Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Grant Sullivan
I’m almost home when I see the headlights of a car pulled off on the shoulder, hood up, thick white smoke rolling out from the engine.
And standing right beside it, arms wrapped tight around herself like she’s trying to keep from falling apart, is a woman.
My gut tightens the second I spot her out here alone this late.
I’ve been sheriff of Silver lake for twenty years now, and I know these back roads too well.
I know how fast things can go wrong when it’s dark and there’s no one around, and I know exactly what kind of trouble a woman can find herself in when her car dies in the middle of nowhere.
I flick on my hazard lights, pull my sheriff SUV in behind her, and kill the engine.
For a second I just sit there, watching her in the glow of my headlights.
She’s young, mid-twenties, maybe, and even from here I can see she’s upset.
Her dress is simple and clings to full hips and soft, generous curves that make something low in my chest pull tight.
She looks small standing out there by herself.
Lost. The kind of woman who probably doesn’t realize how damn pretty she is.
I grab my flashlight, push the door open, and step out into the warm night air. “Evening, ma’am,” I call out, keeping my voice steady and calm the way I always do. I angle the light so it’s not right in her face. “Sheriff Sullivan. You all right out here?”
She looks up at me and even in the dim light I can see the tear tracks on her cheeks.
Up close she’s even softer than I thought, full mouth, wide brown eyes, and curves that fill out that dress in a way that makes a man notice whether he wants to or not.
She’s hugging herself so tight it looks like she’s trying to hold herself together.
“I… my car,” she manages, voice hoarse and shaky. “It just started smoking and then it died. I don’t know what happened.”
I nod, already moving closer but keeping a respectful distance because the last thing I want to do is scare her more than she already is. “You’re not hurt?”
She shakes her head. “No. Just… stranded.”
I’ve been doing this job long enough to know when someone’s had a really bad night, and this girl looks like hers just got a hell of a lot worse.
So I give her the small, reassuring smile the whole town knows means I’ve got things under control.
“All right,” I say gently. “Let’s take a look. Do you mind if I check under the hood?”
She steps back to give me room, and I move in, shining the flashlight over the engine.
It’s bad. There’s oil everywhere and the smell of burnt rubber hits me full on.
Whatever happened, this car isn’t going anywhere tonight without a tow truck, and I already know it’s gonna be a long wait this late.
I straighten up after a minute and look back at her.
She’s still hugging herself, and the way her dress pulls across her chest and hips when she shifts makes my chest feel tight for reasons that have nothing to do with being sheriff.
She’s the kind of soft and real that makes a man want to step in and fix things, even when he knows he probably shouldn’t.
“Looks like your engine’s cooked,” I tell her, keeping my voice low and steady.
“I can call for a tow, but it’s gonna be a while this time of night.
You got somewhere you need to be, or someone I can call for you? ”
She hesitates, and for a second her face crumples again like she’s fighting not to fall apart right here on the side of the road.
I feel that old protective instinct kick in hard, the same one that’s made me jump into icy lake waters to save some kid’s dog without thinking twice, or change tires for tourists in the rain, or check on the elderly widows after every storm.
I’ve spent twenty years being the steady one everyone trusts.
I was married once a long time ago, but she left eighteen years back because I was always too busy with the job.
Ran off with some guy from town. I’ve been fine on my own since then, staying busy enough that the empty house doesn’t bother me too much.
But something about this woman, about the way she’s looking at me like she doesn’t know if she can trust anyone right now, makes me want to be the one person that she can.
I take a small step closer, voice rough but kind. “Hey. You’re safe, I’ve got you. Why don’t you come sit in my truck while I get this sorted? It’s warmer in there, and I’ve got water and a blanket if you need it.”
She looks up at me then, really looks, and something in her eyes makes my chest pull even tighter. She’s scared and heartbroken and trying so damn hard not to show it. Standing here in the middle of nowhere in that pretty little dress, she looks like trouble I didn’t see coming.
I hold out my hand, palm up. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of the smoke.”
She hesitates for a long moment before she finally slips her hand into mine.
It’s small and cold, and I close my fingers around it without thinking, guiding her toward my SUV.
Once she’s settled in the passenger seat with the blanket I keep in the back wrapped around her shoulders, I climb in behind the wheel and pull out my phone.
I call Ray, the only tow guy worth a damn in this area. He answers on the third ring, voice thick with sleep.
“Ray, it’s Grant. Got a stranded vehicle out on Willow Creek Road, about eight miles past the turnoff. The engine’s shot and it’s smoking bad. How soon can you get out here?”
There’s a long pause, then a heavy sigh. “Sheriff, it’s the middle of the damn night.”
“I know what time it is, Ray. Can you get here or not?”
He sighs, “Yeah, I can get to it. But it’s gonna be a few hours at least, maybe more. I’m over in Cedar Falls right now on another call and I still gotta drop that one off.”
I rub a hand over my jaw. “All right. I’ll leave the keys with it and text you the exact location. Just get it when you can.”
I end the call with Ray and glance over at her. She’s watching me with those big, wary eyes, still wrapped in the blanket I gave her from the back seat.
I set the phone down and lean back against the driver’s seat, studying her for a second. We’ve already been through a lot tonight, but I realize I don’t even know her name yet.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I ask, my voice low and gentle.
She blinks, like the question surprises her. Then a small, almost shy smile touches her lips. “Chloe,” she says quietly. “Chloe Bennett.”
“Chloe,” I repeat, letting the name settle. It suits her. Soft but strong. “Nice to officially meet you, Chloe Bennett.”
I give her a small, reassuring smile and nod toward the road ahead. “We’ll get your car sorted. In the meantime, let’s get you somewhere warm. My place isn’t far.”
“Your place?” She asks.
I nod. “There aren’t any hotels close by,” I tell her, keeping my voice calm but firm.
“And Barb at the bed and breakfast is asleep by now. She sleeps like a rock and there’s no waking her.
I’m bring you home with me. I’ve got a spare room.
Then we’ll get your car towed in the morning and figure everything out then. You’ll be safe there.”
She stares at me for a long second, clearly reluctant. I don’t blame her. She doesn’t know me from Adam, even if half the town would tell her I’m the last person who’d ever hurt a woman. “I… I don’t really have a choice, do I?” she says quietly.
“You always have a choice,” I answer, meeting her eyes. “But this is the safest one right now, and I give you my word you’ll be safe at my place. Just a bed and some food until we can sort the rest out in the morning.”
She hesitates, then asks in a small voice, “What about your wife? Would she mind?”
I hold her gaze, keeping my tone steady. “I’m not married. Haven’t been for a long time. It’s just me out there.”
She looks surprised for a moment, like she wasn’t expecting that answer. She shifts her weight, still hugging herself, clearly trying to decide if she can trust me.
She swallows hard, then nods once, looking down at her hands. “Okay. Thank you, sheriff.”
“Grant.”
She nods and gives me a small smile. “Thank you, Grant. I appreciate all of your help tonight.”
I nod and start the engine then pull back onto the road.
The drive to my place is quiet except for the low hum of the radio.
She doesn’t talk much, and I don’t push her.
Every so often I catch myself glancing over, noticing the way the blanket slips off one shoulder and how soft her body looks in the glow of the dashboard lights.
I have to force my eyes back on the road more times I care to admit.
My house sits right on the lake. It’s a solid two-story place I built about fifteen years ago.
It’s nothing fancy, just a wide wrap around porch, and enough space that it doesn’t feel empty even though it is.
I park in the driveway and cut the engine.
“Come on, sweetheart,” I say, getting out and walking around to open her door. “Let’s get you inside.”
She follows me up the steps and into the house. I flip on the lights in the entryway and lead her toward the spare room at the end of the hall. It’s simple but clean, a queen bed, a dresser, and its own bathroom.
I grab a clean t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants from my dresser on the way and hand them to her. “These’ll be big on you, but they’re soft and they’ll do for tonight. Bathroom’s right through there if you want to change and wash up. Take your time.”
She takes the clothes with another quiet “thank you” and disappears into the bathroom.
I head to my room and change into a tshirt and basketball shorts then go to the kitchen, flipping on the lights and opening the fridge.
I’m not much of a cook, but I’ve got some leftover beef stew from a couple nights ago that’ll be quick and filling.
I pull out the container, dump it into a pot, and set it on the stove to heat up.
While it warms, I grab a loaf of bread and start slicing it to toast.
I’m stirring the stew when I hear the bathroom door open.
A minute later she steps into the kitchen.
The t-shirt is way too big on her, the hem hitting her mid-thigh, and the sweatpants are rolled up at the waist because they’re swimming on her.
But Christ, the way the soft cotton drapes over her full breasts and clings to the curve of her hips and ass makes my mouth go dry.
She looks small in my clothes. Soft. Like she belongs in them. Like she belongs here.
Something hot and possessive slams into me so hard I have to grip the edge of the counter to steady myself.
She’s young, way too damn young. I could be her father, for God’s sake.
She couldn’t be more than twenty-five. I’m fifty-two.
There are about twenty-seven years between us.
The realization should make me back the hell off.
Instead it makes my cock twitch hard against my zipper.
I have no business wanting her this much or looking at her like this, no business feeling my cock harden just because she’s standing in my kitchen wearing my clothes. But I can’t stop staring.
She shifts on her feet, looking uncertain. “Is this okay?”
I have to clear my throat twice before I can answer. “Yeah,” I manage, voice rougher than I mean it to be. “That’s fine.”
I turn back to the stove so she doesn’t see the way my hands are suddenly unsteady, but it’s too late. The image of her in my clothes is already burned into my brain, and the voice in my head that’s supposed to know better is already losing the fight.
She’s too young and she’s in a bad place.
And I’m standing here in my own kitchen trying not to imagine what she’d look like wearing nothing but that shirt and my hands on her hips.
I am so fucked. “Hope you’re okay with beef stew,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.
“It’s nothing fancy, but it’s hot and it’ll fill you up. ”
She gives me a small, tired smile. “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
I nod and turn back to the stove, giving the stew another stir while the toast pops up. I plate everything and set it on the small kitchen table, then grab two glasses of water.
“Sit,” I tell her gently. “Eat while it’s hot.”