I stopped, and the tension ended his movement as well. “What? You think I’m crazy?”
He shrugged but had a smile on his face. “I’m just saying, are you positive they didn’t have a bunch of puppies in a van?” He cocked his head to the side, and his smile deepened.
I scowled. “No!” Even if they did, I was a cat person.
Cyrus laughed. “Too soon?”
I wanted to stay angry, but I couldn’t when he looked at me that way. “Much,” I said around a laugh. “I got into medicine to help people. No one can take that from me.” Not even assholes from Chicago.
His lips pressed together with an indescribable expression. “I admire that about you.”
Okay. Weird. I considered asking for more details. To take his answer and pick it apart word by word to figure out what he meant, but Cyrus continued toward the shop’s door.
CHAPTER 10
CYRUS
Ididn’t mean to drag Imogen in behind me, but it became imperative to get her away from all the truckers. Who knew how long before another fight broke out? The woman had a savior complex and I couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t run at it and get herself hurt in the process. I’d only half been joking about my comment with the puppies.
Even though I was clearly leading the way, she kept pace with me. I pushed through the truck stop doors and passed a souped-up convenient station. They had candy, chips, sandwiches, and even a few racks of clothing. Everything you might need for a long drive.
Attached to that was a restaurant on the far side of the building with a large open arch, letting us gain entry. I tapped the top of an empty booth, hoping Imogen would take a cue and sit down, but she continued to follow right behind me as I approached the main food counter.
“Do you have any messages for Cyrus Kensington?” I asked the woman who stood behind a long bar where men with trucker hats ate sandwiches and huge helpings of French fries.
The woman looked at me for a moment with her arms over her chest, as if she wasn’t sure she should answer. “You’re Cyrus?”
My senses were already on high alert, but her lackluster greeting had them heightening. “Yes. Why?”
The woman shrugged and dropped her hands. “I expected someone else… A mullet,” she mumbled under her breath.
The woman definitely did not look old enough to be making a Billy Ray Cyrus joke, and I didn’t have the energy to quibble back when it was possible she held so of much my future at stake. “Messages?”
She nodded, as if remembering why I asked in the first place. “Right. Your friend said to stay here, and he prepaid an eight-thousand-dollar tab. I’m not sure what you plan to do with thousands in this joint, but we run a clean establishment. No drugs,” she said, staring right into my eyes and looking like an angry mother, even though there was no way she was old enough to have children.
“Of course not,” Imogen promised, pushing past me and putting herself into the conversation. “Can we use this money on food?”
I’d order Imogen every item on the menu. And then double dessert.
The woman of no discriminant age nodded from her place behind the counter. “Yes, and anything from the shop. We’re on the same account book.”
What the woman said shocked Imogen so much she side stepped, hitting me with her body. “Showers?”
Her question sounded so hopeful that if the woman replied no, I’d have purchased the entire shower facility so she could take as many as she wanted.
Imogen leaned over the counter, getting as close to the woman as possible before she took a step back. Her smile was bright, and it looked as if her body almost shook with anticipation. I loved to see her happy, even if it was over something as simple as a shower.
The woman who helped us didn’t seem as enthralled by Imogen’s response. In fact, she might have found her a little crazy. She took another step back, putting at least a few feet between them as if she expected Imogen to jump across the counter and shake her if she said no.
Actually, it wasn’t a horrible idea to put a little space between us.
“Yes, but there are two shower facilities. Separate showers,” she said, looking at me.
Why did everyone look to me as if I was the bad guy in the situation? Did someone write on my forehead?
I didn’t have time to ask because Imogen turned around with newly found energy and this time she clasped my hand, dragging us toward the shop where all the miscellaneous items were for sale.
I worried we’d to plow right through the place and end up to the other doors, but she stopped next to one of the large circular racks of random clothing. “Can we use your money to buy fresh clothes?”
