Worry over the snow packed roads. I’ve seen too many car accident traumas roll into the ER lately.
Worry over my career and what the hell I’m going to do—where I’m going to land.
Hilariously—albeit a dark kind of hilarious—I feel next to no concern over the thought of leaving Rob for good. I’ve strung that out for a long time. I’ve thought about it, looked at it from every angle.
Only a stupid person would stay married to Rob with nothing tying them to him.
And I’m a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.
I sigh a deep, heavy sigh and watch my breath puff out from between my lips into a smoky little cloud, more obvious under the neon lights that flood down over the gas bays. The tips of my fingers go from tingling to downright numb in a matter of seconds, where they’re wrapped around the red plastic handle. I bounce on the spot and look up when I hear a bell jangle at the door of the gas station.
The man who walks out through the glass door is all swagger and broad shoulders. Dark hair, darker eyes, lashes that make the blonde girl in me a little irritated. He’s smirking down at the lotto ticket in his hand, like he thinks he’s going to win.
I could tell him he’s not going to win. That it’s a waste of money. But I get the distinct impression that this is the type of man who doesn’t care.
He’s got unlaced boots, jeans stacked around the tops. A couple of long silver chains adorn his chest, disappearing under a plaid button-down that is open just a little too far, a heavy knit cardigan slung carelessly over the top.
He’s sexy without even trying. He doesn’t even seem cold. I bet he rolls out of bed after sleeping in yesterday’s socks and just shoves them back in those worn leather boots.
I’ve stared at him so long, so thoroughly, that the gas pump makes a loud clanking noise as it bumps back into my palm, signaling the tank is full.
The noise of it draws his attention my way, and he turns the full force of his good looks on me. The square jaw dusted with the perfect amount of stubble, topped off with lips that are just wasted on a man. The way this man looks? It’s absurd.
I drop my head quickly, fumbling with the pump to get it latched back in his holder. My tongue swipes at my lips.
I get the distinct sense that the man is watching me, but I don’t glance up to see. There’s a flutter in my chest and a heat in my cheeks, one I haven’t felt for a very, very long time.
Because I was actually happily married. And now I’m . . . not.
I think.
And this is the first man I’ve really let myself look at inappropriately. A man who can’t bother to tie his shoes and plays the lotto.
“Ugh,” I groan at myself as I approach my door, suddenly a lot less cold than I was before I saw him.
But as I’m about to slide into my seat, I look back over my shoulder at the man.
The one standing at his silver truck.
The one who’s still looking at me with a knowing smirk on his face.
The one who runs a hand through his perfectly tousled hair and winks at me.
I’m in my car and out onto the dark road like a shot, getting away as quickly as possible.
Becausethe very last thing I need in my head is a man like that.
Chapter 2 - Theo
The blonde woman stared at me like I was some sort of alien. I actually had to stop and stare back because she was so fucking blatant.
I was ready to crack a joke about how objectified I felt by the way she was looking at me. But then she licked her lips once, blinked, and shot off.
And it’s a shame because I wasn’t feeling objectified at all. Or maybe I like being objectified. Because if she had looked me in the eye, all bets would have been off. I could have given her something to stare at.
As I swing up into my truck, I chuckle to myself. I know the stunning blonde in the fancy Audi will cross my mind from time to time. Because there was something unusually wholesome about that interaction, like she was a teenager caught gawking and got embarrassed about it. I’d feel bad for her if I didn’t feel so bad for myself that she ran off before I could get her number.
I hit the darkened road heading out to Wishing Well Ranch. I’ve come out here enough times over the years that I know where I’m going, whether it’s dark or not. My mentor, Rhett Eaton, lives out here and with my mom and sister living down in the U.S. his family has become a little like my own over the holidays.
I’d usually head to Mom’s place for Christmas, but she and my stepdad took a cruise and my little sister went with them.
Put me on an angry bull? I’m fine.
Put me on a big boat with no land anywhere in sight? Hard pass. I saw an Oprah episode about people who go missing on those, and I’m too young and pretty to die.
Within a few minutes, there are red taillights ahead of me and I’m gaining on them quickly. Really quickly.
“Come onnnn,” I groan into the quiet cab of my truck as I tip my head back.
Yeah, it’s snowing, but the roads are hard-packed and not icy. I finally catch up to the car and realize just how slow they’re going. Thirty kilometers an hour. In a fifty. And this isn’t even a school zone.
It’s when I get close enough that I realize it’s the smoke show in the Audi. I should have guessed. The heeled boots and the long coat didn’t scream country girl.
And neither does the way she drives a back road.
The signal light flicks left. The vehicle slows and then speeds up.
The signal light flashes right, and the car swerves a little.
Maybe she’s lost? Or drunk? I sometimes zone out like she did staring at me when I’ve had a few too many.
Then I get close enough to see the light of her cell phone through the back window.
Perfect. Texting and driving. This chick is gonna kill herself. Or possibly me.
Maybe if we shared a hospital room, I could get her number after all. Might be worth it.
When she slams the brakes unexpectedly, I startle and honk.
“Seriously!” I shout, feeling my heart rate ratchet up. I don’t care how hot she is. She’s a fucking terrible driver.
She shoots forward but slows again. I back off, not wanting to be too close to someone this erratic.
But dammit, I end up thinking of my mom or my sister lost on a back road. I go back to her being lost instead of driving like an asshole on purpose. A quick glance at my phone in its holster tells me reception is officially gone on this stretch, so she can’t possibly be texting anyone.
I flash my high beams, thinking maybe if she pulls over I can help.
I immediately feel like a serial killer.
No woman in her right mind is pulling over on a dark road to talk to a strange man who flashed his high beams at her.
So, I settle in, crank my Chris Stapleton, and let my eyes wander out over the snow-covered fields. All crisp and white, reflecting the light of the moon, they make it feel not so dark anymore. Before long, I’m approaching the turnoff into Wishing Well Ranch, which means I can finally bid my terrible driving temptress farewell.
Except she signals. And turns into Wishing Well Ranch.
She’s definitely going to think I’m stalking her. And if were both heading to the same place, she’s probably someone I know in a roundabout way.
Once the lit house comes into view, her car accelerates right to the front porch. She hits the brakes and flies out of her car, slamming the door and storming in my direction before I can even get out of my truck.