared.
“I’m not asking for charity.”
“Neither am I.”
“Then take it.”
“No.”
“Mr. Cole.”
He smiled faintly.
“Ms. Vale.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re stubborn.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Alexandra held out the money.
Ethan gently pushed her hand back toward her.
“I stopped because you needed help.”
“That’s it.”
Something about the sentence moved through her more deeply than it should have.
Help without leverage had become unfamiliar.
In Alexandra’s world, almost every favor came attached to something.
A future introduction.
A vote.
A contract.
An opportunity.
A debt.
Even kindness often arrived with invisible accounting.
She slowly returned the money to her clutch.
“Then at least let me send you something later.”
“No.”
“Do you refuse everything?”
“Pretty much.”
Alexandra shook her head.
“Your daughter must love negotiating with you.”
The passenger door of the old pickup opened.
Ethan turned sharply.
“Nora, stay in the truck.”
A little girl climbed down anyway.
She was small for eight.
Brown boots.
Blue jeans.
A pale cream cardigan over a lavender shirt.
Thick chestnut-brown hair fell halfway down her back, loosely braided on one side.
She carried a worn stuffed rabbit beneath one arm.
Alexandra smiled automatically.