Chapter 1 #2
“You sure you don’t need any assistance, ma’am?” I try not to frown, but now that I’m not looking at her mouth like it’s an all-I-can-nibble buffet, I’m reminded that this isn’t the place for a picnic. And they don’t look like they were eating, either.
“Our car got too hot,” her child, a little girl, says from behind her. “It needs a nap.”
Behind her sunglasses, the mother closes her eyes. She visibly counts to three for patience. Something I’ve seen my own mother do many times, even though my brothers and I are all well into adulthood.
Kids reveal more than their parents want.
But that’s okay today. I’m here to help.
“That happens to the best of us,” I say gently. “Why don’t I take a look for you? I’ve got oil for my truck. But if you need something else, it might be safer to get a tow into town and my brother—”
“Oh no,” she says quickly. Too quickly, and it’s that same nervous race to get ahead of me. “Thanks, but we’re—I’m not heading into town.”
With a car that’s overheating on a warm spring day, she’s not going anywhere else, either.
“If you’d rather, I can call a mechanic to come out here?”
Hot spots burst high on her cheekbones.
She really is very beautiful, even if she’s skittish. She can’t be much past twenty-two, twenty-three. A decade younger than me, give or take—too young for me, even if she isn’t married. Another reason not to covet her.
I don’t see a wedding ring on her hand.
“You got any family who could help?”
She shakes her head fiercely, those wild waves flying like fire. She’s magnetic. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to, and I really don’t want to.
Jesus. I look at her mouth again and my thoughts go somewhere they shouldn’t. Exactly the reaction a woman in her situation does not need from a stranger twice her size on an empty road. I think about my mother, and the heat in my blood goes cold.
Well, fuck.
“Uh, look.” I take a step back and keep my hands where she can see them, to show her I’m no threat.
“I’m the second oldest of four boys, and we were raised by a single mom.
And she would kick my—” I glance past her to the little girl now paying very close attention to our conversation, “my behind if I told her I left a woman and child with a napping car when our family could have offered help. But you can decide what type of help you need. My name is Zane, by the way. My ranch is at the end of this road.”
“I’m Bellamy,” the little girl offers, drawing out her name in a sing song voice.
“Shhh,” her mom says.
“I don’t have the best memory,” I say to Bellamy, even though there’s no chance I’m going to forget her or that green frog. A little white lie to make her mama feel better. “So you’ll have to forgive me if I forget your names after I finish helping your mom.”
“Her name is—”
“Bellamy!” The mother drags in a frustrated breath.
We all go quiet.
“I’m sorry, Bella,” she whispers.
“It’s okay, Mommy.” Bellamy bounces the frog at her.
I wait.
“I’m Hope,” she finally says. No last name offered. “I know the car needs some work, but I don’t have any money. It’s been fine if I drive for a few hours, and then take a break.”
Fuck. That’s not a sustainable plan.
“If you’re in some trouble—”
“No.” Her cheeks blaze red. “Please just forget about us.”
I can tell her I will, because I can see she needs to hear that. I probably knew that on some level even before she made it explicit. But I won’t forget this woman who stands up to me even though I might be her worst nightmare, a big tall guy coming out of nowhere.
I pull out my wallet, ignoring how much I want to talk her into my truck. Her, the girl, and the frog. Drive them down the road to the ranch and deal with the fallout later.
I’ve offered help, though, and she’s turned it down. Repeatedly.
I’ve got two hundred bucks in cash. It might not fix everything that’s wrong with her car, but it’s enough to get her in the door at a garage.
Hopefully Cash’s garage. And if he under-bills her for the total work, she doesn’t need to know that.
“Here. Take this and stop at the garage in town. Get them to check your fluid levels and top it up. I’ll make sure that nobody saw you if anyone asks. ”
That hits a chord. She tries not to react, but her spine straightens.
She doesn’t take the money I’m holding out.
But she doesn’t step back, either. Her gaze is locked tight on it. It’s a lot of money to her, I bet.
“Listen, the garage…one of the mechanics who works there is a woman. You could ask for her. If you didn’t want to talk to a man or something.”
Her gaze snaps up, her sunglasses sliding to the tip of her nose, and for the first time, we make direct eye contact. Bright green eyes stare at me, flaring wide. There’s enough pain in the depths to knock me back on my heels.
But I don’t look away. I stand my ground, my arm staying outstretched.
“Fuck it,” I say under my breath. “You can take the cash and keep on down the road if you feel you have to.”
She stares at the money again. “Why would you—”
“Let’s just say I’d have wanted someone to do the same for my mom once upon a time.”
“Oh,” she whispers.
Yeah.
She steps forward quickly, snatching the money from my fingers. “Thank you.”
“No worries.” I want to offer to follow her into town, even though that would be a disaster on multiple levels. The last thing my family needs is for me to be seen with a young mother this beautiful.
A face and a body like Hope’s…that grabs attention.
And there’s enough attention on my family in Dragonfly Creek as it is.
Maybe it would be for the best if she takes the money and hits the road. Whatever she’s running from, it’s probably worth it to keep going. And better for the both of us that I never see her again.
When she steps backwards, keeping her eyes on me until she’s at the driver’s side door, I know she needs me to leave first.
I’m surprised at how strongly I don’t want to.
Backing up, I give her a final nod before hopping back into my truck. I wave goodbye to Bellamy as I slowly ease past them, then I drive away slowly, watching in the rear-view mirror as Hope starts her engine and turns her car around.
I watch her taillights until they disappear around the bend. Relief, that’s what I’m supposed to feel. She’s somebody else’s problem now.
What I actually feel is something I can’t name. I pull back onto the road and try not to think about how young she is, or the shape of her mouth, or the child in the backseat.
And I lock away any intrusive thoughts about resembling my father, in instinct if not actions.
I am not, and will never be, anything like that dead motherfucker.