Chapter One #2
Driving it made Chad feel closer to his dad.
He particularly remembered the ride to the airport, just the two of them, when he’d left home to join the Army.
The memory was bittersweet. But each recollection was just a little less painful than it had been when he’d come home to Lobster Cove for his dad’s funeral.
Heading into town, however ... that still felt a little surreal as he drove down well-known roads, took in the beloved scenery. He’d been home for just two weeks, but the familiarity somehow made it feel much longer.
Rockville was a large town for this part of Maine, though tiny compared to the Norfolk area in Virginia, where he’d moved from.
It didn’t take long to get anywhere, and mom-and-pop shops still thrived.
Two weeks ago, he couldn’t drive two miles without seeing a Starbucks or some other big chain restaurant.
Dunkin’ Donuts was king here in Maine, but there were only a small handful of them in a thirty-mile radius around Lobster Cove.
Nope. Most of the chain stores had settled along Route 1, which made sense, because that was the road most tourists took on their way to Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park.
But Chad didn’t mind the lack of mainstream businesses.
He loved supporting local shops, even if they were a bit more expensive.
The quality was better, and the fact that someone knew his parents almost everywhere he went was a bonus.
He never knew when he’d be treated to a conversation with someone who wanted to share one of their favorite memories of his dad, or pass on their well-wishes to his mom.
Even after being gone for so many years, he still felt at home here.
Chad was well aware the rural life of Maine wasn’t for everyone.
It took some getting used to. Everyone knowing your business.
Many restaurants and businesses closing on Mondays.
The lack of convenience. But the fresh air, the trees everywhere he looked, and how freaking beautiful every view was made up for everything else.
Chad turned into the small lumberyard, mentally calculating what he needed to fix the porch steps on the main house. He figured he also might as well get enough supplies to fix the steps on the guesthouses, since they were probably in need of some TLC as well.
He was walking toward the doors when yelling caught his attention off to his right.
Turning, he saw a man standing next to a small brown Toyota Corolla, leaning toward a woman and jabbing his finger right in front of her face, as if to make his point clear. Because apparently his raised voice wasn’t enough.
Before he could think about what he was doing, Chad started walking toward the couple. He had no idea what the argument was about, but the body language of the woman clearly indicated that she was uncomfortable.
As he approached, he studied her in detail.
She was wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
The jeans looked old and worn, and the tee was one of those cheap garments sold in tourist shops everywhere in the state.
It had the word Maine in bold letters at the bottom of the graphic, with trees and a huge sun in the middle.
Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and it honestly looked as if it could use a good washing.
She wore no makeup, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he could see a streak of dirt on her cheek.
She was fairly tall—he estimated she was around five-nine or so—and slender.
Her lips were full, her nose just a touch crooked, as if it had been broken at some point in her life.
She also seemed exhausted. As if she hadn’t slept in ages. The dark circles under her eyes gave her a haunted look.
For some reason, the entire picture she presented bothered Chad. He had no idea who this woman was or where she was from, although the license plate on her car was from Georgia. She was most likely a tourist, and definitely a long way from home if she really was from the South.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked as he approached. He didn’t recognize the man, which wasn’t a surprise, since he’d been away from his hometown for so long.
Turning, the man ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “Yeah, there’s a problem! This chick’s been camping out in the parking lot. She can’t do that. We aren’t a fucking campground.”
Chad’s gaze flicked to the Toyota, and he saw what he hadn’t noticed before. It was full. There were bags and boxes filling the back seat all the way to the ceiling. Shifting slightly, he saw the passenger seat was also filled with her belongings.
The woman sighed wearily. “And as I told you, I’d be happy to move on, but my car won’t start. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”
“That’s not my problem, or my manager’s. You need to be off this property in an hour or we’re calling the cops,” the man barked. Then he spun and stomped back toward the store without a backward glance.
Chad turned his gaze to the woman. She sighed again and her shoulders slumped, but she lifted her chin almost defiantly as she stared back at him. As if bracing herself for whatever derogatory thing she expected him to say.
“You want to pop the hood? I can take a look for you.”
She blinked, frowning. “What?”
“The hood,” Chad repeated, gesturing to it. “I know a thing or two about cars. I’ll see if I can figure out what’s wrong with it.”
“Oh, um ... I don’t have much money to pay you,” she stammered.
Chad waved his hand. “Just being helpful,” he told her. “Don’t want any money.”
“Okay. Thanks. I appreciate it.” The woman opened the front door and leaned in to grab the lever that would open the hood.
Chad couldn’t help it—he let his gaze stray to her ass. The woman might look a little rough, but she had a back end that would make any man take notice. And he was no exception.
Shaking his head at the inappropriateness of his thoughts, Chad moved to the front of the vehicle. He propped up the hood and leaned over the engine and forced himself to concentrate on figuring out why her car wouldn’t start.
“I’m Chad,” he said, without looking at her. As he hoped, she reciprocated.
“Britt.”
“Short for Brittney?” he asked.
“No. Just Britt.”
“You’re not from around here.” It wasn’t a question.
“Nope.”
She wasn’t very talkative, but he was a stranger, so Chad didn’t take it personally. “You passing through or staying in the area?”
She didn’t answer right away, and Chad turned to make sure she was still there. She was. She was staring at him with a look of indecision on her face.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy. Just trying to be friendly. I can shut up.”
“No, it’s just ... I don’t know why you’re helping me. For free.”
Slowly, Chad straightened. The woman was extremely distrustful. On one hand, it made no sense ... he’d just met her. She had no reason to suspect there was evil intent behind his very simple conversation.
On the other hand, it made perfect sense ... he’d just met her. Had no idea who she was, knew nothing about her background. For all he knew she was currently in an abusive relationship, or she had some trauma in her past related to men.
Whatever the case, it bothered him on a visceral level that she expected him to be an asshole.
“Name’s Chad Young. I grew up around here. Just returned to the area to help my mom, because my dad recently passed away. He taught me to be respectful and to lend a hand when and where I could. Not for money. Not to gain a marker of any kind. But to be a decent human being.
“I don’t know your story, Britt, but I’m telling you that you can trust me.
I’m helping you because you need it. Because that asshole scared you by getting in your face.
Because you look like you could use a break, and sleeping in a car sucks.
Because I have the knowledge to figure out what’s wrong with your car without charging you a thousand bucks to do it.
And because my mom would whup my butt if I didn’t help you. ”
He stared at her for a long moment before turning his gaze back to the engine. He already knew what was wrong, and thankfully it was an easy fix. He wasn’t sure how it had happened—which made him uneasy—but he was taking one issue at a time here.
The first? Putting Britt at ease.
“Britt Starkweather. And no, I’m not from around here. I’d like to stay in Rockville, but I don’t know if that’s going to work out.”
It wasn’t a lot of information, but Chad would take it. He straightened once again and said, “It looks like your battery’s been disconnected, which is why your car won’t start ... assuming you have gas?”
She nodded. “Half a tank.”
“Okay.”
“Um ... can you fix it?” she asked uncertainly.
“Yeah. All it’ll take is a quick turn or two of a wrench, which I’ve got in my truck over there,” he said, gesturing behind him toward his truck. “My bigger concern is how it happened. Have you been mucking around under the hood?”
She scrunched her nose in an adorable expression that made him smile.
“No. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do under there.”
“Right. So, sometimes the bolts can be jostled loose over time ... but it’s rare.”
She stared at him for a beat. “What are you saying?” she asked bluntly.
“I’m wondering if someone deliberately loosened the bolts so they’d become disconnected at some point and strand you, like you are now.”
The expressions flitted across her face so quickly, Chad couldn’t discern one from the other. Then her lips pressed together, and she swore long and low.
His brows flew up at the colorful words coming out of her mouth. He was working on curbing his own habit of cursing. He’d picked it up in the Army, but his mom hated any kind of swearing, so he was making a conscious effort to stop.
“Sorry,” she said. “I just ... my ex. He’s a dick. I could totally see him doing something like that just to make my life harder.”