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A dare to go commando opens up new experiences.

She staggered to her feet, shading her eyes against the sun's harsh glare. She could barely make out a well-worn pickup truck with the driver-side door open, and a man in the process of climbing out.

"Oh please, can you help me?" Carrie cried. Truthfully, Carrie had only tried to cry those words the first time. What came out was a cross between a gasp and a hoarse squeak. The second try she managed to croak out the words somewhat intelligibly.

At the sound of her voice the man shifted his attention from her car to her.

"What's the problem here, ma'am?" he asked, looking around to assess the situation.

"My car broke down several hours ago, and nobody has been by to help me. I'm so thirsty. Do you have something to drink?"

"Lady," the man said, squinting at her in the sun, "you don't look so good. Come over to the truck. I happen to have a cooler with some drinks in it." He came around the car to help her. It turned out that she needed it. Carrie could barely walk, even with his arm around her waist for support. The man was returning from his weekly grocery shopping trip, he explained, so he had a pretty good selection of drinks to choose from, an indication to Carrie that maybe her luck was improving.

Fifteen minutes later, after two bottles of what, in Carrie's opinion, was the most heavenly fruit juice she'd ever tasted, she was vastly improved. The good Samaritan had kindly but firmly controlled her intake so she wouldn't make herself sick.

"How come your flashers weren't on?" he asked.

"I think the entire electrical system went out. Thanks for stopping to help me. I was beginning to think no one was ever going to come by."

"The few people who live around here generally don't leave their farms much during the day this time of year, and a lot of traffic has been diverted because of the spur that was put in over near Hollis a couple years back."

"Is there a phone around here that you could bring me to?" Carrie asked. "I'd be glad to pay you for your trouble."

"The nearest town is about forty miles. I'm on my way home, but you're welcome to come along and use my phone."

What else was there to do? "Thank you. Yes, I guess would," Carrie replied.

As Carrie got into the pickup, the man retrieved her luggage and put it into the bed of the truck. Then he got in on the driver's side and began the drive to his place.

A couple of miles down the highway the man turned left onto a paved road that turned to dirt after several hundred yards. Though the road was bumpy, Carrie was so exhausted from her bout with the heat that it wasn't long before she began to doze, slumped over in her seat, leaning against the door. Before losing consciousness, she managed to give her rescuer a brief evaluation through drooping eyelids. What she saw was not unpleasant to look at. He was middle-aged, maybe mid-forties, had salt and pepper, dark, curly hair, with the rough look that men who work outdoors often have. His body appeared fit in careworn, denim jeans and chambray shirt, open just far enough to reveal a chest that was tanned and endowed with gray and black, curly hair of its own. His features were rugged and masculine, but hardly of the movie star variety. They were kind of what you might expect in mid-America, she thought. That was the last of Carrie's waking thoughts until the pickup pulled to a stop in front of a huge, old, but obviously well-maintained farmhouse.

As they came to a halt on a circular crushed stone driveway next to the house, Carrie came awake with a start!

"How long was I out?" she asked, embarrassed. "I hope I wasn't snoring!"

The man laughed, showing white teeth indicative of a non-user of tobacco. Why she thought of that all of a sudden, Carrie hadn't a clue.

"You must be pretty tired. An experience like you've had is very wearing on a person."

As Carrie started to open her door, a large, black dog came bounding toward her side of the truck, followed by a strikingly attractive, young man no older than eighteen. She hesitated.

"Don't

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