Chapter 2
2
DUKE
T he most beautiful woman I’d ever seen was seated on my couch.
And I was, as usual, messing this up.
It was exactly why I stayed to myself up here.
I was better off interacting with other humans as little as possible.
I just tended to turn every interaction into a clusterfuck.
“What do you do for food?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
I was confused.
I’d gone to the kitchen to grab her some ice water while she settled in on one of the bench seats in front of the table that made into a bed.
I was surprised she hadn’t chosen the couch.
It was more comfortable.
But maybe she was hungry.
I should offer her something to eat.
That was what polite people did.
“You’re up here all alone. No way to get to town, right?”
Oh, that was why she was confused.
Yeah, it made total sense.
I set our drinks on the table—water for her and a bottle of beer for me—and slid into the booth across from her.
“I guess you didn’t see my bike.”
“Bicycle?” she asked.
“But how?—?”
I was shaking my head, interrupting whatever she was going to ask.
“Motorcycle. That kind of bike.”
“Oh, you’re a biker.”
I would hardly call myself a biker.
I had a motorcycle to get around town.
But there was no point in correcting that.
“It’s back there,” I said.
I hitched a thumb in the direction of the rear of the RV.
It was behind the RV, not in the bedroom.
But if it confused her, she didn’t say anything about it.
“So, what are you doing way up here?” I asked.
“Do you live in town?”
She tilted her head and gave a half shrug, lifting one shoulder.
“I’m living in Adairsville right now, so not quite in town. I’m a rideshare driver. I pick people up and take them where they need to go.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“You’re a handy person to know.”
She snort-laughed.
“I was. Until my car exploded.”
I frowned.
“I doubt very seriously your car exploded. I’ll hop on the bike and take a look at it.”
She was taking a sip of her water, but my words caused her to pull the glass away from her mouth and look at me.
“You’d do that?”
I’d taken her into my house.
Looking at her car was something any human with a soul would offer to do.
At least anyone who knew a little something about cars like I did.
“I doubt I can repair it,” I said.
“I’ll just take a look. There’s a guy in town that can fix you right up. I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Did you say it was smoking?”
She nodded.
“And I can’t even look up what could cause that.” She sighed.
“I never realized how dependent I was on the internet until I didn’t have it.”
“You can get service at certain spots up here.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I kicked myself.
I didn’t want her to get service, and that was a jerk way to look at it.
But selfishly, I didn’t want her to leave.
And that made no sense.
I loved my alone time.
I didn’t want a woman around—or anyone, for that matter.
It was exactly why, when I exited the military, I bought a used RV at a steal instead of looking for a more permanent home.
This would allow me to move on a moment’s notice if I needed to.
“You scared the crap out of me, you know.”
Her words pulled me from my thoughts.
I frowned at her.
“The gun,” she said.
Yes, it made total sense that she’d be scared of that.
And it probably made zero sense to her that I’d come out with a gun.
Unless I was hiding something.
Running from something I couldn’t even define?
Yes. But hiding something?
No.
“They want this land,” I said.
“The developers. They even built a road down this way. Every now and then, one comes down here banging on my door, trying to make me an offer I can’t refuse.”
She sat back and stared at me.
She was studying me—trying to figure me out.
Plenty of women had tried over the years.
None had succeeded.
“So, you own this land?” she asked.
“Yep. Bought and paid for. Snatched it up back when nobody had their eyes on it.”
I got an honorable discharge and a monthly disability payment for being wounded in the line of duty.
It wasn’t worth the pain I endured twenty-four-seven, of course.
But at least it had enabled me to live the kind of life I wanted in the mountains with a beautiful view, miles away from everyone and everything.
“So you thought I was a developer,” she said.
I shook my head. “I didn’t know. I saw movement outside. It was kind of dark. Nobody ever comes down this way, so I figured it had to be someone up to no good.”
And that was the God’s-honest truth.
Sure, I overreacted, but if there was one thing my deployment had done, it was instill me with a healthy dose of vigilance.
“Anyway, sorry about that,” I said.
“The safety’s still on, if it makes you feel any better.”
“It does.”
She glanced toward my bedroom, which was where I’d gone to store the rifle.
I didn’t miss the nervousness in her eyes.
She wasn’t comfortable around guns.
I got it. I grew up in the suburbs of Jacksonville, and my mom never quite made peace with my dad’s firearm collection.
I just had one gun for protection, and I’d want this woman to feel safer because of it, not more frightened.
“You don’t get lonely?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I guess I’m not much of a people person.”
I was lying, and I didn’t even feel bad about it.
Because it wasn’t her I was lying to.
It was myself.
“Thought about getting a dog,” I said, still thinking aloud.
“But I like the freedom to hop on the bike and hit the open road if I want to.”
“What kind?” she asked.
“What kind of bike?”
“No. Dog.”
Oh yeah, it made sense she would be asking about that.
“I had a golden retriever growing up. That’s the kind of dog I want. Low maintenance but loving.”
“Hmm.”
That one syllable had my attention.
“What?”
“It’s just…I wouldn’t take you for a golden retriever type. I’d think you’d want a dog that would protect you out here. One of those dogs that’s kind of like a security system.”
She made a good point.
If I had the right dog, I probably wouldn’t need a gun.
Had I just given away the fact that I was a big softy inside?
But for the past decade or so, that soft side only applied to animals, not humans.
Humans always let you down.
Dogs didn’t.
“You hungry?” I asked, eager to change the subject.
I was standing before she even answered.
“Oh my gosh, I’m starving.”
Relief was clear in her voice.
It was like she’d exhaled a breath she’d been holding for hours.
She hadn’t wanted to let me know she was sitting there with an empty stomach.
If this woman wanted food, food was what she’d get.
She gestured toward the refrigerator.
“I can make something. I don’t want you to have to cook for me. Just tell me what ingredients you have, and I’ll put something together.”
I shook my head.
“I don’t keep a lot of stuff around. There’s a burger stand in Adairsville. I thought I’d run down there and grab us a bag full of food and come right back. What do you like on your burger?”
Her eyes widened.
“A burger sounds amazing, but that’s pretty far to go, isn’t it?”
I shrugged.
“Fifteen minutes.”
She knew that.
She’d said she was a rideshare driver in this area.
Maybe she thought motorcycles couldn’t go as fast as cars.
“I’ll stop to look at your car on the way out,” I said.
“Where are your keys? Feel free to make yourself at home.”
I didn’t even know what that meant.
This probably seemed far from a home to her.
I was aware, as I stepped out into the warm night air and headed to my bike, that for the first time, I actually cared what someone thought of my place.
It was such an unfamiliar feeling, I wasn’t even sure how to feel about it.
So I shoved it aside, got on my bike, and headed toward the road that would take me to her car.