Chapter One
Charcoal smoke billows from my bookmobile’s hood as multiple warning symbols flicker on the dashboard. Clenching the wheel in a death grip, I navigate this monstrosity of a bus as close to the side of the mountain as possible without crashing into the jagged boulders.
At least I wasn’t coming from the other direction or I’d be teetering on the mountain’s ledge. And, goodness, it’s a long way down.
A Jeep lays on the horn and swerves around me. I’m taking up most of the lane on this snug road, but there’s nowhere else for me to park.
Before I can switch on my emergency flashers, the engine sputters off on its own like an old man wheezing his last breath. The dashboard blinks dark, and the pungent stench of burnt electronics fills the air.
I’m not a mechanic, but I could take an educated guess that the bus won’t be starting up again without some professional help . . . which I am nowhere near.
I grumble under my breath.
After my tune-up last week, my cousin Rafe promised me this hunk of junk could make it up the mountain’s incline like a high school track star. Silly me for believing him. It’s what I get for taking the cheap route and playing the family favor card so I could save the library some money.
Agh. Which reminds me that I’ll be required to inform my boss, Sally Anderson, about the breakdown.
Not that she’ll be angry. I’m more worried she’ll scrap my bookmobile project if I go over my allotted budget.
Ms. Anderson took a chance on my wild idea, which has been three years in the making and is the capstone for my master’s degree.
The idea of a partnership between schools and their local libraries by providing them resources they normally wouldn’t have access to—especially the smaller towns nestled in the mountains.
In June, I was granted a trial run, and I drove my bookmobile to lower-income neighborhoods, bringing the library to their front door. Sort of like the ice cream truck, but with books.
It was a smashing success!
So much so, that two months later I’ve been approved to extend my project’s reach to Rocosa, one of Golden’s closer communities in desperate need of an updated public and school library.
Even though the quaint town boasts picturesque mountain views, I’ve been dreading the visit.
Because along with my outreach project, Ms. Anderson requested I investigate the potential closure of their underused library, which is currently gobbling up our precious funds.
While it’s a compliment that I’ve earned her trust to be chosen, it’s the opposite reason why I got into this profession. An Outreach Librarian is supposed to bring the resources to people who need them most . . . not take them away.
With a groan, I rub my temple, the faint tinge of a headache blooming.
No, I can’t do it. I refuse to allow another library to disappear if I can help it. There has to be another way—a loophole I can find. I’ll just have to figure it out before I leave Rocosa.
Until then, I’ll keep the possibility of the closure to myself.
The bus hisses and gurgles up another dark plume of smoke that matches my mood.
It’s fine, I remind myself. This will only put me behind schedule but isn’t the end of the world.
My shaking fingers glide over the smooth surface of my cross necklace, the motion soothing as I realize how much worse it could have been.
At least I’m in one piece up here and didn’t lose control of my brakes or something.
I pull out my cell and hit the contact for my cousin Marco, who owns a tow truck. At least, I think he does. If not, he would know a cousin who does. Perks of a big family—there is always someone who can help me.
My phone beeps and disconnects. I hit the button again with the same result. This can’t be happening. I slam my palm on the wheel as the No Signal symbol mocks me.
It’s fine, I repeat as I angrily unbuckle my seatbelt and let it whip back behind me. Venturing outside, I press close to the bus, squeezing between it and the rock face, shimmying through until I’m at the rear of the bus.
A car whips by, cruising at an obnoxious speed past me. Not a second later, another one zips around the blind curve and zooms by just as fast.
“?Ay, caray!” I shriek, molding myself to the bus’s rear bumper.
As the next one flies by, I frantically wave my arms, only to be disappointed when it leaves me coughing in its dust. It’s impossible to flag anyone down at these speeds.
Despite my zealous attempts, nobody stops, and the time between each passing vehicle gets longer and longer.
The sun starts to set, painting orange and pink streaks in the sky.
Normally I would lean back and marvel at God’s artistry, but it only increases my anxiety.
In about thirty minutes, I’ll be stranded in the dark.
Thankfully, I had the forethought to move my emergency kit from the back of my car to the bookmobile. I strike the end of my flare with a little extra force, thinking of the ways I’ll make Rafe pay for this.
Deep rumbles from a motorcycle ricochet off the mountain, signaling someone’s approach. I don’t think but just leap into action, waving my flare like a maniac and screaming for the rider to stop.
A sleek black bike drives around the bend, hugging the tight curves of the road. For a moment, I’m worried he won’t stop, but his head snaps up, and the bike slows as he pulls up behind me.
I toss the flare on the ground, and relief floods through me. My heart thumps wildly in my chest, and I scrub a hand down my face.
He cuts off the engine and drops the kickstand.
As soon as there’s silence, I speak. “Oh my goodness, thank you for stopping. I didn’t want to be stranded in the pitch-dark.”
He lifts his visor, his wide eyes barely visible in the shadows of his helmet. “Is everything okay?”
“No. My engine is smoking, and I’ve been stuck on this mountain for almost an hour.” Tears threaten to escape, and I forcibly swallow the lump in the back of my throat. Now is not the time to break down. “Are you a mechanic, by chance?”
He undoes his chin strap and removes his black helmet from his head, the dusky rays of the evening making his golden highlights appear more bronze in the light. He rakes a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Sorry, but no. I do know someone who is. Did you call for a tow?”
“No signal,” I say, tucking my hands into my dress pockets to hide their trembling.
“How about I give you a lift and you can call someone at the next town over?”
“Yes, please! I’d appreciate it.” My thoughts start to scramble as the shock of the situation sinks in.
What if this man had never stopped? What if I had been stuck here all night?
Would I have been forced to walk to town in the dark?
Temperatures drop quickly on the mountain, and I am ill-prepared in my summer dress and flats.
I let out a long, shaky breath, hoping to gather my composure.
“Just breathe,” he says, climbing off the bike in one swift movement. He is at my side before my next breath. “It’s okay—you’re okay.”
His deep voice is calming, and I cling to the sound.
“I guess I’m just realizing how much danger I was truly in. I was so focused on getting someone to finally stop that I hadn’t really thought of what would happen if nobody did.”
He places a warm hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Well, I did, and I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re safe.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice wobbling. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I turn away at the sudden urge to hug this stranger. Slumping against the bus, I draw in a ragged breath. “I just need . . . a minute.”
“Take as much time as you need.”
The man casually leans back against the bumper beside me, waiting like he has all the time in the world. The silence isn’t awkward, almost like he prefers quiet moments. It only takes a few minutes to gather myself before I realize I haven’t even introduced myself yet.
“What’s your name?” I ask, tilting my head toward him and admiring his striking profile in the golden light.
“Desmond Brooks, but you can call me Des.” He waits a beat before asking, “You?”
“Maya Santos, um, no nickname.”
His smile widens at that. “It’s nice to meet you. Sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”
My romantic heart flip-flops at his charming smile, and I spring off the bumper to give us more distance. It has taken eight months for my broken heart to heal and for me to feel comfortable being single. That jolt of attraction better be a fluke because I’m not ready to put myself out there yet.
Desmond doesn’t notice me inching away from him. His attention is on an SUV swerving around us, barely missing his motorcycle. There’s no time to scream at the packed car of teenagers before they’re a mere dot in the distance.
“You couldn’t have broken down at a more dangerous curve.” Frowning, he shakes his head. “I barely saw you myself. The sunset is right behind you, blinding oncoming traffic.”
“I’ll try to plan my breakdown better for next time,” I say with a laugh. The corner of my mouth lifts, and the tightness in my chest unravels little by little.
“Good. Safety first.”
He smiles again, a soft smile, one that makes my heart beat a little faster, and I suck in a breath. Oh, no. I take a giant step backward at the telltale butterflies of attraction. Absolutely not. Hot biker guy is not going to break my New Year’s resolution.