Starcrossed Colorado (Hart County #1)

4. Emma

FOUR

Emma

It was a beautiful evening. Deep blue sky, orange clouds, songbirds soaring. An old wooden cabin sat in the distance. The air smelled fresh and sweet. Purple, yellow, and pink wildflowers crowded the surrounding valley, and the setting sun lit up the red rocks of the cliffs.

We passed a small white cross, a marker for someone who’d died here, which added a touch of bittersweet melancholy.

Stella smiled, tongue lolling. She was loving this too. If we weren’t beside the highway, I would’ve let her run off-leash through those wildflowers.

Yet I would’ve driven past all of this, only barely noticing it, if not for my car breaking down. “See? This summer is going to be just what we needed. I can feel it.”

After a mile of walking, though, I was slightly less enthusiastic. Had my guitar always been this heavy?

I sighed with relief when I heard a rumbling engine. Thank goodness. Somebody heading into Silver Ridge. Surely they wouldn’t mind giving little old me a ride into town. If the driver turned out to be a creep, I had my pepper spray in my satchel. And Stella.

I turned, smiled, and stuck out my thumb.

A black Dodge Ram roared along the asphalt. It had sped up, and I thought for a moment the guy was going to blow past me. But he didn’t. Instead, he slammed on his brakes, window buzzing down as he reached me.

The man inside was in his thirties. Muscular and broad-shouldered in his T-shirt. A baseball cap covered his hair. And he was not smiling back.

In fact, he was scowling like I’d personally offended him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I sputtered a laugh. “Um, what?”

“You shouldn’t be walking out here. Much less hitchhiking. Do you have any idea how dangerous this highway is?”

I glanced right at the deserted asphalt, with its wide shoulders and nearby fields of swaying wildflowers. Glanced left. It was getting dark out, but hardly the mean streets of LA. “Did you stop just to tell me that?”

“No,” he snapped. “I assume you’re heading into Silver Ridge. I’ll take you.”

What was this guy’s problem? “You know, I think I’ll walk. Or wait for the next person to stop.”

“The next person could be a serial killer.”

“How do I know you’re not?”

“You don’t. And that’s the issue.”

I laughed. “But how does that reassure me?”

He shifted into Park, threw open his door, and got out. The truck was still running. The guy rounded the front bumper, hands on his hips. Black-ink tattoos stretched over his forearms, and his T-shirt said O’Neal Martial Arts .

Stella backed up, getting closer to me. I patted her head. But my other hand was ready to grab my pepper spray. “I’m armed. Just to let you know.”

“Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t recommend getting into the cars of strangers. Even my daughter knows that, and she’s six. But I also wouldn’t leave anyone in my family out here alone, and I assume you have a parent or friend who’d say the same.”

My eyes really wanted to roll at his scolding tone. But he was correct.

I glanced through his backseat window and saw a child’s booster. Plus a variety of toys and food wrappers littering the upholstery. So he couldn’t be that bad. Some serial killers had daughters, but they’d probably be luring me with kind promises and candy. Wouldn’t they?

He held out his hand, beckoning impatiently. “Up to you. Just make up your mind. If you’re coming with me, I’ll put your stuff in the cab. Is it yes or no? I don’t have all night.”

“Okay, Mr. Grumpy. Geez. But if you mess with me, my dog will tear your face off.” That was wishful thinking. But Stella would, at the very least, give him a stern growl.

“If I mess with you, then I hope he does.”

“She. My dog’s a she.”

“Even better.”

I almost laughed again. This guy was something else. What exactly, I couldn’t tell.

But at least he’d get me to Silver Ridge. That had to be progress.

I took off my guitar case and handed it to him. He studied it for a moment before placing it in the backseat. After I gave her a nudge, Stella jumped in next. Immediately, she started rooting around the floor mats for dropped Cheerios or whatever else was down there.

I climbed into the front. “It’s not like I was out here on purpose. My car broke down.”

He slid into the driver’s seat. “The sedan on the shoulder about a mile back?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

He squinted at the violin in my lap like it might be filled with drugs or weapons. “Are you new in town?”

“I’m new, yeah. Here for the summer. I’m Emma.”

The guy grunted, face pinching like he was in pain. No clue what that was about. Stomach issues?

“I’m Ashford.” He put the truck in gear and took off down the road. But to my surprise, he made a U-turn and started heading the opposite direction from Silver Ridge.

“Hey, where are you taking me?” I wasn’t panicking yet, though I tightened my hand around the pepper spray.

“Back to your car.” He said it like it was obvious. “You must have a suitcase or something. You’ll need it tonight.”

I relaxed against the seat. “Oh. That’s true, yeah.” I had no idea when I’d get my car towed into town. That would cost money, and most of mine was spoken for.

When we reached my Nissan, he made another U-turn and pulled in behind it. We both got out, and he waited for me to unlock the trunk. He squinted suspiciously at the keyboard case.

“You want all this?”

“Yes. That’s why I brought it with me close to a thousand miles.”

We transferred the rest of my stuff to his truck. Which was probably what a serial killer would do if he planned to erase evidence of my existence later. But Stella was sitting happily in his backseat, so I decided to roll with it.

“Where are you staying in town?” he asked.

I gave him the address, and he said he knew it. We pulled back onto the road.

I did not know what to make of Ashford. One minute, he was a bossy, abrasive jerk. And the next, he was almost close to decent. He was odd.

But a serial killer? Nah. Probably not.

“So you’re some kind of musician?”

I could’ve made a snarky comment about his powers of observation, but I assumed he was just trying to make conversation.

“I guess I’m a musician.” Though I hadn’t played or composed anything outside teaching assignments in months. “I’m getting my master’s in music education.”

“That’s why you’re here for the summer? To teach?”

“Yep.”

He frowned at the windshield. His gaze slid to me. Then away again. “Do you have experience teaching?”

“I do, actually. I’ve been giving lessons to kids for years.” Including all through my years in college.

“You seem young.”

“I’m twenty-three. Not that it’s really your business.”

“Doesn’t seem right to show up for the summer knowing you’ll leave soon. Kids get attached.”

My face scrunched. “Teachers come and go all the time. Kids are adaptable. Especially little ones.”

“But most small businesses fail. How do you even know people in Silver Ridge want music lessons?”

“Because everyone likes music. What is your problem, exactly?”

The small muscle at the side of his square jaw pulsed. “Just pointing out things you might not have considered.”

This time, I didn’t hold back my eye roll. “Okay.”

Houses and buildings started to appear. We were coming into Silver Ridge. I was eager to get a sense of it, and also for a distraction from the giant grump beside me.

The architecture was eclectic. A mix of western, Victorian, and newer construction, accentuated with lush flowerbeds and historic streetlights. Fairy lights draped above the patios of restaurants along Main Street, where diners laughed over dinner. Teenagers played frisbee at a park across from a red brick town hall complete with a clock tower.

Stella and I were going to adore this place.

“You’re renting a commercial space from Dixie Haines, right?” Ashford asked.

My head turned sharply toward him. “How’d you know that?”

He pressed his lips together. “Dixie mentioned your name earlier. She said we’d be sharing the same building. I run the martial arts school there.”

O’Neal Martial Arts. That explained the T-shirt. Dixie had told me I was renting a shared space, but she hadn’t mentioned the exact business I’d be dealing with. “So you knew who I was.”

“Look, this is really bad timing for me. That building has been mine for years. I live in the second-floor apartment. I’ve been meaning to add more classes during the day so I can afford Dixie’s rent increase, but how can I do that if you’re using the space? It’s a Catch-22.”

“Were you hoping I’d give up and leave if you raised enough doubts about my summer plans?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s a dick move.”

He cringed. “I’m not proud of it.”

At least he could admit that. “I understand your concerns, but I have a signed lease. We’ll have to deal with each other. I’m sure we can work it out.”

“I’m not trying to be rude here. But I have a kid to provide for. Running a business is hard enough without upending my daily routine. Much less cleaning dirty diapers and spit-up left all over from toddler music time.”

My spine straightened and my jaw clenched. Yet I still managed to smile. “I assure you, I will clean up after my classes.”

“That remains to be seen.” Ashford stopped the truck. “We’re here.”

We’d parked in front of a sprawling, multi-story Victorian house that had seen better days. A harsh streetlight lit up the brown lawn. A couple of shutters hung askew, and trash littered the yard.

I opened my phone to check the address again, but this was definitely the location of the room I’d rented. Not the commercial building I’d be sharing with Ashford, obviously, but where I’d sleep. The Ponderosa Apartments.

Those online pictures had been extremely misleading. But they took pets, offered month-to-month leases, and the apartment came furnished. So I wasn’t eager to complain.

“This boarding house is a dump, by the way.” Ashford propped his elbow against his door. “Hasn’t been updated since the last century.”

I smirked. “I wasn’t asking for your opinion. I think it looks great.”

“Really.”

“Yep. Historic charm.”

“That’s real estate code for old dump .”

“You really are a jerk.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I jumped out of the truck, slamming the door closed. My skin was hot all over, my heart racing. Setting my violin case carefully on the grass, I opened the backdoor of the cab.

“Stella. Come. Let’s go.”

She sat in the backseat, smiling. Then she put her paws on the center console, pushed her muzzle into the front seat area, and licked Ashford’s bearded face.

That traitor.

He leaned away from her tongue but rubbed her neck. She ate up the attention. “Go on,” he said. “Your mom’s waiting.”

Stella bounded out of the truck. I glared at her accusingly, and she had the grace to look guilty.

We were going to have words later about loyalty. No matter how hunky the man in question might be.

Ashford got out to help unload my stuff. “Just leave everything here on the grass,” I said. “I’ll take it up myself.”

“You sure?”

“Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any more than I have.” And yes, I was being sarcastic.

He frowned at the building, then at me. Then shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Just like I’m sure I’ll love it here, and that the people of Silver Ridge will adore my music classes. I’m going to have a fantastic summer. No matter what you might think.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I plan to.” Which maybe didn’t make sense. What did that saying really mean, anyway? But I didn’t care. Ashford could keep his opinions—and his big tattooed muscles and his doggy neck scratches—to himself.

Welcome to the Hart of Colorado?

So far, not so much.