Not Owen.
The man, however, had Owen’s features—the same arrogant chin, the same blue eyes. With the exception of his dark curly hair, a layer of dark whiskers, and the concern in his expression, it might be Owen.
Raina glanced at the motorcycle, back at the man, just to be sure.
She rolled down the window as he straightened as if to heed her words. “No—I was—uh . . . I’m sorry!” She opened her door, and he moved back as she got out. “I’m stuck. And . . . yes, sorry. I need help.”
“Okay.” He gave her a funny look and she realized she still held the pizza slice.
She turned and put it back in the box. Wiped her hands on her jeans. “Um, I didn’t know how long I was going to be out here.”
“I see.” He walked around to examine the car. She thought she recognized him, something about his saunter, the way he crouched down, studying the mess—
Oh, wait. He had to be one of the brothers. She’d seen a guy with his dark looks, handsome with a brilliant-white smile, at the wedding. “Casper Christiansen?”
He glanced up at her. “At your service.”
She couldn’t escape them.
“I don’t think I can get you out of there. You’re dug in pretty deep.” He stood. “But I’m headed over to a buddy’s house for a meeting. He’s got a truck that I think can yank this out for you. If you want a ride, we’ll see if we can’t help you out.”
He smiled, and oh, she had issues. Because for a second there, her heart stopped on yet another Christiansen man’s smile.
No. She needed help, but she wasn’t going to fall for the charm of another north shore scoundrel.
“Yes. That would be very helpful,” she said, not smiling back. “Thank you.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.” He started toward his bike. “And please bring our pizza—or what’s left of our pepperoni, mushroom, and onion deep-dish.”
Oh. Raina closed the box, put it back into the insulated cover, and locked her car.
“What, you think a bear might steal your satellite radio?” Casper asked as she got on the back of his motorcycle.
“Maybe,” she said. She slid her hand through the strap of the pizza carrier.
“Mmm-hmm.” He turned on the seat, plunked a helmet on her head. “Hold on now. There’s a bar behind the seat, or you can wrap your arm around my waist.”
Right. She’d fallen for that once before. She reached behind her as he took off.
Not the wild, romantic ride from last Sunday night. This ride was quiet and slow, the road soupy. When the bike jerked, sliding a little in the mud, she yelped and let go of the bar. Without thinking, she wrapped her arm around Casper’s waist.
He too had an athlete’s build, a flat stomach, shoulders that evidenced hard work. She gave herself permission to hang on as he drove them farther into the tangle of north shore woods, finally cutting onto a driveway. The gravel drive wove back through the trees to a modern-day log cabin. Cozy and looking freshly built, it sat on the edge of a small cliff, and she guessed the other side overlooked Lake Superior.
A wide porch led to the front door, a wooden bear near the entry with the word Welcome! carved into its belly.
She spied another mud-splattered car in the drive, along with a truck parked inside the open garage.
Casper parked the bike, held the pizza as she slid off, then handed it to her and climbed off.
“Thanks,” she said as he unbuckled the helmet.
He set it on the seat and took the pizza back from her. Then, strangely, he smiled. “Trust me.”
Huh?
She followed him up the stairs, and he opened the door without knocking. “Pizza man!”
Raina peeked out from behind him, saw a couple guys lounging on high-top counter chairs, a pretty, petite brunette on another. Beyond them, two picture windows opened to an expansive view of the lake.
“Hi,” Raina said.
“And you found the pizza girl, too?” one of the guys said as Casper parked the pizza on the counter. Oh, wait until they saw the cheese.
Casper had opened a drawer, pulled out a knife. He eased the pizza from the carrier and brought it to the counter. She grimaced at the crushed top, but Casper turned his back to them as he opened it, and she took it as her cue to distract. “Yeah, uh, my car slid into the mud back there, and Casper rescued me.”
“He rescued you,” one of the men said. He had dark-blond hair, deep-blue eyes, and wore jeans with an Evergreen Resort sweatshirt. “I’m Jensen Atwood. Are you new in town?”
“Raina. And, yeah.” He looked so familiar; she tried to place him. “My aunt Liza lives here, though—”