Chapter 2
two
Rosalie
This has literally been the longest drive of my life.
Yes, I looked up the trip before I left. I knew full well Google said it would be about seventeen and a half hours. Yes, I did account for an overnight stop in Kansas City. Hell, I even accounted for several bathroom, gas, and snack stops.
What I didn’t account for was my daughter staring at the navigation screen and narrating every lake, river, and railroad crossing we came across or counting down the miles one at a time until she grew bored. Which, spoiler alert, felt like an eternity.
I also severely underestimated my daughter’s tiny bladder.
I think I’m scarred for life from the filth at some of these stops, and in hindsight, the side of the road might have been better.
If you think it’s hard to hover yourself over a nasty public toilet, try making sure your seven-year-old’s behind doesn’t touch that disgusting surface.
I’m not sure exactly how we did it, probably a combination of advanced yoga poses my body was not limber enough to endure and sheer willpower, but I feel pretty confident we made it out unscathed.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
I think back to Colorado’s landscape, a breathtaking collision of rugged mountains and wide-open plains.
Towering peaks stretch into the sky, often capped with snow even in summer; while below, golden aspen trees mix with dense pine forests and winding rivers fill the valleys.
The air is crisp and dry, and the sky is the brightest blue you’ve ever seen—nothing compares.
But Kentucky? Kentucky rolls like a lullaby, all soft hills and expansive pastures, draped in glowing gold from the late-day sun.
There’s a gentleness to the land, a kind of quiet grace.
You can almost hear the rustle of leaves, the babble of creeks, and the pounding of horse hooves as we pass by the countless horse farms.
We’ve been driving all day, and the sun is beginning to set, casting a gorgeous glow over the landscape.
Paige is dozing in the back seat, so I gently reach back to pat her leg.
I want to wake her so she can take in this view with me.
I want us to have this memory together—this moment when our new life begins.
***
After another hour, during which Paige proceeds to name every horse she sees, my favorite being “Heartsy Fartsy” after she determines his giant leap into the air before running away from the rest of the herd must have been gas propelled, we make our last turn toward Winhaven.
The GPS says we have about fifteen miles to go, and I’m so relieved. That is, until I hear the telltale sound of a flat tire. You know, the really loud whirring you hear just before your car starts to drift.
I groan, slowly pulling my truck and U-Haul trailer to the side of the road.
“Stay in your seat,” I say to Paige as I hop out to check the situation.
“Shit!” I exclaim when I see the back passenger side tire is completely flat.
Now, here’s the thing, I know how to change a tire.
I even know how to change a tire on a truck attached to a trailer—what kind of large animal vet would I be if I didn’t have those basic skills—but there are a few extra steps I’ll need to take, and after a long day of travel, those extra steps feel incredibly daunting.
I put my hands on my hips and bow my head, praying to the good Lord, or anyone else who might be listening this goes smoothly. But just as I blow out a long breath and raise my head to start changing the tire, I notice a Jeep slowing down and pulling up behind me.
The door opens, and someone unfolds from the car, but I have to shade my eyes from the sun backlighting the figure before I’m able to make out that it’s a man.
Palming my key with the pepper spray attached, I quickly back toward the door of my truck and lock Paige inside.
Whirling around just as he comes within five feet of me, I shakily raise my pepper spray with all the confidence I can muster. “Do not come any closer,” I say firmly but quietly, not wanting to alarm Paige inside the truck.
The man stops in his tracks, raises both hands, and backs away, eyes comically wide as he takes in the pepper spray aimed at him.
“Whoa now, ma’am. I’m sorry to startle you,” he says in a calm tone. “I’m just on my way home from Carlsburg and saw you here with a flat and stopped to see if you needed any help.”
Two things cross my mind. One, he sounds kind and sincere about his offer. And, two…
“Did you just ma’am me?” I say incredulously.
Being only in my mid-twenties, I’m pretty sure no one has ever bestowed that particular title on me before, and I don’t think I like it.
He chuckles, and I briefly clock that it’s deep and sexy before I watch him drop his arms to his sides and cautiously take a step closer.
“Yes, ma’am, I did,” he says with a little extra and very intentional emphasis on the ma’am.
He has stepped fully into the shadow of the trailer, and now I can see all of him.
He’s tall, maybe six foot two, and if I had to guess, he’s in his mid-thirties.
His dark hair is shorter on the sides and a bit longer on top, his shoulders are broad but taper to a narrow waist. He isn’t bulky, just mind-blowingly fit.
His white T-shirt is essentially molded to his chest and biceps, and when I drag my gaze upward to see his face, I find a slightly cocky smile surrounded by a bit of stubble.
He has an air of confidence about him that, from what I can see, is well-earned rather than blustery and overzealous like guys my age.
Pair all of that with the playful, mischievous glint in his bright green eyes, and I’m almost speechless. Holy hell, he is hot.
I’m in a hotness-induced stupor, so it takes me a second before I can form a response.
I open my mouth to speak again, but he beats me to it.
“Here in the South, we’re raised with manners and to respect women.
That includes using terms like ‘ma’am’ when talking to a lady.
We also like to call them ‘sweetie,’ ‘honey,’ or ‘sugar.’ But since we don’t know each other very well, and you had your pepper spray pointed at me, I went with the neutral and respectful ‘ma’am,’” he concludes with a wink.
“We don’t know each other at all,” I say with a bit of sass in my tone.
“You’re right, but I plan to remedy that while I help you swap out this tire for a new one,” he says pointing to the offending tire. “I’m Cameron,” he says holding out his hand for me to shake.
“Rosalie,” I return as I reach for his hand.
When our hands touch, rough calluses graze the inside of my palm, inciting goose bumps across my flesh, even though his touch is warm.
He has a steady, confident hold on my hand, with an underlying softness that has me feeling an unexpected sense of security.
He’s still wearing that cocky smile, but just for a second, there’s a heady feeling inside that has me holding on to his hand for just a little longer.
Awestruck by this connection, I briefly look down at our clasped hands and then back up to his face, ready to accept his help with my truck.
When I do, I find Cameron’s eyes focused on me. I catch the flicker of something in his expression, quick, unguarded. Surprise, maybe. Or wonder. Or…unease? Whatever it is, it’s gone as fast as it came.
I don’t have time to question what it is because the loud sound of my truck horn cuts through the air, and a tiny voice comes through the cracked window. “Hey! Can I get out of the truck now?”