“Oh. Well, best out, then.” She agreed. She reached into her bag, pulling out a sack of apples. She chose one, then offered me the bag. Unable to resist, I accepted one and bit into the crisp, sweet flesh.
Monica, it turned out, was going to a town just before Lomand. She spent the first hour of the trip telling me about the area and all her grandkids. It was a good distraction, and I appreciated it. She gave me her number, insisted on taking mine, and told me to come and visit, then advised me if my new job didn’t work out to come to her and she would make sure I was looked after. I sputtered out my thanks, but she waved me off.
“You remind me of my Julie. She’s a ginger, too. Takes after my own father with that coloring and all those freckles. I’d like to think if she were in trouble, someone would help her. Just passing it on.”
She hugged me before she got off the bus. “I’ll be checking on you, child.”
“I look forward to it.”
When we arrived in Lomand, the bus driver told me he was doing the same route the next day and instructed me to be at the same corner tomorrow and he’d take me on to Littleburn. I thanked him, marveling at the kindness I’d experienced so far today. It made me feel better than I had in a long time.
I found a small motel I’d seen online the night before. The rooms were cheap and the place was deserted, so they let me in right away. I shut the door, sank onto the bed, and was asleep in five minutes, exhausted from the past few days of stress.
I woke up confused, hungry, and thirsty, shocked to see I had slept for almost six hours. I grabbed my stuff and had a shower, then changed into fresh clothes. I brushed out my hair, feeling the positive effects of the long nap and the easing of the stress being in that apartment had caused me. I felt more like myself, not a scared girl. Briefly, I wondered if Terry had realized yet I was gone or was lying in wait for me.
Satisfied, I headed out, stopping at the office to ask about a place to eat. The woman pointed to the left, telling me there was a restaurant and bar about two blocks down. I walked that way, stopping to peek into a few windows. There were some nice little shops in town, and once I had some money, I would come back and look around.
I found the restaurant, the neon sign, Zeke’s Bar and Grill, hanging over the sidewalk, the arrow pointing to the door. I hesitated before entering. I hated going into bars or restaurants on my own, but I was starving and needed to eat. Summoning my courage, I opened the door and stepped inside. The place was bustling, and the smell of the grill hit me, the air heavy with the scent of meat cooking. My mouth watered, and I looked around for a place to sit. The tables were all occupied, but I spotted an empty stool at the end of the bar and headed that way. A woman was busy wiping down the counter, and I plucked a small menu from the holder in front of me. When she came over, offering me a friendly greeting, I ordered a cheeseburger and fries, and a glass of red wine, deciding I could treat myself tonight. I also asked for a glass of water, and I sipped the icy cold liquid as I looked around the place. It was obviously a gathering place for locals, the people in the crowd greeting one another, conversations happening between tables. The walls were thick planks of wood, scarred and worn, with a lot of posters and farm implements hung on them. The floor was buffed to a high gloss, but you could see the years of wear. Simple tables, sturdy chairs, and a well-stocked bar spoke of a place you could sit, have a meal, a drink, and relax. I noticed a few looks I was getting, but they didn’t make me uncomfortable. I was a new face in a sea of familiarity. I met a couple of gazes, then took out my phone and started a game of FreeCell. My dad had got me addicted to it years ago, and I still loved playing it. It would keep me busy until dinner came. I was grateful at that moment that my cell phone number had never been listed on the lease. At least Terry had no way of getting ahold of me. I was safe.
The hum of the bar and the music playing was a great background as I ate my dinner and sipped my wine. I wasn’t in a hurry and took my time. People around me came and went, dinner morphing into drinks and relaxation, the music becoming louder as time went on. I stayed in the corner, watching and enjoying the atmosphere. I chatted with the woman tending bar who introduced herself as Vanessa. I told her my name, but it seemed all she caught was Lynn, and I let it go. She assured me this last seat was rarely taken and I could stay as long as I wanted. I ordered another glass of wine and slipped off the stool to go use the washroom. Vanessa assured me she would keep my drink behind the bar until I returned. Rounding the bar, I collided with what felt like a wall, but as I lifted my hands to steady myself, I realized what I was touching was a taut, firm chest. I raised my eyes, meeting the amused gaze of an incredibly fine specimen of a man. Tall, broad, with eyes so dark they were almost black, he looked startled, then frowned and stepped back. “Sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
I shook my head. “My bad,” I managed to utter before I hurried to the washroom, suddenly feeling overheated. I glanced over my shoulder, our eyes meeting again. He was massive, towering over the crowd, easy to spot. He was dressed in a black T-shirt that hugged his torso and showed off his arms, and his gaze was intense. His jeans hugged his thick thighs, and his large feet were encased in black shitkickers. I loved a man who wore heavy boots. It suggested strength. Durability.
I fanned myself as I closed the door behind me. “Wow,” I muttered. He certainly stood out in a crowd. You couldn’t help but look at him. I barely came up to his chest, and I was average height. He was at least six foot five.
I finished, washed my hands, fluffed my hair, and went back to the bar, sliding up onto my stool. I took a sip of wine and lifted my gaze, my eyes instantly falling on the stranger now sitting at the other end of the bar. Seated, he seemed even bigger. He called over to Vanessa, who waved and told him to keep his shirt on, referring to him as Reynolds. It was an odd name, but it suited him. As she brought him a large glass of beer, the foam dripping over the edge, and stood talking to him, I took the chance to study him. He was in his late thirties, I judged, his dark hair short on the sides, longer on top, shot with silver. His tightly trimmed beard had the same silver in it, but more of it. He was rugged, rough, and extremely sexy—masculine. There was something about him that suggested controlled power. It was in the way he moved, the tilt of his head. His rigid posture as he sat at the bar. The stern expression on his face. The way his gaze swept the room. I watched, fascinated, as he wrapped his huge hand around the glass and lifted it to his full lips, taking a long sip. Idly, I wondered what his touch would be like. Rough and demanding? Soft and teasing? Both? I swallowed heavily at the thought of him touching me. I wondered how it would feel to have his full mouth brush against my skin. How those hands would feel wrapped around my hips as he rocked into me. I gripped my thigh at the tremor of pure lust that ran through me with the mere thought, shocked at the intense sensation simply staring at this man caused me. I blinked and refocused my gaze.
That was when I realized he was now staring back at me—watching him. I didn’t think it was possible, but his frown deepened, his eyebrows pulling down in a glare. Flushing, I grabbed my phone and opened a book on my Kindle app, embarrassed at being caught.
MAXX
I smirked into my beer when, across the bar, I met the frank gaze of the pretty girl I had bumped into a few moments ago. She dropped her eyes fast, but not before I saw the flare of heat, directed at me. I glared at her, wondering why she’d be checking me out. I was by far the oldest guy in the place. She picked up her phone, giving me the opportunity to look back at her. She was unusual and striking. Deep copper hair fell in long waves down her back. I recalled the unusual color of her eyes—a soft green, muted and gentle. They had been startled when she’d walked into me, lifting in apology. The sight of her pretty face, a liberal dusting of freckles scattered over her cheeks and a faint blush diffusing her skin, caught me off guard. The warmth of her hands resting on my chest before she snatched them away felt odd, but good. She was unexpected.