by Morgan James
He flicked a glance my way before returning his eyes to the road. “Well, you have two choices. You can either sleep in one of the cells at the jail tonight...”
My eyes widened and I shrank back a bit more until the cold glass from the window bit into my neck.
“...or you can stay the night at my place.”
Oh, God. Neither option sounded good. Go home with this man or be stuck inside a box of a cell. Just the thought made my heart kick up in my chest, and my hand fluttered to my throat. The edges of my vision began to bleed to black, and a weight pressed on my lungs, constricting them as memories of that closet came back. The darkness pressed inward, and I could practically feel the walls closing in.
The car slowed to a stop, and I forced myself to drag in a breath. I realized my free hand was pressed to the dash of the car, as if to push it away, to keep it from crushing me. My eyes snapped up to find a pair of hazel ones watching me intently. Despite myself, I couldn’t tear my gaze away. A full minute passed before he spoke, his voice low and even as he studied me. “Which way?”
I gazed out the windshield and realized we’d come to an intersection, the reflective lines of the stop sign glowing in the headlights. I quickly glanced around for other cars to see if we were holding up traffic. The road remained empty and dark, and I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or bad. I turned back to the man. No one was around to save me now. I should go to the jail. I should spend the night, then leave first thing in the morning and drive as far from here as possible. But the idea of sleeping in that cell, little more than a box...
My gaze reluctantly moved back to his. “How can I be sure you won’t hurt me?”
His eyes looked more brown than green as he tipped his head slightly to one side. “You can’t. You’ll just have to trust me.”
Trust him? I wanted to scoff at his words. Didn’t he know how hard this was? He had to be feeling the same thing. He’d picked up a strange woman off the side of the road.
My hand pressed flat on my chest over my heart, and I prayed I was making the right choice. “Your place.”
Deep-set hazel eyes bored into mine, searching, validating. They appeared even darker now, illuminated by only the lights on the dash, but I knew the exact mixture of brown and green and gray. They’d arrested me in the club when he’d set me down and turned me around to make sure I was okay. Something had passed between us in that moment, as if a spark had coursed through his body into mine.
Despite my naivete and the fact that he’d spoken few words, I felt deep down that he was inherently good. I couldn’t begin to describe why. It wasn’t just that he’d pulled me out of harm’s way at the club. Not even the fact that he was doing... whatever this was. Refusing to let me sleep in my car, helping me. He was too big, his voice too deep and rough. I shouldn’t trust him, and yet... I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.
Whatever he saw in my gaze must have been enough. With a concise nod, he flipped on his blinker and turned left, away from the sign pointing toward Pine Ridge. Less than ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of a small ranch house, and he pressed a button to raise the garage door.
I glanced out the window, drinking in the sight. Even in the near-dark, the home looked clean and well-maintained. A small porch jutted off the front, and a layer of snow covered the roof, making it look like a Kinkade painting. As the garage door lifted, the headlights reflected off another vehicle inside.
“Is that yours?”
Donahue followed my gaze to the red truck as it was revealed to me. He nodded. “My personal vehicle. Not that I drive it much,” he murmured with a trace of humor.
Sheriff Donahue pulled into the garage and parked in the bay to the left of the truck. I cautiously opened my door in the narrow space and squeezed out. By the time I closed the door again, the sheriff had already collected my things from the back seat.
“Follow me.” He tapped a button on the wall to close the garage door, and the motor whirred quietly to life.
I followed several feet behind Donahue as he made his way through a small mud room. He paused just long enough to shrug out of his coat and hang it on a peg, then toe out of his boots, leaving them in a tray to dry.
“Do you want me to leave my shoes here?”
He turned at the sound of my voice and gave a slight shake of his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
A second door opened into a hallway, and he turned to the right, guiding us out into the main living area. The living room sat on my left, a small but relatively tidy kitchen to my right. Blankets and books and magazines cluttered the space, making it feel lived-in without looking dirty. I felt a little tension lift from my shoulders. The house was small but cozy, and the slight disorder made him seem more human.
He dropped my bags on the couch and tipped his head at me. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He headed back down the hallway that connected the living area to what I assumed was his bedroom at the very end. Through the doorway, I could see him hastily snatching clothes up off the floor. Carrying them into the hallway, he opened a tiny door in the wall. My brows drew together as I watched him shove them inside. I had no idea where the little door went, but I guessed that was one way to clean. Despite myself, I felt my mouth turn up in a tiny smile. I didn’t know this man from Adam, and I’d only seen the sheriff side of him. Even for a brief moment, it was reassuring to know that he was a normal man, hiding his clothes behind a tiny wall in the door.
I heard more movement as he disappeared from sight, and less than two minutes later, he came back down the hall toward me. Part of me was ready to turn tail and flee out the door. He stopped several feet away and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You can take my room. I’ll crash on the couch tonight.”
What kind of man offered a perfect stranger their room? Flattered and humbled, I shook my head. “I can’t do that. I’ll take the couch.”
He was already doing too much. I couldn’t let him give up the comfort of his bed for me. I’d braved the freezing cold while I slept in my car last night, so anything with four walls and heat was better than that.
“My room is clean. Mostly,” he amended with a small grimace. “And it has a lock. You’ll be safe in there.”
My gaze narrowed at him. Was I that obvious? I had some serious work to do if I was giving off a naïve damsel in distress vibe. Pulling my shoulders back, I stared him down. “Right. Because a lock never stopped anyone.”
“It’ll stop me.”
His calm words sent a shock through me. I glanced away, unable to look into his eyes any longer. He saw too much, knew too much about the part of me I’d tried to keep hidden. I was free of my uncle, free of the life I’d been born into. I’d finally escaped, and I refused to be a victim.
“You don’t even know me,” I pressed. “What if I try to kill you in the middle of the night?”
Our gazes remained locked, and I swore I could see a hint of a smile deep in the hazel depths. “If you get the drop on me, I would say I deserved it.”
We stared at each other for another long moment, a contest of wills. This man had offered me his home, his very own bed to sleep in. I had to believe deep down that he was a decent person. Not every man was like those in my family. The sheriff was dangerous, but he wouldn’t hurt me.
“Fine.”
“Okay.”
Neither of us moved. Silence pressed in on us until he finally spoke. “Bathroom is the second door on the right. I’m going to get a shower, then it’s all yours.”
“Thanks.”
He stared at me. “Since you’ll be staying in my house... do I at least get to know your name?”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment and the realization that he was just now asking. Who did that? What kind of man invited a stranger into his home without even knowing the person’s name? I met his gaze, unable to read anything in those captivating eyes. Was this some kind of a test, some exercise in trust?
He didn�
��t say a word; he just watched, waited. I licked my lips before responding. “Jules.”
With a tight nod, he turned away. The door closed behind him, and seconds later, I heard the water turn on. There was a change in the tempo of the drumming water, and I imagined him stepping under the spray. Releasing a sigh, I made my way down the hall on quiet feet to his room. His scent hit me even before I crossed the threshold, a mixture of something woodsy and utterly masculine. My curiosity was piqued as I looked around the small room. He didn’t have many personal items aside from a few pictures on the dresser. I ventured closer and saw him with another man, both holding long rifles at their sides.
The sight sent a little thrill through me. Every man I knew carried a pistol—more than one, usually—and knives. The wicked-looking rifle at his side made him look that much more dangerous. I studied the lines of his face that stared back at me from the photograph. He wasn’t a pretty man. His forehead was a little too broad, his features a little too coarse. The bridge of his nose listed slightly to one side as if it’d broken—maybe more than once. Wide mouth, thick lips that would be firm and—
I blinked at my thoughts. My uncle had made sure I was never alone with a man, and I’d never even been kissed. My only knowledge of sex and intimacy came from novels and the occasional cousin who’d let their escapades slip in front of me. My gaze slid down his form to the broad shoulders encased in a tight black tee shirt, his biceps straining the material. I could almost imagine the ridges of his abs where they met his narrow hips. He was rough and rugged, his mouth pressed into a firm line even in the photo. I wondered if he ever relaxed, ever smiled. I seriously doubted it.
Turning away, I examined the rest of the room. The walls were stark white, the floors covered in a light gray carpet. The only color in the room came from the thick blue bedspread tossed over the queen-sized bed. I set my bags at the foot of the bed and pulled out a clean pair of yoga pants and a fresh long-sleeved shirt. Soon I’d need to find a place to do my laundry. I wondered if the sheriff could direct me to someplace tomorrow.
As if my musings conjured his presence, I heard the bathroom door open. I spun around, surprised. He’d only been in there for a few minutes, and I hadn’t even heard the water shut off. He must’ve taken a shower in record time.
He flicked a glance at me through the open doorway of the bedroom. “All yours.”
Biting my lip, I nodded. Without another word, he padded quietly down the hall into the living room. I waited a few more seconds before grabbing up my clothes and dashing into the bathroom. I locked the door and glanced around. My eyes lit on a tube of lotion that sat on the counter, and I picked it up, testing the weight in my hand. It was about three-quarters full, and I hoped it would at least retain its shape a little bit. I bent and wedged the flat end under the door until it refused it go any further, impeded by the rounded cap sticking out on my end. I unlocked the door and gave a little test pull. It moved only a fraction of an inch, then stilled. Good enough. It wouldn’t stop someone determined to get in, but hopefully it would hold up long enough to alert me to someone’s presence. I didn’t really think that the sheriff would try to attack me in the bathroom, but still... better safe than sorry.
Stripping down, I took the fastest shower in history. Though I wanted to linger under the heat of the spray and let it soothe my tired, sore muscles, I forced myself to finish quickly. Peeking around the curtain, I grabbed a fresh, folded towel that he’d left on the vanity. Quickly as I could, I toweled off and dressed. I hung the towel on a hook to dry, then removed the bottle of lotion from beneath the door and replaced it on the vanity. Gathering my clothes, I unlocked the door and peeked out.
The living room was almost completely dark, but light from the bedroom spilled into the hallway, guiding me back to the room. I hustled inside and locked up behind me, storing my dirty clothes in a plastic shopping bag. Exhausted, I crawled onto the bed and curled up on my side, not caring that the lamp on the nightstand was still blazing brightly.
I couldn’t bring myself to sleep on his sheets, so I shimmied to one side of the bed and pulled the comforter over me like a sleeping bag. For the first time in days I felt—if not entirely safe—comfortable. I was clean and in a real bed, and I appreciated it more than I could say. Finally giving in to the fatigue tugging at my brain, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 6
Eric
The smell of coffee permeated the air, and I breathed deeply, anticipating the first hit of the caffeine. I hadn’t slept for shit last night, hyperaware of the young woman barely thirty feet away. I hadn’t truly been worried for my safety—at least, I wasn’t afraid that she would try to hurt me. I was concerned, however, about why she was here and what she was running from.
The hairs on the back of my neck lifted, and I was aware of her presence before I heard her soft footsteps draw closer to the kitchen. Adopting a casual pose, I turned my head just enough to see her from the corner of my eye. She’d frozen in the hallway, as if she wasn’t sure whether to flee back to the bedroom or out the front door.
“Would you like some coffee?”
She waited a beat, then: “Yes, please.”
I turned and leaned against the cabinets, my hands curled around the edge of the Formica countertop as I met her gaze. Now that it was daylight, the bruising on her temple stood out against her complexion. I’d seen it last night but hadn’t wanted to press her. Was that from the fight in the strip club or something else? Anger suffused me, a hot fury boiling through my veins at the thought of whoever had put it there.
She looked even younger this morning, devoid of makeup or any embellishment. Still, the slightly baggy jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt couldn’t hide the gorgeous curves of her figure. My mind flashed back to the black pants and black long-sleeved shirt she’d worn last night that had hugged every curve. There was no denying her beauty.
Olive-toned skin stretched over the classic features of her heart-shaped face. Her cheekbones were high, her lips full, but her eyes... They were the first thing I’d noticed about her, and the sight of them even now arrested me. Deep as a river and a hundred shades of green, they threatened to slay me where I stood. They were filled with a pain so acute I could feel her despair deep in my bones. In that moment, I would have gladly shouldered all her burdens just to erase that look of wariness from her beautiful face.
“Looks like I survived the night.”
She blushed. “I wouldn’t do anything to you. Especially not when you’ve been so nice.”
Her soft response made me feel like an asshole. I’d been trying to tease her, but it had backfired epically. The last thing I wanted was for her to pull away. “Did you sleep okay?”
Her gaze darted over my shoulder, avoiding my gaze. “Yes, thank you.”
Liar. I could tell from the dark circles under her eyes that she hadn’t slept for shit either. “I didn’t expect you up so soon.”
She gave a little shrug. “I don’t sleep much.”
It was the first admission she’d really made, and pleasure flared around my heart. I ruthlessly tamped it down as the coffee pot spat out the last of the brew. There was no reason for me to get excited that she’d chosen to offer up a tiny slice of information about herself.
Busying myself, I pulled down two mugs and divided the coffee between them. Pushing the container of sugar across the island to her, I gestured with my chin toward the fridge. “Milk and creamer in there if you want it.”
“No, thank you.”
Always with the fucking impeccable manners. My lips pressed into a thin line at her response, and I watched as she spooned a scoop of sugar into the cup. Did she not like creamer, or did she feel like she would be putting me out by using it? I wanted to ask how she actually took her coffee. Suddenly, I felt like I was overanalyzing every damn thing. What she liked or didn’t like made no damn difference to me. That’s what I told myself—but I didn’t believe it.
Frustrated with mys
elf and her, I grabbed up my coffee and stalked into the living room. She followed at a snail’s pace, edging around the furniture to keep the most distance between us. Jules gingerly sat on the edge of the couch and set her cup on the coffee table between us. Her hands folded in her lap as her gaze darted around the room. I studied her posture, trying to read her. She looked uncomfortable but not crazy. I didn’t know if that was a consolation or not.
“So.” I searched for something to say, and my mind went back to the first time I’d seen her at the club. “You’re a dancer?”
Her eyes darted to mine. “Not anymore, but I studied ballet when I was young.”
I hesitated for a moment, thrown by her response. Was this girl serious? Her wide green eyes, full of innocence and naivety, told me she didn’t understand my question. Great, so I was dealing with some little rich girl who’d run away from home.
“How’d you end up at the Fox Hole?”
“Um...” Her eyes darted away. “I needed money, and it was the first place I came to.”
“Not quite your style, huh?”
She shook her head. “I thought it was a... what do you call it? Sportsman’s club or something.”
I fought the urge to shake my head. Had the girl grown up under a fucking rock?
“Why the Fox Hole?”
I turned a surprised gaze on her. “What?”
“Why is it called the Fox Hole?”
I coughed so I wouldn’t choke on the coffee that had gone down the wrong pipe. “Well... you know how some men refer to beautiful women as foxes?” She nodded. “And, um...” I grimaced. Knowing some of the women who worked there, “hole” probably had a multitude of innuendos. Jules’s eyes widened with a combination of horror and intrigue, and I felt my face flame.
Jesus Christ.
“Anyway.” I tugged at the collar of my shirt, desperate to change the subject. “There’s not much up this way, but I’m sure we can find you a job somewhere. What skills do you have?”
She bit her lip and dropped her gaze to the ground. After a long moment, a single word left her mouth on a whisper. “None.”