Prospector’s Peak (Saddles & Spurs #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The Ditch

“Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?” a masculine, gravelly voice asked.

“Don’t call me ma’am!”

There was a brief pause, followed by, “What should I call you then?”

“Annoyed.”

I punched the airbag out of my way and glared in the direction of the voice. Between the darkness outside, the infernal unblinking internal car light due to the open door, and white powder from the detonated airbag coating my glasses, I could only discern a faint shape of a tall man.

“Ma’am—er—miss, have you been drinking?”

“You’ve got a lot a nerve, buddy!” I snapped. “Have I been drinking? No, I haven’t.”

“It’s a logical question.”

“It’s rude,” I muttered.

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so. I wasn’t going very fast.”

“You were going fast enough that the airbag deployed when you crashed into the ditch. You might have a concussion or a neck injury.”

I fiddled with my seat belt and beat the offensive, now deflating, airbag again.

“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing? Let me help you—”

I didn’t wait for his aid and spilled out of the car, hitting damp grass with a soft thud. “Ow.”

“Now can I help you?”

“Stay where you are,” I commanded. “Stranger danger.”

I was almost positive the man held in a sigh.

I removed my caked glasses and used the hem of my shirt to clean them before returning them to my nose. As I tilted my head back to peer up at him, I held in a squawk of surprise.

Of course, the raspy voice belonged to a muscular man wearing a cowboy hat.

Yeehaw.

His angular jaw was clenched so tight I was sure he was about to crack a tooth.

I scrambled off the ground and wiped soggy grass and dirt from the knees of my jeans.

“I don’t live around here, okay? I’m not used to nature.

A mama and a baby moose decided to cross the road.

I swerved. Hence, the ditch. Oh man, the rental car company is totally going to charge me for this.

This is bad. Right? I mean it can’t be good.

I’ve only had my license for three weeks.

I’m babbling. I don’t mean to babble. It’s just been a really bad day. Actually, it’s been a really bad week.”

The man just stared at me, which made my cheeks flame with embarrassment.

And then like a total maniac, I burst into tears.

“Oh, uh, I’m sure the rental car company will understand if you just explain it to them.”

“Are you kidding me?” I wailed. “They already gouged me on a last-minute rental! They’re heartless. They won’t understand. And I just spent fifty bucks at Dusty’s on wine and chocolate, and I have a hundred dollars left to my name. And now I don’t have any way to get to The Regal Beagle!”

I continued to sob, burying my face in my hands as the stranger just stood by, witnessing my shame.

“I can drive you to The Regal Beagle,” he said finally.

“I don’t even know you! You could be a killer or a . . .” I thought of the most insulting thing I could think of. “. . . a cold-blooded New Yorker.”

“A New Yorker?” Amusement colored his tone. “That’s the best you could do?”

“I’m working at a deficit.” I sniffled.

“Clearly,” he said. “I’m going to come closer.”

“Why are you warning me?”

“You’re not supposed to spook wild animals.”

I laughed and wiped the tears from my eyes. “Okay. Approach with caution.”

“Approaching.” He took a step toward me. And then another. “You really should let me take you to the hospital to get checked out.”

“I’m not adding an insane medical bill to the long list of problems I already have just for them to tell me I’m fine.”

He was silent for a moment and then he said, “You’ve got powder on your face.”

I wiped my cheek. “Did I get it?”

“No.” He paused and then he gently swiped his thumb across my cheekbone.

My insides quivered from his touch and my skin blazed with heat.

Huh. That’s new.

“Is your luggage in the trunk?” he rasped, his thumb still touching my skin.

I swallowed. “Yes.”

He dropped his hand. “You get your wine and chocolate, and whatever else you need from the car. I’ll get your luggage.”

He took a few steps down into the ditch and then popped the trunk and extracted my suitcase. I watched him load it into his truck before I even moved to get the Dusty’s bags from the back seat.

My phone had fallen out of the cup holder and had disappeared. With a grumble, I bent over and glided my hands across the car mat while my butt was in the air.

I encountered the rubbery phone case and grabbed my cell that had slid underneath the passenger seat.

“Poet Peabody.”

I froze like a fawn. “How do you know my name?”

He sighed. “It’s on your luggage tag.”

“Oh. Right.” I exhaled a slow breath and wiggled out of the car.

I closed the door and turned toward the truck. He had the passenger side open, and he was waiting for me.

“I’m Brooks. Brooks Keel.”

“Nice to meet you,” I murmured.

His name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

I took his offered hand. It was warm, calloused, and it sent a zing of pleasure through me.

Once he was sure I was safely ensconced in the truck with my Dusty’s bags on the floor in front of me, he closed the door and went around to the driver’s side.

He climbed in and peered at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You look like a hood ornament.”

“Mean,” I muttered.

His chuckle was low, and it made my stomach flip.

Maybe I did have a head injury. Why else would I be having a physical reaction to a man I’d just met?

“Shouldn’t I call for a tow truck?” I asked.

“Service is shit out here,” he said. “We’ll call when we get to The Regal Beagle.”

He started the truck, tires peeling out lightly on the soft dirt as he pulled up and off the side of the road.

I braced myself, but the truck righted itself easily.

“You were lucky,” he said after a few moments of silence.

“Hmm? Lucky? No, I don’t think so. I wound up in a ditch.”

“But you weren’t hurt. And you didn’t have to sleep in the car or attempt to trek your way up the road to The Regal Beagle at night. You got bear spray?”

“What?” I screeched.

“Bear spray,” he repeated. “You don’t want to be caught out here without some form of protection.”

“No, I don’t have bear spray. You don’t need bear spray in the city.”

“Don’t you?” He snorted. “To be fair, it’s mountain lions you really need to worry about. You see one, you raise your arms, you get as big as you can, and you tell it to go away.”

“Oh God, what have I done?” I moaned.

“Please don’t cry again.”

“I’m not gonna cry,” I stated as I attempted to suck emotion back into my body.

“So, you’re not from here.”

“No.” I sighed. “I’m from New York.”

“Long way from home,” he murmured.

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing here? Vacation?”

“Yeah, a vacation from my life.”

“Breakup?”

I whipped my head around. “Huh?”

“Did you break up with your boyfriend?” He glanced at me quickly before turning his eyes back to the road.

“No. I don’t have a boyfriend,” I blurted out.

“Oh.” He paused and then he said softly, almost to himself, “Good.”

A bubble of pleasure fizzled in my belly like Prosecco bubbles.

“So why did you come to Huckleberry Hill?” he asked. “Did you throw a dart at a map or something?”

I laughed. “No. Two of my best friends live here.”

“Oh yeah? Who? Maybe I know them.”

“It is a small town, so you might. Hadley and Salem Powell.”

He paused. “The Powells? You know the Powells?”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “Why? Is that weird?”

“Not weird,” he said. “Strange coincidence though, considering I work for them at Elk Ridge.”

“You do?” I asked.

“Yeah. My brother, too.”

“Brother,” I repeated. My brow furrowed for a moment and then smoothed out in recognition. “You’re Brooks.”

“Yeah. I already introduced myself.”

“No. I mean, you’re Brooks. You and your brother were in that photoshoot for Rudolph Lancaster a few weeks ago. The one that was at Elk Ridge.”

“We weren’t in the photoshoot. Not intentionally. The photographer got a little click happy.” He paused. “You know about the photoshoot?”

“Salem sent me pictures,” I explained. “Oh, that make sense now. I thought I was going crazy—you introduced yourself and your name sounded familiar. But I didn’t recognize you, because your face was kind of turned away from the camera and hidden by the sun.”

He’d been shirtless, though. And showing off a massively sculpted back with beautiful ink.

When he remained quiet, I said, “You have a lot of tattoos.”

“Yes.”

He said the word like it was painful to get out.

For whatever reason, he didn’t want to talk about it, so I clamped my mouth shut.

Embarrassment heated the back of my neck. I sounded like I was president of his fan club, mooning over his photos and ink.

It was only when he pulled into The Regal Beagle’s parking lot that I remembered what Salem had confided in me about Brooks.

He was an ex-con.