by Pratt, Lulu
He towered at something like six-two or six-three, and though he wore cowboy boots, it was clear that the height was all his own, not enhanced by any hidden heel. His tanned skin and deep brown eyes suggested that he might be Latino, but I wasn’t sure. He had the firm set jaw of a man who knew what he wanted, but the soft expression of one who wouldn’t take it by force. His hair was slicked back, as if he’d just dismounted a horse and was still wet from the ride. Traces of stubble shaded his high cheekbones.
And his arms, oh darling, they deserved their own epic poem. I oogled them as he put on his cowboy hat. Firm tattooed biceps, taut forearms… I felt an overwhelming urge to run into them.
Then I remembered that even hot guys can be murderers, kidnappers and ne’er-do-wells.
Hotness is no indicator of moral goodness, I reminded myself, reciting something I’d learn in psych class about humans’ disposition to trust people that were conventionally attractive – an unfortunate, hardwired failing. Sure, he was handsome beyond all reason, but I couldn’t let that distract me. My survival was still on the line.
And besides, a guy this sexy should be in LA or NYC, acting in blockbusters or headlining major modeling campaigns. What the hell was he doing out here? It was just suspicious. I crossed my arms over my chest and planted my feet into the ground.
“Howdy, ladies,” he called out as he slammed the door of his truck, a thick Texas twang curling through his voice.
I wasted no time. “Who the hell are you?”
He grinned.
CHAPTER 4
Carter
LISTEN, MY Gran raised me right. I know that you ain’t supposed to look at a lady too long, because a gentleman averts his eyes.
But I couldn’t rip my gaze away from the girl in front of me. Or, technically, not the girl right in front of me. Rather, she was positioned a few feet behind her blonde friend, leaning up against the side of the wrecked car, looking as skittish as a caged coyote. The blonde was who a man was supposed to want — bombshell, generous, uh, assets, and thick, kissable lips.
The brunette, though… she was magic. A world of wonder in a slim frame. Even in stillness, you could see that she’d be a fantastic dancer, melodic and sweet. Her hair hung down in sheets around her head, and from her heart-shaped face piercing brown eyes shone out beneath dark, thick brows. The eyes, framed with thick brown lashes, bore into me, questioning and prodding.
You’ve sworn off women, I reminded myself. Even ones this beautiful. For the first time in six years, I felt a pang of regret at my vow of celibacy, but then remembered that the vow was for moments like this one. Because I’d been lulled into complacency by a beautiful woman before, and I knew how that worked out — the whole thing went up in flames.
The girl — or rather, woman — looked as though she knew all my secrets, and might well spill them whenever she saw fit. On the edge of my attraction was a cutting alloy of deep-set fear.
“Our car is broken.”
I reluctantly tore my gaze from the brunette and focused on the blonde who’d just addressed me. It didn’t take a hunter to understand that, in this little pack, she was the one who spoke up, who took the lead.
My eyes drifted back to the brunette, who was more my type, and a moment passed. I had to remind myself that her friend’s statement required an answer.
I cleared my throat. “Right, yeah. I heard. I’m from the auto shop in town. I’m here to take a look.”
“But we didn’t call for anyone,” the brunette said, her words slipping in between the gaps of me and the blonde’s conversation. Her voice was low, her tone fierce. She was a flame in a bottle, a wild thing inside a sleek container.
I raced to explain myself, words tripping over themselves. “My boss — Big Bob — was driving by and saw ya’ll had hit this here sign. He got back and asked me to come out and take a look. And that’s about the whole story.”
He also mentioned that you were smokin’ hot, I thought, but it was best to leave that out. Besides, I was sure he’d meant the blonde. Typical ignorant man that he was, he’d probably missed the brunette entirely.
“Why didn’t he stop?” the brunette questioned.
“Because he’s a piece of shit,” I explained. Probably shouldn’t have said as much, but I didn’t feel like lying to her.
The brunette nodded, and I knew I had the go ahead. “Can I take a look at your car?”
“Be our guest,” the blonde replied.
I strode over to the engine, and the girls split away from the car. The brunette’s arm grazed me as she took stepped back, and I felt electricity travel up my arm, a current that zapped my brain the way a dog’s fur can sense the electrical change in the air before a thunderstorm.
Do your job, I instructed myself. If you look too long, you’ll forget yourself.
With that in mind, I tipped back my cowboy hat and leaned over the engine, inspecting its smoldering and compacted remains.
The blonde began to explain. “We’re just on the last leg of our road trip. We were driving from Connecticut to out here, the West Coast, to give my little cousin the car.”
“You’re a long way from home,” I observed, wishing the brunette would pipe up.
“Connecticut isn’t really home,” the blonde continued. “I’m from San Diego and Phoebe’s from New Jersey.”
So the brunette’s Phoebe. I turned the syllables over on my tongue as though they were sacred text.
“Then what are ya’ll doing in Connecticut, if you ain’t from there?” Hardly my business to ask, given my living situation, but I would do anything to draw Phoebe out.
“We go to Bridgeport University,” the blonde explained.
Shit. I mentally kicked myself. So that was what I got for letting my mind wander to a woman for even a moment. Of course, given my luck, she turned out to be young, just a college student. Why do I always let myself hope? God, you really think I would’ve learned better at this point. I was twenty-seven, a grown man with a young son. What the hell was I doing looking at a beautiful thing like Phoebe? You’re a fool, I snarled at myself.
Unaware of my internal monologue of self-hatred, the blonde went on. “We thought it’d be funny to go on this road trip where we stopped in towns that—”
“Jo-Beth,” Phoebe said, cutting off her friend. I raised an eyebrow, curious as to what the blonde — or rather, Jo-Beth — had been about to say that I wasn’t meant to hear.
Phoebe, all business, asked, “So what’s the damage on the car?”
I glanced over the engine once more, then tilted my hat back down and stood up.
“Well, ma’am,” I replied, “several of your spark plugs are shot. Gonna need to replace those. Plus there is an oil leak and your rad hose needs to be replaced.”
Phoebe’s face fell, and I wanted to race over and hug her, hold her close, tell her it’d all be okay. Then I remembered she was too young, and that she was a woman, period, and I held my ground.
“How long is that gonna take?”
I sighed. “Unfortunately, we are fresh out of spark plugs and we don’t have much connection to the outside world. Takes a long while for things to get here. I’d guess… probably three or four days.”
She paled, blood draining from her already pearlescent skin, leaving her with the look of a particularly youthful specter, one who sucks the souls from the bodies of men. The kind of girl who stalks your days and haunts your dreams. Inescapable.
“So then,” she said quietly, “we’re screwed.”
At that, an idea crossed my mind.
CHAPTER 5
Phoebe
FOUR DAYS. Of course. Why would anything just be easy and simple? Four fucking days in Rough and Ready. The gag of going to sexually named towns meant that it was fun to stay there for a night, if possible, maybe two. But four? That was way past the threshold. They say comedy is tragedy plus time, but this was far too much time for my liking.
Jo-Beth and I were all alone, in the middle of a bac
kwoods town. Sorry, not even middle. On the outskirts of a backwoods town. This was definitely, without a doubt, how we got murdered.
Or, I guess we weren’t all alone. Because this hunky cowboy with a slick red truck and a thick accent that didn’t belong to California was facing me, standing tall, hands clasped politely in front of him. He had manners, that much was obvious, but beneath the years of good breeding, I could see a glint of wickedness in his eye. And, despite everything I’d ever learned in my studies — or just from being a woman alive and kicking in this day and age — my heart was drawn to that glint.
Fear and lust were growing in equal parts inside my body, two conflicting hormones firing on all cylinders. Hormones can’t fire on cylinders, but I guess our situation had begun to infect my metaphors. Besides, I was driven to distraction by the tree-trunk nature of his thighs.
In the background, I could hear Jo-Beth groaning and kicking up dust. She was, unfortunately, prone to throwing fits when things didn’t go her way. If pressed, I’d chalk it up to only child syndrome. It was up to me to take the lead on this.
“And where,” I began, leveling my gaze with his, even though I found it hard to meet his simmering eyes, “are we supposed to stay for three or four days?”
“Frankly, we don’t have so much as a motel in Rough and Ready,” he admitted, his voice filled with gravel. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This is just a place that people pass through, not much of a destination.”
He hung his head, averting his gaze from mine, clearly a little ashamed that he couldn’t offer us a better answer. I was glad for the momentary break. I couldn’t look into his eyes for too long without feeling a decided moistening in my panties.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I said immediately. I glanced at Jo-Beth, and said to her, “Maybe we can just sleep in the car for four days.”
With an inexplicable edge of reluctance, he interrupted my musing. “I’m sorry, ma’am—”
“Phoebe,” I corrected him, tired of the formalities.
“Phoebe,” he whispered. Then, louder, “Phoebe, I can’t let you stay in your car in these parts. It just ain’t right.”
“Do you have another… proposition?” I asked.
He clamped his lips tightly together, as if he already regretted the words he was about to speak.
“I’ve got an old Airstream trailer,” he said at last. “It’s big enough for two, if ya’ll don’t mind sharing a bed. You are welcome to sleep there.”
“Oh yeah right,” Jo-Beth cut in, her voice harsh and firm. “Live in the trailer of some stranger for four days, with the nearest police station how far away? It’s gonna be a hard pass, but thanks.”
He merely tipped his cap, the fight gone from his face. “I understand. That said, there are police in the next town over.”
No, I thought suddenly, desperately. You’re not like that, I can feel that you’re not like that. You’re trying to protect us. Prove it to her.
His eyes met mine again, and it was as though our two streams of thought collided, as if he heard my message loud and clear over the airwaves.
With newfound resolve, he faced Jo-Beth once more, and replied, “But if I may… my name’s Carter Conlin, ma’am. I’m a single dad. My son, Henry, he’s a little over six years old, and he’s the cutest thing you ever seen. Rough and Ready ain’t much to look at, I grant you that, but I’m well-respected around these parts. Trusted. Anybody who knows me knows I’d never harm a lady, even if—” He swallowed, and continued, “Even if she harmed me.”
I raised a brow. What, exactly, was that supposed to mean? This random trucker, this stranger, was turning out to be more complex than the cowboy hat and boots had led me to believe.
But, more importantly, I didn’t think he was dangerous. Mysterious, maybe, but not dangerous. A problem to be unraveled. Call me naïve, call me stupid, but Carter Conlin was no murderer. He was just one man trying to do the right thing.
“Deal,” I said, the words springing forth from my throat. “We’ll stay in your trailer.”
A small, satisfied grin formed around his lips, but he restrained himself. Jo-Beth, meanwhile, wasn’t having it.
She grabbed my arm, and hissed, “A word?” before turning her back to Carter and yanking me aside.
“What are you thinking?” she demanded. “I don’t wanna die in Rough and Ready!”
“He’s not like that, Jo-Beth.”
“Why, because he’s hot and you’ve known him for all of two minutes?”
I shook my head. “It’s the psych training. I can just… tell. We’ll be safe.”
“You’re conflating sexy with safe.”
Exasperated, I sighed, “No, I just know that he’s a better bet than sleeping in the back of the car for four days, without a shower or a bed. I’ll take my chances with the stranger. You can stick to the car if you want.”
She thought about this for a moment, lips pinched together. Finally, as I expected, she caved.
“Okay, fine. We stick together. We stay with Sexy McHandsome Pants. But if things start to feel even a little weird, we make for the hills. All right?”
“Agreed.”
With that, we whirled back around to face Carter, who was politely nudging his boot in some dust.
“We’ve talked it over amongst ourselves,” Jo-Beth said with excessive decorum, “and decided that we will, in fact, take you up on your offer.”
Carter smiled again, a roguish little grin that kicked me right in the heart. He looked like someone whose prize cow had just been picked at the state fair. Carter was positively beaming. But now he wouldn’t meet my eyes. God, why are men so difficult?
“Wonderful,” he replied, “I’m glad to hear that. If that’s all settled…”
He moved to our car, popped the trunk and began to take out our backpacks.
“You don’t have to do that,” I insisted. “We can carry our own things.”
“Nah, can’t allow a lady to lift her bags, especially not after she’s been in an accident. It’s my job to make your stay in Rough and Ready as pleasurable as possible.”
With that, Carter plopped the knapsacks in the back of his truck, then moved around to the passenger door and flung it open, waving a hand to the seat to invite us in. He stood to the left of the door, holding it open as if he were our chaperone.
Jo-Beth still looked tepid on this whole proposition, so to keep her anxiety in check, I went first, walking with false confidence to the truck. Once I’d reached the truck, I laid a hand on the passenger door, mere inches from Carter’s. I could feel his pulse as powerfully as if it were my own. But he wouldn’t look at me. He just swallowed deeply.
“Thank you,” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
“Don’t mention it.”
“Wait,” Jo-Beth called out to Carter, interrupting our private tête-à-tête. “What are we supposed to do with the car?”
“Leave it here,” he replied loudly, his mouth close to my ear, his voice ringing through my canals. “Nothing too bad happens in Rough and Ready, ‘specially not to a dinged-up car. Should be fine.”
A wild, unknown force must have possessed me, because without thinking, I volleyed back, “Hopefully something a little bad happens around here.”
That did the trick. His deferring eyes finally shot up to meet mine, and I could see fire, flames, fear. There was an attraction there, I was sure of it, but in the same breath, a fear of that attraction. What would psych class tell me this meant? I mentally paged through countless textbooks, but couldn’t find an answer. Despite all my reading and experience, I was adrift in Carter’s gaze.
“Hop on in,” he murmured.
I didn’t need to be told twice.
I clambered into the seat of his truck, ready for the ride of my life.
CHAPTER 6
Carter
I COULD FEEL the heat of her thigh through my jeans.
In trying not to focus on it, I found that it became all I could th
ink about. Her flesh, her blood, her heat.
Having a vintage truck means that there aren’t two seats separated by a coffee cup console, but rather, one long seat in which you can fit three people, four, if you really feel like getting pulled over. As it was, I had to take out Henry’s booster seat for them to fit. On the bench next to me was Phoebe, her thin frame pressed against mine.
I knew she had slid in first to act as a barrier between me and Jo-Beth, who wasn’t lookin’ all too kindly on me just yet. Even though I knew Phoebe’s reasoning, understood the logic, the proud part of me, the man, insisted that she’d be hankerin’ to sit next to me.
The proximity was lethal. Her smell, which seemed to radiate not from her flesh but from her streaks of buttery brown hair, was like lavender fields, miles and miles of them, tightly coiled into one powerful scent. She smelled of a girl who got up early to tend to her plants then went to bed late after dancing with fairies.
Oh, lord. I was losing my goddamn mind.
You can’t, I reminded myself bitterly. Women were a no-go, especially young ones. If you play with fire, get burned and pick up that same lit match, you’re a fool. I couldn’t let Henry burn with me, not again. And besides, practically speaking, if I made a move on her, I’d prove positive Jo-Beth’s fears — that I was just a predator, luring young women into the confines of my tiny trailer, only to romance them with my smooth country ways. No, I wouldn’t allow anyone to think I was that variety of man.
But being so close to Phoebe, I couldn’t help but feel the thing between us, those stupid little sparks. Damn sparks.
I went to move the stick shift, hoping to speed up and away from my problems. Instead, my hand brushed against Phoebe’s thigh.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“No worries.”
I gulped, trying to refocus my eyes on the road. Couldn’t let us get into an accident. Then we’d all three be stranded on the road.