Howling at the Moon: The Complete Series by Sasha Livingston Page A

Grabbing my purse and stuffing my valuables inside, I was about to put one foot in front of the other toward my new town when I heard it.
    The rumbling of an old engine and the smell of exhaust made me turn around. Sure enough, a truck was headed my way. My initial glee was followed by the memories of a warning from my grandmother years ago when I went on one of these missions to find myself.
    “Don’t get kidnapped out there by some sex-crazed farmer!”
    I had always laughed at her suggestion that a sex-crazed maniac farmer would want a curvy girl like me. My thighs would only remind him of one of his cows.
    Actually, meeting some strong farmer with a high libido would have piqued my interest. I fanned myself, watching the truck as it eased down the road toward me. Looking over myself in Becky’s side mirror, I thanked God my hair didn’t look like a crow’s nest. Today, my long braided mane was kept in check. I smoothed my dress and wiped my face, hoping I didn’t look too bad after being confined in an old car all day.
    Grandma was still right to caution me. Keys in hand, I gripped the knife that I kept on my key ring. If this person was going to hurt me, they would have to take me kicking and screaming.
    The black 4WD truck pulled over behind my car. It was a man, alone, and I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or relieved. I put on my poker face, looking calm but not mean as I waited for him. Just in case he liked curves, I turned away and pushed my girls up to attention. I didn’t want him to think I was a ditz he could throw in his truck and carve up for dinner, but there was nothing wrong with using my womanly attributes to encourage a little favor.
    He emerged from the truck wearing a pair of sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a dark shirt with jeans. He reeked of a working man, and speckles of dried white paint were ingrained into his clothes. His boots were scratched and worn, and as my gaze traveled back up his body, it led me to his brute forearms and big, tough hands. This man was a farmer or worker of some sort all right, but I didn’t know they made them this handsome.
    “Your name wouldn’t be Jaime, would it?”
    Now how would he know that? I clutched my small knife tighter in my hand.
    “Your car fits the description you gave on your application. I’m Warren,” he said, smiling and taking off his sunglasses.
    “Oh yes. Nice to meet you.” I was staring at my new landlord. He removed his hat, revealing jet black hair. He stepped closer and put his hand out to shake mine, but I found myself lost in his eyes; hazel brown with rims stitched in gold.
    “Glad I saw you out here. You having some car trouble?”
    I couldn’t speak. My brain was fogged up by the hot sexual energy he exuded with every gesture. How the hell did they breed such sexy men out here in the sticks?
    “Um, yeah. Becky is giving me problems. She’s pretty old.” I looked away, trying to hide my flushed red cheeks. I’d imagined my landlord would be some fat aging man with overalls and a social security check. His deep, tenor voice had fooled me over the phone, and I didn’t expect this young, muscular Adonis that stood in front of me.
    “Well, it doesn’t help that you have so many boxes in there. Probably put too much on the transmission.”
    He brushed past me, walking toward the hood. He tinkered with some things, pushing stuff aside with his bare hands while all I could do was watch him work. He even bent under the car in search of something, which gave me time to stare at his perfect ass.
    “Looks like a busted hose. I can tape it up. That’ll get you into town where I can take a better look later.”
    He didn’t give me much of a choice in the matter. As soon as he said it, he was jogging back to his truck and rummaging around in the flatbed.
    He came back with a jug of water, some duct tape, and a small tool box. Then he went right to work. I watched in amazement as he moved around the overheated car like he knew