Chapter 1 #2
An hour. Sixty minutes until I come face to face with the man I've actively avoided for over a decade.
I stare out the window at the vast Kansas plains stretching to the horizon. Flat, endless, nowhere to hide.
Kind of like the next few days of my life are about to be.
I spot him the moment he pulls into the parking lot.
It's impossible not to. The ancient blue pickup truck rumbles and groans like it's on its last legs, belching a cloud of dark exhaust as it rolls to a stop near the terminal entrance.
Even from inside the building, I can hear the distinctive rattle of an engine that should've been retired during the First World War.
This is my rescue vehicle? I might as well strap on a pair of sneakers and start walking to Georgia now.
And then he steps out of the truck.
Twelve years shouldn't make this much difference in a person, but somehow, they have. The lanky boy who used to raid our fridge and track mud all over our living room has been replaced by a man who looks like he walked straight out of a western.
He's taller than I remember, his shoulders broader, filling out a faded blue work shirt that's rolled up at the sleeves to reveal tanned, muscular forearms. Worn jeans hang low on his hips, and scuffed boots kick up dust as he strides toward the terminal entrance.
His dark hair is shorter on the sides but still has that slight wave on top that used to make the girls in our high school swoon.
And his face, still handsome, but harder now, more defined. A shadow of stubble darkens his jaw, and fine lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes, like he spends a lot of time squinting into the sun.
He looks like a goddamn cologne advertisement, and I hate that my heart does a little stutter-step at the sight of him.
I smooth down my champagne-stained blouse, suddenly aware of how wrinkled and travel-worn I must look. Not that I care what Jude Carson thinks of me. Because I don't. At all.
Taking a deep breath, I grab my carry-on and step outside into the blinding Kansas sun.
He spots me immediately, stopping in his tracks. For a moment, we just stare at each other, twelve years of avoidance crystallized into one awkward moment in a nowhere airport parking lot.
"Zennika." My name in his deep voice sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. Same voice, but richer somehow, with a hint of gravel that wasn't there before.
"Jude." I keep my tone neutral. "Thanks for coming."
He shrugs, a familiar gesture that brings back a flood of unwanted memories. "Jason said it was an emergency." His eyes scan me from head to toe, lingering on the stain on my blouse. "You look like you've been through hell."
And just like that, any flicker of attraction I might have felt vanishes. Some things never change.
"Plane emergency-landed," I say flatly. "Tends to be a bit stressful."
"I meant it as a question," he clarifies, reaching for my suitcase without asking. Our fingers brush, and I pull back like I've been burned. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I cross my arms. "Just need to get to Georgia by Friday."
He looks at me for a beat too long, like he's trying to solve a puzzle. "That's a hell of a drive."
"I'm aware."
"We'd need to leave now to make good time."
"Then let's go."
He hefts my suitcase with ease, carrying it to the truck. I follow, eyeing the vehicle with healthy skepticism. It looks like it might disintegrate if I slam the door too hard.
"Don't worry," Jude says, catching my expression. "Old Blue is more reliable than she looks."
"Is that before or after she leaves us stranded in the middle of nowhere?"
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Still got that sharp tongue, I see."
"Still making questionable transportation choices, I see."
He loads my suitcase into the truck bed, securing it with practiced movements. "I was buying a horse in Oakley when Jason called. Didn't exactly have time to arrange a limo."
Guilt pricks at me. As much as I dislike him, he did drop everything to come get me. "Sorry. Thank you for coming."
The simple apology seems to surprise him. He nods once, then opens the passenger door. It groans in protest.
"Your chariot, princess."
I climb in, wincing at the torn leather seat that's baking in the Kansas sun. The dashboard is a relic from another era, complete with a cassette player. A small plastic hula dancer is glued beside a faded photo tucked into the visor.
Jude slides into the driver's seat, the truck dipping under his weight. In the confined space, I'm acutely aware of his faint scent of soap and leather, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his hands grip the steering wheel. Big hands with calluses and tiny scars, working hands.
He turns the key, and the engine rattles to life, the whole vehicle vibrating like it might shake apart.
"Buckle up," he says, throwing the truck into reverse. "It's gonna be a long drive."
A thousand miles in an ancient pickup with Jude Carson. The universe has a sick sense of humor.
As we pull away from the airport, I stare out the window, watching the terminal recede in the side mirror. Already dreading the hours stretching ahead of us, I silently vow two things: I will make it to Abby's wedding on time.
And I will not, under any circumstances, fall for Jude Carson's charm.