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 readDanger: Moose Crossingon 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 ofThe Munsters. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it.”
“You’ve never seenThe Munsters?” I asked in disbelief.
“Isn’t that a show from the ’60s? And it’s in black and white?”
