Chapter 1 #2
I find a crumpled white plastic bag at the very bottom of my bag, buried under receipts, loose change, and the detritus of modern life, yank it free and pull it over my head like the world’s least fashionable rain hat.
I carefully stuff my long braids inside, trying to preserve some dignity while essentially wearing grocery store couture, then tie the handles in what I hope is a secure bow.
With my hair somewhat protected from the elements, I look down at my phone again, only to realize that in my desperate attempt to rescue my hairstyle, the screen has now gone completely black from lack of battery power.
So now, not even Google Maps with its confused, circular ramblings can keep me company in my misery.
“Great,” I mutter, rainwater already finding creative ways to sneak past my makeshift head covering. “Just absolutely perfect. This day just keeps getting better and better.”
The sound of an engine cuts through the symphony of rainfall like a prayer being answered.
A low, steady rumble that seems to roll up from the earth itself, vibrating through the soles of my increasingly soggy boots.
It’s the kind of sound that speaks of serious horsepower and mechanical confidence, salvation wrapped in motor oil and metal.
I straighten as much as my waterlogged state allows, pushing the plastic bag off my head just enough to peer through the sheets of water pouring from the sky like nature’s personal vendetta.
Headlights appear around the bend ahead, slow and deliberate, cutting through the gray afternoon like beacons of hope.
For one brief, dignity-weighing moment, I debate whether I look more ridiculous standing here trying to maintain some semblance of composure or waving both arms like I’m flagging down the last helicopter out of a disaster zone.
Pride loses to practicality. I wave.
The vehicle that emerges from the rain-soaked gloom is a big black tow truck, built like it could haul a building if properly motivated, with a professional-looking hitch assembly mounted on the back. As it draws closer, my heart does something complicated in my chest.
Squinting harder through the rainfall that’s turning my vision into an impressionist painting, I realize with growing amazement that the car secured to the back of the truck is mine.
That sad, broken-down little sedan with the dent in the passenger door and the bumper sticker I’ve been meaning to remove for three years, that is definitely, unquestionably my car.
“Well, would you look at that,” I mutter, stepping forward into the road with newfound purpose. “At least somebody in this godforsaken place is having a better day than I am.”
The driver’s window slides down with mechanical precision, revealing the cab’s interior.
Three men sit side by side on the bench seat, packed together like they’re accustomed to sharing space, like this is routine rather than coincidence.
All three broad-shouldered in that particularly masculine way that suggests they do actual physical work for a living.
All three unfairly attractive men of various warm shades of brown, the kind of attractive that makes you wonder what cosmic lottery they won and why you weren’t consulted about the distribution of genetic gifts.
All three currently staring at me like I’m either the most interesting thing they’ve encountered all week or the soggiest, most pathetic creature to ever grace this particular stretch of road. Definitely the soggiest.
The man behind the wheel grins first, a slow, deliberate expression that spreads across his features like sunrise, entirely too confident for someone who just rescued my vehicle without my explicit permission or knowledge.
“You look like you could use a ride,” he says, leaning forward slightly, those startlingly green eyes taking me in with an intensity that warms my skin despite the cold rain.
He continues to study me with what appears to be genuine appreciation, as if he not only approves of what he sees but finds it actively interesting.
His gaze travels from my plastic bag hat to my waterlogged dress to my impractical boots and somehow manages to make the assessment feel like a compliment rather than judgment.
Well, I suppose that helps a girl’s ego just a little bit, even under these decidedly unglamorous circumstances.
“I look like I lost a fight with a thundercloud and came in dead last,” I reply, attempting levity while rainwater continues its determined assault on my person. “And since I can see that you’ve already abducted my car without so much as a ransom note, yes, a ride would be deeply appreciated.”
His grin widens, revealing teeth that are annoyingly perfect. “Your car?”
“Yes. The one currently hanging off the back of your truck like the world’s saddest Christmas ornament.”
A laugh rolls out of him, deep and warm and genuinely delighted. The sound settles somewhere in my chest where I definitely did not authorize feelings to gather and make themselves comfortable.
“We were planning to take it back to my shop,” he explains, his tone suggesting this is perfectly reasonable behavior. “Figure out who it belonged to, see if we could track down the owner.”
“Well, mystery solved,” I reply, shaking off water that seems determined to find new and creative ways to make me miserable. “Though I have to say, your customer service approach could use some work. Most people prefer to be consulted before their vehicles get relocated.”
The man sitting closest to the passenger window finally speaks. His voice is noticeably different, quieter, smoother, more carefully modulated, like he thinks before each word leaves his mouth.
“And where exactly were you headed before your transportation decided to abandon you?”
“Ruby Springs,” I answer, then add with growing frustration, “which apparently exists in some parallel dimension since my GPS has been having what I can only describe as a complete nervous breakdown trying to locate it.”
Suddenly, all three of them are looking at me with renewed intensity, and the casual atmosphere in the cab shifts to something significantly more charged. Silence stretches between us, suspended in the rain-heavy air like a held breath while they study me with expressions I can’t quite read.
The driver’s fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel, his knuckles shifting beneath his skin.
The man in the middle, who hasn’t spoken yet but whose presence seems to take up more space than physics should allow, tilts his head slightly and studies me as if I’m a page written in a language he’s trying to translate.
There’s something in their collective attention that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, not in a dangerous way, but in a way that suggests I’ve just said something far more significant than I intended.
“And what business do you have in Ruby Springs?” the quiet one asks, his tone carefully neutral in a way that suggests the answer matters more than casual curiosity would warrant.
“My grandmother left me a house and a shop,” I explain, attempting nonchalance while rain continues its determined efforts to trickle down my collar and test the limits of my endurance.
“I figured I’d drive out here, see what condition everything is in, maybe get a sense of whether it’s worth fixing up or if I should just cut my losses and sell it as-is.
Depends on what I find, I guess.” I shrug, trying to project a confidence I don’t entirely feel.
“Family inheritance, you know how it is.”
“What was your grandmother’s name?” the driver asks, and there’s something in his voice now that wasn’t there before, a sharpness beneath the casual question.
“Sophia Thorne.”
The reaction is immediate and unmistakable. Another look passes between them, quick and loaded with meaning I’m not privy to, the kind of glance that suggests they’re having an entire conversation without words.
“You’re a Thorne?” the quieter man asks. There’s a distinct note of astonishment threading through his carefully controlled tone, like I’ve just announced I’m descended from royalty or mythical creatures.
“Yes.” I wonder why this seems to be such remarkable news. “Born and bred, though I realize that probably doesn’t mean much since I’ve never actually lived here.”
The driver whistles low in apparent amusement, the sound cutting through the rain like punctuation. “Well, this just got a whole lot more interesting.”
“You were born here,” the man in the middle says, and it doesn’t sound like a question so much as a statement of fact that he’s confirming for his own understanding.
I blink at him through the water streaming down my face, using the back of my hand to clear my vision. “Technically, yes. My parents moved away right after I was born, though. I’ve never actually been back to Ruby Springs, assuming I ever manage to find it, that is.”
Rain drums harder against the truck’s roof and windshield, and because the universe apparently has a sense of humor about timing, a fresh deluge chooses that exact moment to cascade down on, you guessed it, me.
Seeing my increasingly miserable state, the driver seems to take pity on my waterlogged condition.
“Get in,” he says with decisive finality.
Before I can protest, the door opens beside me in silent invitation.
“There’s no back seat,” I point out, gesturing at the obvious space limitations while eyeing the three of them with a mixture of gratitude and slight apprehension. They’re strangers, after all, even if they do seem to know more about my family than I expected.
“We’ll make it work.” That same assured smile spreads across his features, like spatial logistics are merely minor details to be overcome through willpower and creative arrangement.