Chapter 2 Josie
JOSIE
The German Shepherd wouldn’t come out of his kennel.
I’d been crouching in front of him for a solid two minutes, talking in the soft, coaxing voice people used on frightened animals. He just stared back at me with dark, intelligent eyes, his body pressed against the far end of the crate like he was trying to disappear into the metal.
“He’s been through a lot,” Roarke said behind me. “They all have.”
“I know.” I kept my voice low and steady. “That’s why I’m not rushing him. He’ll come out when he’s ready.”
Roarke didn’t respond. I was already learning that about him. The man didn’t waste words. Which was fine. Totally fine. Some people were just quiet. It didn’t mean anything. It definitely didn’t mean I was talking too much or getting on his nerves.
I talked when I was nervous. Always had. My mom used to joke that I’d come out of the womb mid-sentence and never paused for breath.
In high school, being chatty had been an asset—cheerleaders were expected to be upbeat, enthusiastic, loud in the right ways. But somewhere along the line, I’d started noticing things. The subtle way people’s eyes glazed over. The way conversations suddenly wrapped up for no clear reason.
Roarke hadn’t done that. Yet. But the night was still young.
The Shepherd inched forward, nose twitching as he tested the air near my outstretched hand. Progress.
“That’s it,” I murmured. “Good boy. Nobody’s going to hurt you here.”
Behind me, metal scraped softly against the truck bed, followed by the steady crunch of Roarke’s boots on gravel.
We’d been unloading for about twenty minutes now, carrying kennels into the trailer’s small intake area.
A tired-looking woman named Rylie had taken over processing the dogs while Roarke and I focused on getting them inside.
The Shepherd took another step. Then another.
When he reached the edge of the kennel, close enough that I could have touched him, I didn’t. I stayed still. Let him decide.
His cold nose brushed my fingers. A cautious sniff. Then—so quick I almost missed it—his tongue flicked out and licked my knuckle. My heart melted on the spot.
“There you go,” I whispered. “See? We’re friends now.”
“You’re good with them.”
I glanced up. Roarke was watching me, another kennel balanced easily in his arms. His forearms flexed as he shifted his grip, muscle moving beneath the worn flannel. I looked back at the dog before he caught me staring.
“I grew up with dogs,” I said. “And my roommate—Peyton, the one I’m looking for—she adopted a beagle mix when we moved in together. Benny.” My throat tightened before I could stop it. “He passed a few months ago. Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
Just two words. But he said them plainly, without softening or rushing through them. It made them land.
“Thanks.” I rose slowly, careful not to spook the Shepherd. “That’s probably why I wanted to help tonight. Being around dogs again feels…good. Even the scared ones.”
Especially the scared ones. There was something grounding about being useful when someone—or some dog—was at their worst.
Roarke carried the kennel past me, saying nothing more. The Shepherd watched him go, then looked back at me, ears twitching like he was waiting for instructions.
“Your turn, buddy.” I clipped the lead to his collar. “Let’s get you somewhere warm.”
He walked beside me willingly, though he stuck close to my legs. By the time I handed him off to Rylie, my chest ached with the urge to take him home myself.
“Last one,” Roarke said when I stepped back outside.
We loaded the final kennel together—a bull terrier mix who’d managed to sleep through most of the chaos. When the tailgate finally closed with a solid thunk, the truck bed was empty.
The dogs were safe.
Roarke turned to face me, and in the low spill of light from the trailer, I finally got a proper look at him.
He was big. That had been obvious from the start.
But up close, the details stood out—the dark beard shadowing his jaw, the broad span of his shoulders beneath worn flannel, the thick calluses on his hands that spoke of years of physical work.
His eyes were a pale gray-blue, steady and unreadable, like they missed very little.
Mountain man, my brain offered unhelpfully. He looked like he’d stepped right out of one of the romance novels my mom devoured.
“Ready to find your friend?” he asked.
“Yes. God, yes. Thank you again for doing this.”
“Told you I would.”
He headed toward the driver’s side of the truck, and I hurried to move my SUV. Minutes later, I was following his taillights up a narrow, winding road toward the Wildwood Valley Roadhouse.
The bar looked exactly like I’d imagined—wooden exterior, glowing neon beer signs, a parking lot packed with pickup trucks. Roarke’s fit right in as he pulled into a space near the entrance.
I parked beside him and checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. Disaster. My hair was windblown and frizzy, mascara smudged beneath one eye. I looked like someone who’d cried earlier—which I had, when I’d briefly convinced myself Peyton was dead in a ditch somewhere.
Roarke waited by the door, holding it open when I joined him. He didn’t comment, just gestured me inside.
The air was warm and smelled like fried food and woodsmoke. A long bar lined one wall, tables scattered through the rest of the room. It wasn’t crowded—maybe a dozen people total—but every head turned when we walked in.
I felt instantly out of place. And keenly aware that I’d arrived with a local.
“Roarke.” The bartender—a woman with calm eyes and an observant expression—lifted a hand in greeting. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight. Thought you were running transport.”
“Just finished.” He moved toward the bar, and I followed. “Quick question, Elsa. A woman named Peyton was running the volunteer stuff over the weekend. You know where she’s staying?”
Elsa’s brows lifted. “Peyton? Yeah. Pretty sure she’s up at Warrick’s place.”
“Warrick?” I echoed before I could stop myself. “Who’s Warrick?”
Her gaze shifted to me, sharp and assessing. “Warrick Hale. Owns a good chunk of land around here. Wasn’t thrilled about the rescue at first.” A knowing smile crept across her face. “Guess he changed his mind.”
Roarke made a sound that might have been a laugh.
“So Peyton’s okay?” I asked quickly. “She’s safe?”
“As far as I know.” Elsa leaned back against the bar. “You a friend of hers?”
“Roommate. She didn’t come home, and she wasn’t answering, and I panicked a little.” Relief had left me slightly lightheaded. “She probably just got busy and forgot to check in.”
“Happens.”
She took our order. Roarke went with beer and a burger. I followed suit, adding water, suddenly aware of how hungry I was.
We took stools at the bar, and I texted Peyton. Tracked you down. At the roadhouse. Please confirm you are not dead in a ditch.
Three dots appeared almost immediately. OMG JOSIE. I’m so sorry. It’s been wild. I’m totally fine. Better than fine. I’ll explain tomorrow. You’re staying, right???
Staying?
I hadn’t planned on it. I’d driven up to make sure she was okay. Mission accomplished. But it was late, I was exhausted, and the idea of driving back down the mountain in the dark made my shoulders tense.
Where would I even stay? I typed.
More dots.
There’s a B&B—or you could stay at Warrick’s. He has like ten guest rooms. This place is insane. I’ll explain EVERYTHING.
I smiled despite myself. Classic Peyton.
“Good news?” Roarke asked.
“She’s fine. Staying with Warrick, apparently.”
He nodded once. “That tracks.”
“Does it?” I asked dryly. “Because it sounds like my levelheaded roommate hooked up with a random mountain man and forgot to come home.”
That almost-laugh again. “That’s how half the women ended up living here”
I wasn’t sure if he was joking.
Elsa set our food down, and I realized just how hungry I was. I grabbed a fry, then another.
“So,” I said, then caught myself rambling. “You live around here, or…?”
“Mountains,” he said. “Cabin about fifteen minutes up.”
“That sounds peaceful.”
“It is.”
And that was all I got.
I focused on my food, trying not to stare. Trying—and failing—not to wonder why someone who preferred solitude had spent his evening hauling rescue dogs or offering to help a stranger track down her roommate.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I blurted.
His gaze held mine. Calm. Unapologetic.
“Because I’m looking,” he said.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I looked away first, reaching for my water just to keep my hands busy.
This was absurd. I’d known him less than an hour. I had no business feeling this flutter under my ribs—or imagining what that beard might feel like against my skin.
“Sorry,” I said. “I talk when I’m nervous. I’m working on it.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t…talk?”
“Don’t work on it.” He took another drink. “I like your voice.”
Four words. Simple. Heavy.
My chest did something strange and unsteady.
“Oh.” I swallowed. “Thank you.”
The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile.
And sitting there in that quiet mountain bar, fry grease on my fingers and stress still humming under my skin, I had the oddest sense that something had shifted. Like panic and wrong turns and blocking that driveway had nudged me exactly where I was supposed to be.
I believed in signs. In patterns. In things lining up for a reason.
Meeting Roarke felt like all of that at once.