After strapping herself into her truck, she headed down the drive and through town, her mind spinning with excitement, her skin tingling with nerves. She’d definitely get gas—she was down to a quarter tank. One of her tires needed air too. But also, she’d have to go inside and purchase something so she could get a good view of the cashier.
That would give her a chance to stock up on M&M’s. She’d gone through a month’s supply the past couple of weeks, stress eating because of the tension in the house. Thankfully her jobs at the ranch and the Trailhead helped her burn off the excess calories.
Of course, the person at the register could turn out to be a woman or a man too young to be her dad. If that was the case, she would deflate like a week-old party balloon.
But if the man was potentially her father...
What?Should she strike up a conversation? Ask about the area or mention she lived in Riverbend and see if he mentioned his sons? Yes, that’s what she would do.
A plan in place, she relaxed her grip on the wheel as she drove through town and out the other side, taking the winding road along the river. What would her father look like now? It was hard to tell what he used to look like from that photo in the folder. Charlotte had likely gotten her red hair and green eyes from her mom, but maybe she’d inherited her dad’s widow’s peak or petite frame.
The man appeared to have Gavin’s beautiful dark hair, but did he have Gavin’s blue eyes or Cooper’s deep-set brown eyes? The man in the photo would’ve undoubtedly changed a lot in the past twenty-seven years. But surely if she saw her own father, she would recognize him. She refused to believe she could stand in front of the man who’d provided half of her genetics and not even know it.
A while later she passed through the town of Marshall. She was six miles from Weaverville when the loud thumping began, followed by the unmistakable vibration of a flat tire.
***
Gunner cut across his rental’s lawn, bare feet swishing through the long grass. The back of the property ended at the bank of a creek that offered a perfect swimming hole after a hot day’s work. He much preferred it to the shower’s drizzle of lukewarm water.
He rubbed the small towel over his face, draped it around his neck, then took the small stoop and entered through the frontand only door of the cabin. After getting into some dry clothes, he heated a large can of soup on the hot plate. Really needed to get to the grocery.
He was almost finished with supper when his phone vibrated on the table. It was a wonder he even had service out here. He checked the screen. Charlotte.
She’d never called him after work hours. Hopefully something wasn’t wrong with one of the horses. He pushed back his bowl and answered the phone, noting his battery life was down to 5percent even though he’d hardly used it today.
“Hi.” The word released on a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you for picking up. I didn’t know who else to call. My sister isn’t answering and my best friend can’t leave her bed-ridden grandma.”
He rose to his feet at the note of panic in her tone. “What is it? You okay?”
“I’m fine, I just—I’m really sorry to bother you like this. I was driving to Weaverville and my tire blew out in the middle of nowhere. It was underinflated and I think I hit a gator back a ways.”
“Gator?”
“A piece of rubber in the— Never mind, it’s a CB thing. I have a lug wrench, a jack, and a spare, but these blasted lug nuts are on so tight I can’t even budge them.”
He grabbed his keys and headed out the door toward an old shed that had some building supplies. “Ping me with your exact location. How far away are you?”
“About twenty minutes. I’m really sorry about this, Gunner.”
“No worries. Are you safe, off the side of the road?”
“As far off as I could get, and I turned my hazards on.”
“Good. Get in the car and lock the doors. I’ll be there soon.”
“Thanks.”
He ended the call and pulled the string that illuminated the shed’s single bulb. He’d been poking around in here last week and seen—yes, there it was. He grabbed the metal pipe and stowed it on his bike before he put on his helmet and took off.
He didn’t like the thought of Charlotte sitting alone on the side of the road. Sure, she was a strong, independent woman and this community seemed safe. But idiots were out there, some of them just plain mean—he came across them on the road from time to time.
One guy in Tennessee had slashed Gunner’s tires just for making small talk with his girlfriend at a roadhouse. It wasn’t like he was hitting on her or something. They were just talking motorcycles.
Gunner drove over the speed limit, frequently checking the map from the phone mount he’d rigged up. Hoped he had enough battery life to get him there. What was in Weaverville anyway, if that’s where she’d been heading? A boyfriend? But no, she would’ve called him to help if that were the case.
It made Gunner a little heady that she’d turned to him. It displayed a certain amount of trust. Of course, it sounded like he’d been a last resort. But she’d also said she hadn’t wanted to bother him on his evening off. Charlotte was never a bother.
The thought gave him pause, raised a red flag. But it was true nonetheless. He never wanted her to hesitate to call if she got in a bind, much less in a situation like this one that could end in trouble. He pushed the thoughts aside and, tightening his grip, gave the bike more throttle.
