Chapter 3
[Stone]
She was utterly fascinating. And I was feeling a bit flattered that she pulled out that I love this song comment in order to prolong our night.
Not that I was in a rush to stop talking to her or get back to my room alone.
I could have sat at the bar all night, but I felt the weight of the bartender’s eyes on us, possibly wanting to close up the empty bar.
Then she proposed we dance, and although I sensed she was joking, I decided why not?
It’s been a long time since someone captured my attention and genuinely appeared to want mine in return.
We dance to some song where I wasn’t even listening to the lyrics because I was so enthralled by how well my hand fit on the edge of her hip and how right her hand felt in mine against my chest.
She’d been on my mind since parting ways in the hotel. I’d continued to wonder if I’d missed out on an opportunity to get to know her better while also wondering what attracted me so easily to her.
Sitting next to her at this bar, intending to pass the time before my brother’s fight, had been complete happenstance.
I’m not a man who puts much stock in Fate, or signs, or any of that mystical crap.
But something put me in this bar tonight, in that exact seat, at the exact moment a guy wouldn’t take a hint and leave her alone.
I don’t know what it was. Instinct, training, or something older and deeper, but the second her voice rang too high, and she called me Samson, something in me locked into place. Protective. Automatic. Like stepping toward her was the only choice that made sense.
Then she started talking to me, telling me all about herself. She was easy to listen to. Her enthusiasm for art. Her excitement to share her talent with kids. The depth in her voice sounding like satin sheets and moonlight intrigue. I could have listened to her all night.
She could have brushed me off earlier, once that other guy took the hint.
Instead, those bright eyes narrowed in, and I was drawn to her, feeling relief that the attraction between us, while unexplained, might be mutual.
Like she’d been waiting to sit beside me as much as I’d been wanting to sit beside her without realizing it.
And I still didn’t know her name.
“So, if I’m Samson, does that make you Delilah?”
Her laugh is so quick and sharp. “Something like that. But that poor woman turned to stone.”
“That was Lot’s wife,” I correct. “And she turned to salt for looking back.”
“Forgive me. My biblical studies are a bit rusty.” Her smile is easy, those plump lips spreading wide.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” I admit.
Faith, skin color, creed—I don’t judge people by any of it.
I judge by what they do and why they do it.
People can be good, bad, lost, and everything in between.
People have situations thrust upon them.
Some break the law to survive, not out of malice.
A mother stealing formula to feed her hungry baby—the law calls it theft, but I can’t see her as a criminal in the same way I see someone who preys on others for gain.
The system isn’t blind, but it’s flawed.
Racism, bias, and inequal opportunity. All of it shapes who ends up on the wrong side of the law.
My job is to enforce the rules, yes, but my judgment doesn’t stop there.
I weigh intent, necessity, and circumstances.
Some people are wayward because the world forced them to be.
Others because they chose it. It’s not always easy to tell the difference. But I try.
“Who was Delilah again?”
“She was a woman who worked in the sex industry,” I state, careful to be respectful.
“Respect for the oldest profession in the world,” my dance partner states, giving me another one of her big grins.
I like the shape of her mouth and the curve of her hip under my hand. Her honeysuckle and citrus scent tickles my nose again, and I want to breathe more of her in.
Instead, the song abruptly ends, but we keep moving another beat or two before she stops.
“I guess I should probably get going.” She glances at the bartender, who is still looking at his phone like he’s in no hurry to leave his casual position. Then again, it is getting late.
“Want to share a ride?” I realize asking her to join me in a car sounds risky, but an Uber driver would be an objective witness.
“Oh, I walked here. It’s such a nice night, I’ll just walk back.”
I do not like the sound of that at all. The night is late, the sky dark, and she’s a woman walking alone.
“May I walk you back to the hotel then?” I ask, not wanting to cause her any concern about me while being concerned for her and her safety. “I don’t like the idea of you walking alone by the river.”
The space along the river has a nice cement path, but low-lit streetlamps and dark passages still pose dangerous opportunities for a lone walker.
She pauses a second, chewing her lip before she admits, “I’d like that.” Still, she hesitates and glances at the bartender.
“Hey, Kodiak,” she calls his name. “Think I should let him walk me home?”
The younger man stands tall and approaches the counter, sizing me up. Believe it or not, I think bartenders have a civic duty as well, and I’m pleased to see he isn’t letting this woman go off with a stranger.
“Mind showing me your ID. We take safety seriously around here.”
Pleased with his response, I step closer to the bar, pulling out my wallet and flipping it open so he can see my license. His gaze also catches on my badge. Using his cell phone, he takes a picture of both.
When he glances back up at me, he gives me a subtle nod. An understanding passes between us. I won’t let anything happen to this woman. He’ll haunt me to the grave if I do.
I pull out two twenties, offering them to him, before putting my wallet back in my pocket. “Keep the change.”
He pats the top of the bar. “Definitely think you’re safe with him,” he addresses Delilah. “Y’all be safe and have a good night.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispers, standing next to me. “But I guess your mama would be proud.”
Even though my mother is no longer with me, I strive to make her proud of me every day.
But that’s not a conversation for now.
“Plot twist,” I tease. “My treat.” Then, I set my hand on the small of her back and lead her out of the bar.
Still wearing that long, form-fitting tee and loose skirt with sandals, she looks like an Egyptian temptress in modern form. She also shivers beneath the mountain chill.
“Here.” I shrug out of my suit coat and slip it over her shoulders, keeping my hands there a second as she adjusts to the dwarfing size.
“Thank you.” Her voice softens, and she glances at me before looking at the dark water rushing through this town.
The riverwalk is decorated with bright orange railings, celebrating the nearby university.
The water looks like black silk as it weaves rapidly away from us.
Streetlamps light our path, but I wouldn’t want any woman walking alone along this trail.
Just like I don’t like to see the college girl with headphones running past us.
I hate that women live by different rules.
I’m protective of my only sister, who continually teaches me how the boundaries are different between men and women.
A woman can never be too alert, too self-aware, and it’s been the mission of my life to protect whomever I can from evil that lurks everywhere.
Even in your own goddamn home.
Quickly dismissing thoughts of the past, I focus on the woman presently walking beside me at a leisurely pace. She doesn’t appear in any more of a rush to end our stroll than I am.
“I grew up near a river,” she says, keeping her eyes on the one beside us. “It was the only place that felt like home.” Her voice lulls, the tone distant and a little sad.
“Anywhere I’ve heard of?”
“Probably not. It was a pretty small community.” She leaves it at that, and I don’t push for more than she’s willing to give.
I’m just happy with her company. She’s so beautiful, pulling my attention like the sun.
Or in our current case, the crescent moon with a definite planet shining just off the corner.
But it’s more than her beauty that draws me in.
I like her enthusiasm for art and her excitement to work with young adults.
She also seems passionate about helping a community express their uniqueness.
She talked about vibes in art and celebrating a group of people, but I like the energy she emits. She’s grace with a hint of eclectic. Humor and poise. Her vibe is contagious. Hell, I want to pick up a paintbrush, and I’ve never painted anything in my life other than an old house.
“Couldn’t wait to get out of there?” I ask, knowing it’s the stereotype of small towns. Either you can’t wait to escape, or you never leave. There doesn’t seem to be an in-between. From my own experience, my escape was cut short, and I’d been lassoed back in, permanently.
“Something like that,” she admits ominously.
“I understand.”
“Sounds like another story.” She stops walking and glances at me.
Feeling the weight of those silvery eyes, I pause as well and brace my forearms on the railing to look toward the dark river.
“The short version is your typical tried to leave but got roped back in and stayed story.” I crane my neck, glancing at her over my shoulder. “I have not traveled to places far, far away.”
Leaning her hip against the railing, she stands close to me. Close enough that her breasts brush against my arm.
“Do you wish you had?”
“Yes,” I confess, squinting back at the silky water. “There are lots of places I’d like to see in person. But my life has been full of responsibilities. Both professional and personal. I don’t get much time to myself.”
Tonight was a rare occasion.
And if I had gone off to see the world, I’d have missed out on things that happened at home.
Clay turning the family business around.
Keeping Judd grounded.