a tree.”
Savannah turned away before she gave in to the temptation to hurl something at his retreating back. She returned to her car and started it. She’d show him. Ramming into reverse, she checked her mirrors and continued to ease Daisy into position. The twenty-foot caravan bumped gently over the grass and settled on its four tires once she’d coaxed it into the right spot. Trees and greenery were on the caravan’s rear side, the front door almost directly opposite her house’s office on the other. Perfect. She resisted a fist pump as she killed the engine and climbed out, sneaking a glance at the deck.
Glen slouched in an Adirondack chair, positioned to face her. As if he was waiting for a show. Beer in one hand—and what was that between his long, hard thighs? Crinkling noises drifted across to her, followed by loud crunches. Her eyes narrowed. Saliva pooled. More crunches and the hiss-pop of a bottle being opened. Beer and potato chips. The cruel pig. Now that was all she could think about.
Tipping her nose in the air, she walked behind Daisy and got to work winding down the first jack, remembering the salesman’s step-by-step demonstration of setting up the caravan.
“We’ve got this, Daisy old girl,” she said, after successfully deploying three of the four jacks. “And we’ll hope that every last one of those chips goes straight to his behind.”
Though so far, they obviously hadn’t. For a pencil-pushing suit, he was in pretty good shape.
She squished through churned up grass and mud to the fourth jack, positioned on the far corner facing Glen. Her neck heated, aware of his scrutiny from across the lawn. One more jack to go. Something tickled in the corner of her mind but was blown away by a deep voice calling out, “Having fun yet?”
Ignoring him, Sav grabbed the final jack and turned the handle. It didn’t budge. She planted her gumboots farther apart and tried again. Nothing.
“You’ve got no leverage at that angle. Try kneeling.”
Sav looked at the mud bubbling up between blades of grass. Then at her spotless capris. Thought she’d squirm at the idea of getting dirty, did he? She turned and flashed him a ninety-watt smile. “Thanks. I so wouldn’t have thought of that.”
She dropped to her knees, cool wetness soaking through the thin fabric. A point was made when she didn’t glance at the stains forming. Glaring at the jack the way she’d glare at a particularly tricky line of dialogue her tongue kept stumbling over, Sav bore down. With a horrendous creak, it gave way, and she wound it down triumphantly, sliding a short length of timber under the jack so it wouldn’t sink into the mud—again following the salesman’s instructions.
“Good job,” Glen called out, followed by more crinkly chip-packet sounds.
“Kiss my ass,” she muttered under her breath, hoping he’d choke. But she turned and gave him a cheery thumbs-up.
Sav got to her feet and strolled to the car, definitely not looking at the wetness spread from knee to ankle and seeping under her gumboots. First thing she’d do after parking her car was to try out the shower in Daisy’s dinky little bathroom.
She climbed in and started the engine. Glen might get his kicks from watching her grovel in the mud, but she’d have the last laugh by setting up her caravan without some poor sap doing it for her. She gave the car some gas and let it pull forward.
The car juddered, and Sav’s gaze shot automatically to the rear view mirror. Daisy bumped right along behind—she’d forgotten to unhitch the caravan from the tow-hitch before driving away!
Swearing in a very un-lady like fashion, she slammed on the brake. Again. Daisy bucked and rocked and screeched. Even before Sav got the car in park, gusts of laughter from her impromptu audience drifted across from the deck. A fever-hot flush stung her cheeks, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She blinked furiously. Savannah Payne did not cry—not unless someone bankrolled her to do so.
Sav flung open the car door, narrowly missing Glen’s leg. He ducked out of the way then leaned down, eyes still crinkled with humor. At least he’d finished laughing his butt off at her expense.
“Need a hand?”
Not unless he chopped it off and let her use it to slap his face. But she hadn’t been nominated for a Golden Globe for nothing. Her lips strained in the corners from smiling so brightly.
“Nope.” She climbed out of the car and brushed