PART 1 — THE WOMAN IN THE MUD

The first time I saw Victoria Hartwell, she was standing in the rain beside a black SUV that probably cost more than my entire barn.

And she was arguing with it.

Not joking. Actually arguing with it.

“Come on!” she shouted through the open driver’s door. “You were specifically designed for this!”

I slowed my old pickup and watched through my windshield as the rain hammered against the glass.

Her SUV was buried halfway into a ditch, its rear tires spinning uselessly in the thick red Missouri mud. Every time she pressed the accelerator, the tires dug themselves deeper.

I should have kept driving.

I had livestock feed in the back of my truck, two calves that needed checking, and a section of fence that had been leaning since Tuesday.

Stopping for a stranger during a storm wasn’t part of my evening plans.

But then my headlights caught her face.

She looked angry.

But underneath that anger, I saw something else.

Fear.

She was trying hard not to show it. She stood perfectly straight, holding herself like a woman who was used to solving every problem before anyone else even knew there was one.

But she was alone.

The sun was going down.

The storm was getting worse.

So I pulled onto the shoulder and lowered my window.

“You planning to dig all the way to Kansas?”

She turned toward me, rain running down her cheek.

“Is that the standard local emergency-services greeting?”

“No, ma’am. This is the premium version. Costs extra.”

For half a second, she simply stared at me.

Then she laughed.

And somehow, that seemed to annoy her even more.

“My car is stuck.”

“I noticed.”

“I have no signal.”

“Also noticed.”

“And I am not from around here.”

“That announced itself.”

She crossed her arms and gave me a look that told me she was trying to decide whether I was actually useful or just some farmer with a truck and too much confidence.

I pointed toward the ditch.

“You tried reversing out?”

“Yes.”

“More than once?”

She looked away.

“I believe in persistence.”

“That is one name for it.”

She finally looked back at me.

“Can you help, or are you conducting a formal review of my technique?”

I laughed.

“I can help.”

I stepped out of my pickup and immediately felt the mud swallow my boots.

Her expensive shoes were already ruined.

I grabbed the tow strap from behind my seat and walked toward her SUV.

“Move back toward the fence.”

Her eyes widened.

“Is the vehicle going to explode?”

“No. But if the strap snaps, it won’t stop to apologize.”

That convinced her.

She moved away while I searched beneath the rear bumper for the recovery point.

As I worked, she called through the rain.

“What is your name?”

“Caleb.”

“Only Caleb?”

I looked over my shoulder.

“Were you expecting a serial number?”

She stared at me.

“I’m Victoria.”

“Only Victoria?”

She gave me an annoyed look.

Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.

“Fair.”

I didn’t know it then, but that little exchange would stay with me for a long time.

Because I was about to pull a wealthy stranger out of the mud.

And before long, that same woman would walk straight into my quiet little life and make me realize just how lonely I’d actually been.