Hard to Handle by Lori Foster Read Free Book Online Page A

in her lungs. Finally, with her careful maneuvering, her wheels again caught the road and the truck righted.
    If she hadn’t been going so slow, if she wasn’t familiar with the awful road conditions, if her truck wasn’t heavy and her tires weren’t good…
    So many ifs. And the other vehicle hadn’t even bothered to slow down.
    With relief, Stasia watched its lights disappear far ahead. It took a few minutes more before her heart stopped thumping and she began to relax. She even laughed at her fanciful imagination. Most likely, the people in the truck were no more than drunken vacationers who’d lost their way.
    That made a lot more sense than assuming any evil intent against her.
    Maintaining her snail’s pace, Stasia headed down the steepest road and finally the center of town came into view. Relief stole over her. She’d deliver her message, say good-bye to Harley—assuming he hadn’t left town yet—and return to her warm cabin in no time at all.
    To keep from picking up speed on the steep incline, she touched her brakes.
    Nothing happened.
    The truck slipped, tires spinning, and she pressed down harder on the brake.
    If anything, the truck went faster.
    â€œOh, shit. This can’t be happening.” Hunched over the steering wheel, her every muscle clenched for control, she tried to think. Her wheels hit a hidden pothole in the road, and the truck bounced hard.
    Horrified, Stasia tried again, pumping the brake pedal, but it felt spongy and didn’t catch. Panicked anew, she stiffened her leg, pressing the pedal all the way to the floorboard.
    Nothing.
    â€œNo, no, no.” Her heart lodged in her throat. Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening.
    The town, or what most in the area called a town, consisted of no more than a cluster of establishments: grocery, bank, post office, small department store, restaurant, movie theater, and a bar with illusions of being a club.
    Farther out, folks could find a lumberyard, furniture stores, and other assorted necessaries, but that involved travel that only the locals indulged in.
    Without brakes, her truck roared and bounced at a dangerous rate. Stasia saw cars parked along the cross street at the base of the hill, and a few late-night partiers just heading home.
    She had to do something, and she had to do it quickly.
    Teeth gritted, she steered the truck to the right, easing it toward the side of the road, hoping to hit the rough gully where friction would help slow her.
    Instead, the truck hit a patch of ice and began skidding. Her passenger door ground against the snow-covered hill, careened the truck back out into the street, and, to her horror, sent her into a mind-numbing spin.
    She screamed, and seconds later landed against a solid obstacle.
    The truck slammed to a stop with jarring impact.
    Her seat belt grabbed her with brute force, forcing a grunt of pain. Her head snapped forward, and then back again.
    Seconds ticked by before she gathered her wits enough to open her eyes. Disoriented, it took her a minute to realize that she now faced the opposite direction, and was on the wrong side of the road. A mountain of snow piled high by the street crew when clearing the roadway earlier in the day smashed against the driver’s side of the truck.
    There’d be no driving out of this mess.
    Fingers shaking, she turned off the engine and then just sat there, catching her breath, taking quick inventory of herself and her truck.
    Her heart thumped hard enough to cause pain.
    Her breath rushed, causing a sick echo in the quiet interior of the truck.
    Other than being rattled, very rattled, she felt…uninjured.
    Because the impact was all on the side of her truck and not the front, her airbags hadn’t opened. With a hand to her forehead, she closed her eyes in relief. Her seat belt had kept her secure. Somehow, she had survived intact.
    Knowing she couldn’t just sit there, Stasia took a few deep breaths,