Chapter One #2
didn’t bombard him with questions or try to draw him into conversation. He could go into her store and pick up a few items
without feeling as if he were under attack. Maybe she was a little shy, because she didn’t get real talkative with any of
her customers. Shy was a bonus; she wasn’t likely to start feeling comfortable around him and start up a conversation.
She was slim, quiet, dark hair and soft brown eyes, just curvy enough to leave no doubt she was female. She didn’t wear a
wedding ring—or any rings at all. When she wasn’t looking at him, which was most of the time whenever he was in the store,
he’d indulge himself by looking at her, though he was careful not to let her ever catch him at it. That was the only time
in the past three years his dick had shown any signs of life.
Brooding, he watched a lone car on the highway far below, its headlight beams crawling from left to right. Okay, so maybe
he did have a form of PTSD. A few years ago he’d have been all over Sela Gordon, trying to score; the fact that he’d noticed
she didn’t wear a wedding ring said a lot. Still, his reluctant interest couldn’t overcome his much stronger need for solitude.
The people down in the valley were still sleeping peacefully, for the most part. Maybe there were a few who didn’t sleep well
and were waiting for dawn the way he was, maybe there was even someone who had a NOAA space storm alarm on their computer
the way he did, though he doubted it. Their lives were about to change in drastic ways. His, not so much. His income stream
would dry up when the CMEs hit and he stopped writing columns for survivalist magazines; his military pension would accrue
until such time as the government and banks were up and running again, but the hard fact was there wouldn’t be any bills he
needed to pay because utilities would stop working, and he’d be feeding himself with what he could hunt or grow. As an extra
hedge, he had about a year’s worth of freeze-dried food stored in a secure locker under the house, he had canned goods, and
he had plenty of ammunition stockpiled to protect his food and property.
If the think tank people were right and only ten percent of the population survived the coming Very Bad Day event, then he
intended to be one of the ten percent.
Business had been brisk, for a weekday. Sela Gordon’s grocery store / gas station was located right on Highway 321, so business
was usually good anyway. She wouldn’t get rich off the store, but she made a decent living. The gas pumps were out front,
in the center of the smallish parking lot. Inside, there were seven rows of shelves filled with basic goods. No one would
do their regular grocery shopping here, but if someone in the valley ran out of a few things and didn’t want to go all the
way to town, this was where they came. Aunt Carol called it the “toilet paper and Spam” collection, and she wasn’t all that
wrong, though there were also chips, and cookies, and a few boxes of cereal, some canned goods, and a small section of staples
such as salt and sugar and pepper. One aisle was dedicated to over-the-counter meds, bandages, and feminine products. The
small floor-to-ceiling cooler in the back was filled with beer, soft drinks, and juice. She’d carried milk for a while, but
it hadn’t sold well enough to justify the necessary space. When it came to pricing, she couldn’t compete with the bigger grocery
stores in town, and the dairy sell-by dates came and went too quickly. Now she kept a few packs of powdered milk and some
cans of condensed sweetened milk that sold mostly in the summer when people were making homemade ice cream.
Between the locals and the tourists, who either stayed in Wears Valley or passed by on their way to and from Pigeon Forge
or Gatlinburg, she stayed busy enough to make this small venture profitable. She’d never own a private jet or buy her own
vacation home, but she did okay, and okay was good enough.
Carol said Sela liked her small business because it was safe, and again, she wasn’t wrong.
Taking chances, both personally and professionally, was for people who liked an adrenaline rush. Sela wasn’t one of those
people.
A big gray pickup truck, riding high on its chassis, pulled up to one of the gas pumps. She recognized a lot of the locals’
vehicles, including this one. Ben Jernigan didn’t come in all that often, though he did stop for gas now and then, and he’d
run in for beer and cereal a time or two—but she recognized him because it was impossible to ignore him. Both the truck and
the man were impressive, he more than the truck. He was big, at least a couple of inches over six feet, with muscles that
strained the cotton T-shirt he wore. His arms were thick and roped, decorated with a few tattoos, his hands scarred and callused.
Usually he was somewhat scruffy, with at least two days’ growth of beard. He almost always wore sunglasses, though he’d slide
them up on top of his head whenever he came inside, and his pale green eyes always had a remote, cool expression that cut
like a laser. She tried to be friendly with her customers even though she wasn’t an outgoing person, but with him she couldn’t
manage even that much. She stayed quiet, like a rabbit hoping the wolf didn’t notice her.
She didn’t like tattoos, but she couldn’t imagine his arms without them. She was vaguely alarmed that she’d given his arms
that much thought.
Whenever he came in, her heart pounded hard and fast for at least a few minutes after he’d left. Rabbit, indeed.
She watched as he left the truck and headed for the gas pump, but then he stopped and looked toward the store. Sela quickly
glanced down, though she doubted he could see her through the reflection on the glass; she still didn’t want to take the chance
that he’d think she was watching him, even though she was. Bold had never been a word used to describe her.
He left the gas pump and started toward the store.
Right on schedule, Sela’s heart started pounding. She concentrated on the invoices on the counter in front of her, even though
she wanted to look at him. What woman wouldn’t? She was definitely a woman, even if not a very adventurous one.
The chime sounded, and he walked past her without a word. She wanted to ask him why he hadn’t pumped any gas but had left
his truck at the pump, but she didn’t. Only after he’d walked by did she look up, quickly glancing at his muscled back covered
by a brown T-shirt, and while she was at it also noticing how well his muscular ass cheeks filled out his jeans. Her cheeks
got hot and she returned her attention to the invoices, fiercely focusing on them, or trying to, anyway.
Her thoughts raced, refusing to concentrate on the invoices. He’d picked up one of the baskets on his way in, which was unusual.
He never bought much, certainly not so much that he couldn’t carry it in his two big hands.
Damn. Was her mouth watering? It was! The realization flummoxed her. If she was in the market for a man, which she definitely
wasn’t, Jernigan would be the last man she considered as an option. Sure, he had the looks, and the muscle. She darted another
look at him. Those arms, that ass . . . just wow. But there was something about him that screamed danger, danger, like the
screeching robot on that old TV show, and she knew she’d panic if he actually asked her out or even lightly flirted. It was
a smart woman who knew when someone was more than she could handle.
Jernigan was usually quick and efficient in his shopping. He knew where everything was and walked straight to it, without
fail. Today he seemed to browse, which was out of the ordinary for him. Hmm. He went up one aisle and down the other, then
came to the counter with a full basket not to check out but to unload and go back.
Toilet paper. Aspirin. Canned soup. Blueberry Pop-Tarts.
He returned with another full basket, silently unloaded it, and nodded at her. For a fast, heart-stopping moment her gaze
met his and that was all it took for the bottom to drop out of her stomach. His eyes were so striking, a predatory pale green,
almost pretty in a face that wasn’t pretty at all but was so masculine and intriguing that pretty didn’t matter.
As always, she was the one who looked away. Silently she began picking up cans and scanning them.
She should say something, even if just “hello.” She knew she should. That was what a store clerk did, make the customers feel
welcome, and especially so when the clerk was also the owner.
“Is there anything else?” was the best she could manage.
“Thirty bucks in gas.”
He normally just paid for his gas with a credit card, most of the time leaving without coming in. She nodded and keyed the
computer to let the pump dispense thirty dollars’ worth of gas.
She gave him a total. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and withdrew a stack of bills while she finished bagging.
There were a lot of bags, and if it had been anyone else she would have offered to help him to his truck, not that he would
have any problem at all, but if he were any other man she’d still have offered. She made change, which he stuffed into his
front pocket before he gathered all the bags and headed for the door.
Sela breathed out a silent sigh of relief as he reached the door. What was it about him that put her so on edge? She hoped
she wasn’t so shallow that it was just his looks. Or his body.
Then he stopped at the door and for a split second she wondered if he was having trouble opening it; she started out from
behind the counter, saying, “Let me get that door for you,” but he turned and looked at her and those laser eyes stopped her
in her tracks.
“You might want to put a few things back for an emergency, just in case.”
Emergency? Startled, Sela looked out the windows, expecting to see storm clouds or something, but it was a typical September
day, the sky blue against the green mountains, the weather still hot, no forecast of a hurricane roaring up the Gulf that
would hammer the region with heavy rain. Snow was months away. So—?