Chapter One #2
“Yeah, I gotta ...” West throws his thumb somewhere over his shoulder, but Lemon is still studying the two of us as if we’re hamsters on a wheel. I don’t think I like the look in her eyes.
“Nice chatting, you two,” I mumble, as I head for the door. “Always nice chatting to the Winchesters. Lemon, you can lock up, right?”
“Yeah, I got it, Daisy. You head on home.” Lemon’s smile is terrifying as I take one last glance at her and make a beeline for my car.
Growing up around the Winchesters, I knew about their reputation for being a little wild—something they actually foster, rather than shy away from—but I’ve never really been on the receiving end of their attention before.
Winchester wild? More like Winchester weirdness.
The early evening chill nips at my arms and face as I head across the empty parking lot. Autumn and Winter are the off season for the Bed and Breakfast, but this week is quieter than most. I wave to Cash who’s heading back to the cabin he occupies year ’round. “Night, Daisy-Mae. You get home safe.”
“You too.” That’s kind of a running joke between Cash and I, and Colton who used to live in the private cabin before he and Lemon finally found their happily ever after. There’s been many a night that these cowboy’s boots have been too wobbly to make it up the porch stairs.
“I will,” I reply, and refrain from crossing my fingers. Everyone here has been more than generous with helping me out of a bind since Eddie left, and I’m not a woman accustomed to help.
“Daisy, wait,” West calls to me.
I don’t think I’ll survive more Winchester weirdness today, so I pretend I haven’t heard him. I climb into my Fiat and set my purse and sweater on the passenger seat. West knocks on the window, and then just opens my door when I don’t respond.
“Hey.” He leans down, an arm slung over the roof, his muscular body taking up all the space in my doorway, and Lord help me, but he smells divine. Like man, sandalwood soap, and leather. “Are you trying to run away?”
“What? No. I just ... er ...” Have to stop imagining you rubbing your scent all over me. God, I need to get laid. Quite the predicament when I’m seven months pregnant. “I have dinner in the slow cooker, and I don’t want it to burn. Why?”
“You ran off before I could give you this.” He hands me the little yellow envelope with my paycheck—the same one he brings me every Friday afternoon. You idiot, Daisy.
“Right. Thank you.” I take it and place it in my purse.
“You’re not gonna check it?”
I shake my head. “No. I trust you. Plus, I know where you live.”
“Well damn, there goes any plans I had to cheat you out of your money and hide out in my farmhouse.” He chuckles. “Alright, well. You have a good night, Daisy-Mae.”
I have to force a smile because I really just want to run away right now. “You too.”
He closes the door and taps the roof of my car, stepping back so I won’t run over his boots. Cash crosses the lot toward us and Lemon has not only closed up shop, she’s standing on the porch watching the two of us be even weirder. Or maybe it’s just me who’s weird here.
With an audience watching, I turn the key in the ignition. It croaks and chokes, but doesn’t start. I try it a few more times and it sounds like it wants to do the right thing, it really does, but for the third time, the engine sputters and dies out.
“Do not embarrass me,” I beg the vehicle quietly through my teeth and give the steering wheel a little love tap.
West takes a step toward me, and in my peripheral, Cash is even making his way over to help.
“Please, lord. Please let this damn car start. I promise I won’t complain that my radiator is shot, and my husband ran out on me, or that I’m stretched thin just covering the mortgage on my beautiful little house that needs more repairs than I can afford.
Oh, and let’s not forget that I have a baby on the way and I have no clue how to take care of one, and I’m doing it all alone.
If you’re not too busy, I could really use a little help here. ”
I turn the key again, hoping I didn’t sound too pushy, and the engine sparks to life. “Oh, thank you, Jesus!”
I throw the car in reverse and peel out of the lot so fast that I almost back into West and the Bed and Breakfast. I wave as I head toward the gate and drop the cheesy smile as soon as they can no longer see my expression. I’m sure they’re all wondering why Mrs. Winchester hired a crazy lady.
“Just get me home in one piece,” I tell my Fiat. I have a date with a pound cake loaded with Italian meringue buttercream frosting and the latest season of Housewives. Reality TV and baked goods are my kryptonite.
But five miles down the road, God decides he’s got better things to do than keep my car running, because a plume of smoke comes out of the hood, and my vehicle makes the kind of sound I expect from a civil war reenactment.
I pull over to the shoulder and listen to the engine ticking over.
Smoke fills the cab pretty fast, and I get out and look around the deserted road. So much for things finally looking up.