Before she could protest again, he crouched down, braced one hand near her ankle, gripped the shoe, and pulled it free in one clean motion.
The mud released it with a wet sucking sound.
He stood and handed it back to her.
“Get inside your car,” he said. “I’ll pull you out.”
She stared at him, clutching the heel in disbelief.
“You don’t even know me.”
Miguel gave a small shrug, already turning away.
“You’re stuck. I’ve got a truck. That’s enough.”
She hesitated, watching him splash back toward his pickup.
From far away, the Chevy looked like it belonged in a scrapyard. Up close, though, the tow chains in the bed told another story.
