Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The Truck
I’m in a truck with an ex-con.
My heart started to drum in alarm. It was immediate and almost hijacked my brain. But I forced a deep breath of air into my lungs.
I knew two things about Brooks:
He’d stopped to help a stranger on the side of the road.
And Salem and Hadley’s grandmother had hired him.
Muddy was an extremely good judge of character, and there was no way she would’ve allowed Brooks around her family if she was worried for their safety.
My hands unclenched and my heartbeat settled into its normal, tepid rhythm.
“Brooks,” I said quietly. “I didn’t thank you for stopping and making sure I was okay and then driving me here.”
“Don’t mention it, city girl. Let’s get you checked in. Then we’ll call about the rental car,” he said.
“Thanks, but you’ve done enough already. I can take care of it. You probably want to get back to Elk Ridge.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt. “Actually, I’m staying here too.”
“You are?” I asked in surprise. “Why?”
“My RV is getting serviced and it’s currently uninhabitable, so I’ll be here for a few days. I was on my way here when I saw your car in the ditch. Speaking of staying at the Ridge, why aren’t you there? Especially if you’re Hadley and Salem’s best friend.”
“Long story,” I said.
“How long?”
I sighed. “Every room in the main house is spoken for.”
“And the couch wasn’t a good option for a few days?”
A few days.
“Nope. They all get up super early. Ranch hours.”
“Right.”
I wondered how long I’d be staying in town. It wasn’t like I had a job to go back to.
A life to go back to.
Brooks climbed out and grabbed my luggage. I gathered the grocery bags, made sure I had all my personal belongings, and slithered out of the vehicle.
He’d called me “city girl,” and that was exactly what I was. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t belong around big trucks and mountains. I didn’t belong in a place that had signs that read Danger: Moose Crossing on them.
I wasn’t sure I belonged in New York either.
Brooks’ steps were long, and I scurried after him.
The Regal Beagle had once been a Victorian brothel, but it was now Huckleberry Hill’s only bed and breakfast and a hubbub for tourists. It was exactly what I expected it to be. Gingerbread trim. Gabled roof. Stained glass windows.
“The Munsters,” I murmured.
“What?” Brooks asked, looking over his shoulder at me.
“The house—it looks like it belongs on the set of The Munsters. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it.”
“You’ve never seen The Munsters?” I asked in disbelief.
“Isn’t that a show from the ’60s? And it’s in black and white?”
I giggled. “Yeah, it’s one of my grandfather’s favorites. I grew up watching all those shows. I can’t believe you’ve never seen it. Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You’ve never seen I Love Lucy, either, have you?”
“Nope.”
Brooks opened the heavy ornate front door and gestured for me to enter first. A dapper-dressed gentleman wearing a gray vest and a pink bow tie stood behind the polished wooden counter. He looked like he belonged on Saville Row in London, not in a small mountain town in North Idaho.
On the back wall over the counter was a portrait of a beagle standing proudly with its nose in the air, a red bow tie around its neck. Now I understood the name of the bed and breakfast.
“Good evening,” the man greeted Brooks with a smile. “Nice to see you, Mr. Keel.”
“Brooks,” he corrected.
“Brooks.” His eyes slid to me. “Hello and welcome to The Regal Beagle. I’m Richard Pendergast, the owner. You must be Poet Peabody.”
“That’s me,” I confirmed.
“I’ve been expecting you.”
“I had some car trouble. Do you have the number of a tow company? If it weren’t for Brooks, I’d still be in the ditch waiting to be rescued.”
“A ditch? Are you hurt? Do you need to see a doctor?”
I waved away his concern. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“The car took the brunt of it,” Brooks explained. “She didn’t hit her head.”
Richard’s eyebrows rose as he glanced from me to Brooks and then back to me. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll show you to your room and then I’ll get you the number of the tow company.”
He reached for my luggage, but Brooks said, “I’ve got it.”
Richard nodded and addressed me. “You’re on the second floor.”
We followed him up the stairs. Ornate gold frames encasing landscape oil paintings dotted the walls in a maximalist collage. But somehow it worked in the narrow space.
Richard used an old iron skeleton key to open the door. He stepped aside and gestured for me to enter the room. The windows were draped with gold chintz, and the walls were soft robin’s-egg blue.
“This is our Duchess Room. I hope you enjoy your stay. Speaking of stay, do you know how long you plan on being here with us?”
“A few days at least,” I said. “After that, I’m not sure. Can I let you know?”
“Absolutely. But the sooner you let me know, the better. We are gearing up for tourist season. Autumn is a busy time of year in Huckleberry Hill.”
“No doubt,” I murmured.
“Well, let me get that tow company’s number for you.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Richard left and Brooks came into the room and set my luggage by the window. I placed the grocery bags on the bed.
Now that I had plenty of light, I studied him.
And suddenly wished I hadn’t.
Because he was stunning. Stunning in that primal, steal-my-breath-I-can’t-look-anywhere-else-but-directly-at-him kind of way.
“You okay?” His tone was gentle, like a caress to the back of my neck.
“Fine.”
Our eyes were locked on one another.
Magnetic. Imperative.
I took an involuntary step toward him.
“Knock, knock.” Richard appeared in the doorway, effectively ending the hold Brooks had on me.
Richard smiled in my direction. “I forgot to give you your welcome bag and brought you the number of the area’s only tow company.”
I took the piece of paper with a scribbled number on it. “Thank you.”
He set the welcome bag by the door. Richard looked at Brooks and then at me. “Well, you both have a good night.”
The owner disappeared, but the tension between Brooks and I had been effectively diffused by his arrival. Now I was exhausted and wanted privacy to sort out the strange pull I felt toward the man who’d rescued me.
Brooks cleared his throat. “You good?”
I nodded.
He stalked toward the door and at the last moment he turned to peer at me over his shoulder. “I’m across the hall from you.”
I frowned. “All right.”
“If you need anything, I mean.”
Without waiting for a reply, he left, closing the door with a soft click.
I locked up after him and then went to look out the window. As my finger traipsed down the gold chintz curtain, I peered out, but I couldn’t see much of anything. The hint of mountains, the subtle twinkling of stars in the night sky.
“What are you doing here?” I asked my reflection in the glass pane. “Running away from all your problems, that’s what.”
I glanced at the closed door, as if I could see beyond it into Brooks’ room.
The man was a giant. Terrifyingly huge. And yet, he’d touched me with infinite care when he wiped the airbag powder from my cheek.
It had been unexpected.
He had been unexpected.
I wasn’t the kind of girl who got crushes. I didn’t gush over men. I’d dated in the past, but it had never turned into anything serious.
But Brooks . . .
With a sigh, I left the window and picked up my phone off the bed. I unlocked the screen and immediately went to the photo Salem had sent me several days ago that had intrigued me from the moment I saw it.
Brooks and his brother were standing by a fence. With the slash of bright sun and the way his head was angled, Brooks’ face was unrecognizable. He was shielded by the light, giving me only a glimpse of his strong jaw.
He was shirtless, tattoos rippling across his muscular back.
Every time I glanced at his brother, my eyes immediately returned to Brooks.
Now that I had a face to the picture, it made my insides quiver and warm.
I was meek until I got to know someone. But with Brooks, I’d never thought to be diffident. Words just seemed to pour out of me when he was near. And I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
He was an ex-con.
An ex-con I had no business thinking about, yet I couldn’t seem to stop.
I forced myself to deal with the situation at hand. I called the tow truck company and left a message. It was only eight o’clock, and I hoped they’d call back tonight.
Tossing my phone aside, I then grabbed the brown paper welcome bag. Town map. A jar of local honey. A mesh satchel of loose-leaf tea.
I brought the tea to my nose and inhaled. It smelled like dried berries.
After I set the welcome bag of goodies aside, I unzipped my suitcase. I pulled out my toiletries and headed for the bathroom.
There were expensive bubble bath products on the wooden shelf fastened to the wall next to the clawfoot tub. The idea of cracking open the bottle of wine and eating chocolate while soaking was appealing.
But drinking alone and gorging myself was nothing more than a symptom of depression. And it would only make me feel worse in the morning.
So, I took a shower. Washed the day off me. Then girded my loins for what I was about to do.