3. Hailey
Hailey
I eye the man for a few more seconds as I weigh my decision. Typically, getting into a car with a stranger would rank somewhere between a 'No' and a 'Hell No' for me.
But desperate times and all that. My stomach twists, reminding me that I'm already deep in the weeds.
It was the offer that did it. I know how far the nearest town is, and it's at least an hour's drive.
For him to offer to take me that far was generous.
As tempted as I am, I don't want to put him out.
I also don't want to be out here any longer than necessary.
The sun is not that far off the western horizon now, and there's only a couple hours of daylight left at most. The thought of being stranded in the dark out here with nothing but the wild is unnerving.
But then again, I can't exactly call anyone else. It's just me and him now.
Mentally drained and physically exhausted after the bombshell news about the deaths of my aunt and uncle, then a twenty-seven-hour round trip time from Sudan via first Egypt and then New York before finally arriving at Denver International, more than a whole day after I had started, I can feel the weight of it all pressing down on me.
The emotions churned by returning to my aunt and uncle's house—my childhood home—after four and a half years abroad are still too raw to handle, and I simply don't have the energy to deal with much more right now.
So, I decide to take my chances on this tall, handsome lumberjack type. He looks like he could handle himself if something goes sideways. And if he is some kind of serial killer, hopefully my message to Aunt May's friend Tara will dissuade him from trying anything with me.
Probably I'm overthinking it. Perhaps I want to avoid being alone for a while. But I hope he's not a killer. It would be a shame for a murderer to be this handsome.
I try to ignore his devastating good looks as he pops my door open for me and extends his hand to help me out.
The gesture is simple, yet it hits me harder than I expect.
His hand lingers for a beat too long on mine, enough for me to wonder if he's waiting for something—if I'm supposed to thank him or. .. something more.
I shrug it off, but that little spark of something is still there. Not entirely a caveman, then, I think. Maybe he's more than merely a handsome face after all.
Still, I can't help but watch him as he steps back, his tall frame casting a shadow in the late afternoon light.
He's tanned, muscular, and that jawline…
my God. He's like something carved from marble, a Greek god who somehow got stuck in a small town.
I try to look away, but something keeps pulling me back, making it harder to breathe for a moment.
I like to think I'm not the kind of woman who's easily swayed by good looks, but when was the last time I saw a man like this? Bah! I'm fooling myself.
My heart races as I grab my duffel bag from the back seat, fear and attraction warring inside me. He can probably tell because he steps back a little and doesn't loom over me. He points toward a truck in the distance, where two men stand outside, equally imposing.
Oh God, I didn't notice them at first. Both are huge, but one of them is even bigger than the other and wears a mean expression.
Makes me think I should reconsider this trip.
"Ready?" Reed asks. He must have seen the doubt on my face because his smile softens. "Them two? Don't worry. They're a lot less scary than they look."
I swallow and nod. That wouldn't be difficult, because they sure look scary. I hope I'm not making a mistake.
As we approach the truck, both men frown at Reed. At the same time, I take them in. They're both lookers too, though they give off completely different vibes. The bigger one is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, with eyes so black they look like orbs of ink.
The other is a little older, salt and pepper hair and a commanding air about him, even though his features are delicate enough to be feminine if he weren't so large and brawny.
My heart skips a beat as I stop in front of them, tongue-tied at the thought of even speaking to them.
God, you sure know how to make 'em in San Juan County.
With Reed following behind me, I realize I'm completely surrounded. It's a little intimidating, but also strangely exciting. I can almost smell the testosterone, and it's kind of overwhelming in my tired, emotional state.
Reed makes the introductions.
"Hey, guys. This is…" He blinks and purses his lips, staring at me like he’s suddenly realized he doesn't know my name.
I grin. "Hailey," I say.
"This is my new friend, Hailey," he says confidently, as if we hadn't just met minutes ago. "She ran into a little car trouble, but she's heading our way, so I told her we'd give her a ride."
"Our way?" The big one says, "Ain't no one up there but us."
"Yeah, she's going to the True Heart Lodge."
"Oh." Neither his face nor his voice register any surprise, even though I'm sure it must have been a rarity for anyone to ever visit the place. He must be good at hiding his emotions—unless of course he simply doesn't have any.
His friend, on the other hand, can't hide his distaste. A snarl sits on his lips as he glares at me. Without a word, he turns and climbs into the front passenger seat.
The dark one gives me a clipped nod before walking around to the driver's side, leaving Reed and me alone.
I share another doubtful look with Reed, and he says, "Ignore them. Their bark is worse than their bite."
"I'm not so sure about that," I murmur.
He leans in and whispers, "It's okay, I won't let anyone bite you."
His deep brogue sends a shiver down my spine as I stare into his playful eyes.
I catch a scent of cedar, tobacco and musk, and something stirs within me, traveling through my body.
Of course, I know what it is. Just because I haven't been with a man in ages doesn't mean I don't know what desire feels like.
It's way too early to have feelings like this for a man I hardly know.
Especially after everything I've been through—the homecoming, the memories, and the grief.
What is happening to me? Have I lost all sense of decorum?
Where are my standards? What would Aunt May and Uncle Roger have said if they saw me now, getting into a truck on a deserted mountain road with three men I don't even know ?
What would Mom and Dad have said?
The thought of them pulls at my chest the most of all, but it doesn't stop me from feeling this strange sensation in my gut. It's confusing. Unsettling. And part of me resents it.
On the other hand, I'm exhausted. I've barely had time to process my aunt and uncle's passing, let alone the fact that I'm back here, in this place, surrounded by ghosts of the past. I'm cold, both physically and emotionally.
I just want to get to the cabin, get under the covers, and shut the world out for a while.
I take a breath, trying to steady myself. I can't let myself fall apart, not now. Not like this.
I tear my gaze away from Reed, forcing my thoughts back to the present. It's not the time for all this confusion. "We should get going," I say, my voice tight. I hope he doesn't notice the crack in it. I hope I don't notice it.
"Yeah, we should." When I look back, Reed's eyes are glinting with mischief, as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
He's way too good-looking for his own good, I think.
I end up in the back seat of the rust-brown truck, Reed's bulky form wedged next to me. In the driver's seat, the older guy with the commanding attitude and eyelashes that any right-minded girl would kill for, turns to give me a hard stare.
"I hope you know what you're doing, lady," he says. "This place ain't no country for young girls to be flouncing around in." And with that, he turns back to face front as he starts the engine.
Though there's a bit of space between us, I'm very aware of his presence and the way he keeps shooting me glances through the rearview mirror as the truck ambles up the mountain.
The other man—the big unit—stares straight ahead, but I catch him looking at me through the side mirror, and I wonder idly how often he gets to see a woman, living out here in the sticks.
It sure seems like it's some kind of novelty.
I stir a little uneasily in my seat at this thought.
But then Reed starts talking again, and my attention turns back to him, which is a welcomed diversion from the stern hulk and grumpy driver up front.
"So," he starts, "where are you from? You're new here, right?"
I shrug. "New and old. My parents owned the Lodge, and they used to bring me here for vacations. But that was a long time ago. Then I grew up and went abroad. I moved around a bit after college."
"Moved where?"
"Here and there," I say noncommittally, "kinda moved around a lot."
"You one of those hippie types?"
I chuckle. "I prefer 'free spirit,' but yeah, if you like. Backpacking around the world for a few years, then volunteering to teach at a school in Africa. That's where I've been for the last year or so."
"Sounds neat. What brought you back?"
I meet his gaze. "Death."
He seems unsure how to respond. I don't blame him.
Most people are awkward when it comes to talking about loss.
But Reed doesn't do the thing I hate, which is to quickly change the subject to lighter topics or—worse—to give me that pitiful look.
Instead, he lets the word hang for a moment, giving it time to sink in.
"That sucks."
It's a simple phrase, not particularly eloquent or insightful. Yet it resonates deeply with me. I chuckle bitterly.
"Yeah," I say, "it does." And life seems determined to keep giving me more of it.