“Was just heading over to see if you needed some help,” he said. “Looked like you were doing battle with that tire.” “I’m good.” My voice was tight, my back molars clamping shut. The man arched a brow. “You sure about that? I’d hate for any harm to come to a biscuit-eating grandma.” I scowled at him. Seriously? Was he making fun of me when I was obviously on my last thread of sanity? “I’m fixing it. And I don’t need some overgrown sportsball person getting in my way.” The man’s lips twitched. “Sportsball?” I gestured at him. “You’re obviously some sort of athlete. The gear. The muscles—” “The
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