A Reason to Run (The Camdyn Series Book 1)

by Christina Coryell

  It seemed like it took forever to get to the front porch, and when I arrived I was met with an open door and a flashlight beam to the eyes.

  “Oh, goodness, I’m sorry about that honey,” the woman stated. “You best get in here before you catch your death of cold.”

  I looked down at my muddy shoes from the stop on the dirt road and bent down to slide them off, setting them on the porch. Moving to the open doorway and looking beyond into the house, I saw that it was completely dark with the exception of two candles on either end of the room, providing just enough light to walk around without bumping into things.

  “I don’t want to make a mess in your house,” I said apologetically, stepping through the threshold.

  “Nonsense, it’s just water,” she told me. “Cole, why don’t you bring in her things?”

  “Oh, no,” I protested. “He’s done enough already.”

  “It’s no bother,” he assured us. “I will take my jacket back, though.” I slid it off and handed it back to him, watching him vanish into the heavy rain. Rosalie took me by the arm and led me further into the house.

  “I’m not sure how long the power will be out, but at least we can get you dried out and warmed up a little,” she said. “You sure did get yourself lost, if you were headed to Jackson.”

  “Apparently so,” I sighed. She pointed out the location of a bathroom and gave me a couple of towels. I watched outside as the flashlight beam bobbed around my car for a moment, finally trailing across the sky while Cole walked back towards the house. I couldn’t help but gasp as he walked through the doorway and I realized he had all three of my suitcases and my laptop bag, and the flashlight was wedged in his back pocket.

  “Whew!” he exclaimed as he set them down. “You must have been planning on staying in Jackson for a long time. Those are some heavy bags.” I thought about how hurriedly I had packed so many things from my closet and felt a sharp stab of guilt.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  “I looked in the front of your car but couldn’t find your handbag,” he remarked, shrugging out of his jacket. He was slender, but muscular, which I could only see because his shirt was soaked and plastered against his chest, thanks to me. I went to the smallest suitcase and grabbed the handle, balancing the towels under my other arm.

  “I don’t have a handbag,” I told him, my suitcase wheels rattling across the hardwood in the complete silence as I made my way to the bathroom. There was a small window, but with the rain there was virtually no light coming through.

  How on earth am I going to make this happen? I made a mental note of where the toilet and sink were, and my suitcase, so I wouldn’t trip, and was just about to shut the door behind me when Cole stuck his arm in and handed me the flashlight.

  “It’s going to get dark in there,” he explained. “By the way, I’ve never met a woman without a handbag.”

  “You have now,” I remarked, closing the door.

  -§-

  I fumbled around in the bathroom with the flashlight for what felt like an eternity. When I chose the smallest suitcase I had forgotten that it mostly contained the dressier clothes from my closet, so finding something comfortable to replace my wet clothes was a chore. Coming out of the bathroom in an evening dress was out of the question. I finally located some gray yoga pants and a blue long-sleeved t-shirt boasting that I had completed a 5k in Dallas. I set the flashlight on the counter and tried to pry the wet jeans from my thighs. I only fell over once, so I considered that mission a success. When I was fully changed, I draped my wet clothes over my arm and swung open the bathroom door, which made a squeaking noise that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t so quiet. Rosalie rushed up as though she was waiting for me.

  “I’ll take your wet things for now,” she said. “My goodness, I don’t know what to do with you though. I have all the rooms upstairs stripped for deep cleaning. I didn’t expect to have any visitors for a couple of days.”

  “What about Laura’s room?” I heard Cole call from the back of the house.

  “I don’t know, that’s an awful lot of trouble,” she answered. “There are all sorts of things in there that I would have to move out of the way.”

  “Please don’t send me back out in the storm,” I pleaded. “I’ll make it worth your effort somehow. I’ll… um…stay until the end of the week?”

  “Don’t fret about it,” she told me. “We’ll figure something out, and I definitely won’t be sending you back out in the storm.”

  She carried my wet clothes away along with my flashlight. I wasn’t sure where to go, so I just stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Eventually I saw a flashlight beam emerging from the back of the house.

  “Dried out yet?” Cole asked.

  “Mostly,” I replied. “How about you?”

  “I left some clothes here when I was painting last fall, so I guess you could say my procrastination in taking them home has paid off.”

  “I’m terribly sorry about all this,” I told him, feeling my way to the kitchen table and sitting down.

  “No worries,” he answered, fumbling through a cabinet overhead. “How did you get so lost anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” I sighed. “I had the trip to Jackson all mapped out in my phone, and I was just following the directions. When the final turn ended up being that gravel road, I knew that something was definitely wrong.” I watched as he opened another cabinet door, shined his flashlight inside, and then shut it again.

  “There’s nothing down that gravel road except a couple houses and a cemetery,” he told me.

  The cemetery? You have got to be kidding me!

  “Well, I suppose that explains it!” I said. “I mapped out a cemetery earlier in the day. I bet when my phone died in Dyersburg it somehow reverted back to those directions. Ugh, stupid phone!”

  He pulled open another cabinet door and I heard what sounded like rattling of pots and pans just before the lights flickered on overhead.

  “Lights, finally!” he stated cheerily. “I hope you like hot chocolate.”

  I looked over to where Cole had set a pot on the stove and was opening a box of cocoa. I could see now that he was fairly attractive, with dark brown eyes, disheveled black hair, and a slightly unshaven jaw line. I sat there staring, transfixed by the way his lips moved slightly while he was reading the back of the box. He had pulled a wooden spoon out of a drawer and retrieved a gallon of milk from the refrigerator before I became aware of how much time was passing, and the fact that I was blatantly gawking at him, and I felt the blood creeping up my neck and into my face.

  Say something, idiot, I scolded myself.

  “Um, yeah, hot chocolate,” I stammered. “I like it.”

  Ugh, what is wrong with you, Camdyn? I looked down at the floor to try to compose myself and self-consciously ran a hand through my damp hair. I could only imagine what a mess I was at the moment. I hurriedly turned my back and scanned the room, pretending to be interested in my surroundings.

  Living room, full of antiques and one overstuffed sofa. Kitchen table, solid oak, looks sturdy. Okay, what else can I look at? Yeah, still raining.

  When I finally turned back around, those brown eyes were fixed on me.

  “Hi,” he said.

  I might have said hi, but my brain and my body were not on the same page, so I can’t remember exactly. All I know is that at that very moment, he started walking toward me. My breath caught in my chest as I watched him draw closer with every step, ultimately standing just inches from me. He smelled faintly of cologne and laundry detergent, and my heart was pounding. He reached his hand up, gently pushed my hair back from my face, and said:

  “Did you hit your head?”

  Suddenly my ego was scattered on the ground around me in fractured pieces. How completely awful did I look to make him insinuate that I had some type of brain injury? How was I supposed to respond to a question like that?

  “Seriously, you should take a look,” h
e reiterated. “Your head is bleeding.”

  My head is bleeding?!

  “Oh, thank God!” I blurted without even thinking. He looked at me quizzically. “I thought you were implying that I was insane or something.”

  He smiled then, and without question he had the most exquisite smile I had ever seen. I felt my face starting to heat up again, so I backed away and headed toward the bathroom, flipping the light on and pulling my hair away from my face to inspect the damage.

  “The jury’s still out on whether you’re insane,” he called to me from the kitchen.

  Isn’t that the truth, I thought as I looked at the little cut on my forehead and contemplated that smile in my mind. Suddenly staying here until the end of the week seemed like a brilliant idea. I used some tissues and cleaned the blood from my face, and then I flipped my head over and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to put some life into my wet curls. I took a moment to do some deep breathing and regroup before I headed back out, reminding myself not to act like a crazy teenager.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” I said as I emerged from the bathroom, walking over to where he was standing by the stove, stirring the hot chocolate. “You startled me out there when you pulled up, and I had a run-in with the trunk lid. I must have hit it harder than I thought.”

  “So it was my fault then? If so, I’m really sorry.”

  “No, it wasn’t your fault,” I told him. He set his spoon down and reached behind him on the counter.

  “I thought you might need this,” he suggested, setting an adhesive bandage in front of me. I removed the paper backing and was feeling around my temple when he offered to help. I held my hair away from my face as he pressed the adhesive to my forehead gently, and then brushed his fingers across the bandage and into my hairline.

  “Wouldn’t want a scar on such a beautiful face,” he said with a smile, turning back to the stove.

  Oh my goodness, he thinks I’m beautiful! If I had been in a cheesy musical, I’m pretty sure that would have been the moment I suddenly broke into song, but Rosalie came around the corner just then and saved me from myself.

  “Thank God the lights are back on!” she exclaimed. She was a petite woman, probably close to fifty, with graying reddish brown hair pulled into a ponytail and deep blue eyes. “I have the room cleaned out for you, so you can take your things back there if you like. It’s the second door on the left. Just ignore the teeny-bopper posters on the wall. I’ll get those out of there tomorrow. You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? What’s your name, sweetie?”

  “Camdyn Taylor,” I said simply.

  “I like that, what a pretty name,” she told me. “It fits you. I’m Rosalie Mills, and of course you’ve already met Cole.”

  “Cole Parker,” he stated from where he stood behind her, pulling mugs from one of the cabinets.

  “Thank you for making room for me,” I told Rosalie.

  “You want some help with your luggage?” she asked, nodding at the large pile.

  “Oh, no, I can manage,” I said. I moved to where Cole had placed my things, dragging one piece at a time to the room and wondering how on earth he had been able to carry everything at once. After I finished rolling all of the luggage to the bedroom, I opened my laptop and inspected it to make sure it hadn’t been exposed to the rain, hooking up my currently useless phone in the process.

  Rosalie wasn’t lying about the room – one wall was covered with high school memorabilia and personal photos, and another was covered with glossy pictures of teenage heartthrobs, country western singers, and a couple of aging hair band members that seemed oddly out of place. Everything was clean, though, and it was much better than sitting in my car all night, so I figured I could manage. The bed looked like an antique, twin size with a white canopy over the top. I peeked in the closet to see if there was anywhere to put my things, but it was nearly full of old clothes, board games, and various types of decorations. I moved my suitcases as far against the wall as possible before checking my appearance in the mirror again, combing through my damp hair with my fingers and wishing I had thrown on something other than jogging clothes. I knew I couldn’t do anything to improve myself without being completely obvious, so I eventually gave up and returned to the kitchen.

  Cole was standing there waiting as I came around the corner with a mug in each hand. I took the one he handed me, smiling when I noticed the little marshmallows floating on top. I held the warm cocoa in my hands to warm them, taking a seat at the kitchen table, where he pulled out a chair and sat next to me.

  “It’s a good thing Cole came across you,” Rosalie said, taking a sip of hot chocolate where she leaned against the kitchen counter. “There’s a low water area just a couple miles up, and who knows how that would be in this storm!”

  “Well, you have no idea how happy I was to see him!” I told her. “I had all but given up. I was sitting there praying for an angel to come rescue me, and all of a sudden there he was. It was a very lucky coincidence.”

  “Sorry, can’t agree with you there,” Cole interjected, gazing over at me. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”

  “What, angels?” I asked.

  “No, coincidence,” he explained. “I think everything happens for a reason.” I stared at him, intrigued, as he lifted his mug to his lips.

  “What were you doing out in the storm, anyway?” Rosalie asked Cole. He set his mug down and shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t know. I just had this gut feeling that I needed to come check on you, and I was headed over here when I happened upon a young lady rummaging through her trunk in the rain.”

  “Looking for my atlas,” I said in an attempt to sound a little less ridiculous.

  “Is that what you were doing?” Cole asked with a slight smile. “Your atlas was pretty drenched. I set it over there near the door to dry out. I figured you might need it.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, absently plucking one of the melting marshmallows out of the cocoa and popping it into my mouth.

  “Most people look at the atlas before they set off on a trip,” he smirked at me. “Whose funeral is it?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You said you mapped out a cemetery, didn’t you? I just assumed you were going to a funeral.”

  “Oh, the cemetery,” I blurted. “I mapped that out because I am going to be doing some research there.”

  “At a cemetery? At night? In the rain?” Rosalie queried.

  “No,” I said, laughing at the absurdity of what she was suggesting. “I had it planned out for later. I’m doing some historical research on someone who is buried there.”

  “Why?” she questioned. “Are you one of those forensic people like they show on TV?” I giggled and nearly spit out my cocoa.

  “No, nothing like that. I write historical fiction,” I told her, evoking an expression of surprise. “I do the research so I get as many things historically correct as possible, and then I fill in the blanks.”

  “So you research the actual facts and then make a bunch of stuff up,” Cole summarized. “Sounds like cheating, doesn’t it Aunt Rosalie?” He winked at me and I sat up a little straighter.

  “Well, when you put it that way I will admit, it does sound a little ridiculous,” I told him. “It is fiction, though, so it wouldn’t be cheating, even if I did make everything up.” He laughed, and I stood and headed towards the sink, where Rosalie was rinsing her mug.

  “I’m sure there are plenty of fascinating tales about this neck of the woods that would make great fiction, but if you kids will excuse me, I think I’m going to call it a night,” Rosalie stated, setting the mug on the counter. She moved over to Cole and patted him on the shoulder. “Will you lock up when you leave?”

  “Sure, Aunt Rosalie,” he said.

  “Oh, and breakfast is at eight o’clock, Camdyn,” she told me as she walked out of the room.

  “Thank you!” I called as I watched her retreat around the corner.

  I
tilted my mug to drain the last of my hot chocolate, and when I brought it down Cole had moved from the table and was headed into the kitchen. I turned toward the sink and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.

  Quit being such a dope! It’s not like you’ve never been near an attractive guy before. You’ve been on countless dates with guys every bit as good looking as him, and you didn’t act like a goofball!

  I twisted the knob on the faucet and absently started rinsing my mug, aware that he was now standing beside me. I turned and slowly lifted my head until I was gazing into his eyes.

  See, he’s not all that spectacular, really. I mean, come on, Camdyn, he’s wearing a Poison t-shirt. And his eyes, perfectly ordinary, like two deep pools of melted dark chocolate…

  Embarrassed, I rotated back to the sink and reached to turn off the faucet, biting my bottom lip and praying he was not a mind reader. I realized too late that I inadvertently grabbed the spray nozzle rather than the knob, and before I knew what I was doing I sprayed a thin line of water directly across my chest and halfway across Cole’s.

  “Oh, that’s cute!” I exclaimed as I jumped back and Cole laughed at me. “Sorry, I’m afraid I’m not very graceful.” I moved over and dried my hands using a towel hanging on the oven door as he cleared his throat and started rinsing out his own mug.

  “So, who are you researching at the cemetery?” he asked as I moved nearer the living room, putting some distance between us.

  “Wilhelmina Lawrence,” I told him. “She was my fifth great-grandmother.” I spied my atlas near the door and retrieved it, flipping through the damp pages to air them out.

  “So what is special about her?” he asked, following me into the living room. “I mean, other than the fact that she’s related to you. What made you want to write about her?”

  “Hmm, that’s a good question. I suppose initially it was because she’s a family heroine. My grandmother was named after her, and so was I. Once I started really looking at her story, though, there were a lot of unknowns that I found intriguing.”