“I promise. I’ve got it.”
“Need help setting it up?”
He’s still standing about four feet from the car. I appreciate the space but it’s not enough to tempt me to exit.
“Oh, no. I’m sure you have other things you need to get to.”
Another aggrieved meow practically echoes into the treetops, it’s so loud.
His eyes narrow on the back seat, then shift to me again. “I don’t.”
I want to deal with this man I don’t know on the side of a road in what is apparently a no-stopping zone like I want to have extensive dental work done, and yet, I’ll admit some help would be nice.
“You sure?” I roll up my window and open the door. “Because I can handle it if you’ve got other sheriff-y business to attend to.” His truck says Peak County Sheriff, so I’ve taken the clue.
“Certain.”
His eyes skate over me as I stand, still tucked slightly behind my driver’s side door, and I meet his gaze for the first time.
Whoa.
This guy is… unreal.
He’s got to be well over six feet with dark hair and a jawline that would make a model jealous. And the rest… Well, I can’t see his eyes thanks to that cowboy hat situation.
Wait, I left Hollywood, right? My LA exit was long awaited, but I’m standing here witnessing a man who looks more like a movie version of a hot cop than a person who would actuallybea small-town law enforcement officer.
Sheriff.
Whatever.
“Okay, well, thank you so much. Iappreciate it.” I offer a smile and try not to think about how bedraggled I am. I didn’t shower at the gross motel we stayed in last night. I’d hoped to make the drive in one long day, but Mr. Bingley had some tummy issues and I decided we needed to break when we reached Southern Utah. I haven’t done a proper yoga routine in days, and I haven’t spent any quality time outside. Sunshine? What’s that? I must look like a reanimated corpse right now.
The sheriff hooks a thumb into his belt. He’s got a side holster likely carrying a weapon and a few different pouches, but he doesn’t seem as hulked out with accessories as the LAPD often did.
And thank goodness we’re not in LA anymore.
“Are you heading to Juniper View for lodging or continuing on?”
My hackles rise a touch because I’m not in the habit of telling random men where I plan to stay. I move toward the trunk and hope he doesn’t follow too close. “I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable sharing that information.”
If he’s surprised, he covers it well. “I’m concerned that if you put a temporary spare on your vehicle, it’s not going to make it much farther. There isn’t anything else around unless you turn and head back to Silverton. Past us is a bit of sprawl and then you’ve got to keep going until you hit Wyoming. Doesn’t sit well with me, thinking you might blow the spare on your way through parts unknown overnight. We’re a Dark Sky community and nighttime isn’t easy once you get out of town. So I’m asking the question.”
His tone starts reasonable and explanatory, even compassionate, but there’s an edge at the end that sends my pulse rising. It’s suspicion, maybe even an accusation couched in this do-gooder persona, I sense. I couldabsolutely be reading him wrong, but I’m also not from here. I don’t know him and vice versa.
“Right. Yeah. Well, I promise I’m not driving to Wyoming.” He doesn’t need to know my final destination is in fact Juniper View and I’m aiming for the little motel a few miles outside it, opposite from where we are now based on the GPS. I don’t know what a Dark Sky anything is, but I get the gist—nighttime is dark around here.Got it, bud.
My hands shake a touch because it’s clicking now how dangerous this is—being out here with one giant of a man and no one else for miles. The road skirts the rise of the mountain on one side, and on the other is forest.
It’s quiet.
Remote.
And probably perfect for hiding a body.
I fumble the wrench, and a few little wedges fall onto the ground. “Sorry. I’m—you really don’t have to help.”
“I’ll set these up, unless you’d rather I get the tire?”
