by Maria Carter
"Raise your hands up...and down...up...and down. Now stretch your legs, move side to side, keep breathing..."
Vanessa inhaled and exhaled as she stretched. She'd moved her bags and a small table out of the way to give herself room to Jazzercise. The clock on the nightstand read 7:30. She had plenty of time to shower before meeting Eric at the diner. A butterfly escaped the tight trap of her chest and fluttered down into her stomach. She just kept breathing, like the instructor on the DVD suggested. After a good night's sleep, hundreds of miles away, it was almost too easy to forget about Goe. And that made it almost too easy to let the attraction she felt for Eric flourish.
The credits rolled, and she turned off the TV.
Vanessa stripped and took a lukewarm shower. As she rubbed droplets out of her eyes, her hand brushed her cheek. She winced. How long did it take for a bruise like that to go away? She just wanted to forget her stupidity as quickly as possible, and it wouldn't happen until she could look in the mirror without seeing the stark reminder.
She finished sudsing and shaving as quickly as possible, then hopped out, dried off, and searched through her suitcase for something to wear. She chose a short, floral dress with a cincher belt. It would keep her cool while she was driving, cute while she was eating with Eric, and not too cute in front of his daughter.
It didn't matter if he had a kid. It was just breakfast. She could flirt with the man who'd changed her tire, meet his daughter, and be on her merry way. Nothing to it. No strings attached.
Vanessa blew her hair out, put on light makeup, and grabbed her purse. It was 8:10. The diner and Bommer's shop were in walking distance. A glance in the window of Tiff's Diner told her Eric was already seated in the same booth they'd shared the previous evening. He was clearly a creature of habit.
Vanessa had her own habits in New York—mainly involving shopping and caffeine—but it was a fast-paced environment where everything constantly changed. People moved in and out, businesses came and went, and, sometimes, buildings fell down.
She opened the door, and Eric looked up, a grin on his dimpled face. She smiled back. The blond head that had been turned away faced her now, and curious blue eyes looked her up and down before finally landing on her shoes. Vanessa glanced down to see what she was staring at but saw nothing out of place.
Since the least awkward and most available seat was next to Eric, she sat down in the booth beside him.
"Hey, there," he greeted.
"Hey," she answered before turning to the girl across from her. "You must be Julia."
"And you're Vanessa," she answered, an excited smile breaking on her face, easing some of the tension. "Daddy told me he helped you with your tire yesterday. He's very good at stuff like that. But Uncle Bommer is better. He's a mechanic.
"I really like your shoes," the preteen continued. "I had gladiator sandals on my Christmas list, but no one got them for me, so now they're on my birthday list. They go really good with your dress. Is that what people wear in New York? I saw an episode of Project Runway once and the people on the show were all showing their designs at Fashion Week in New York and I loved them. Dad doesn't like going shopping with me, though. I usually go with Grandma. Dad says he doesn't know anything about girl clothes. I really like your hair, too. Very chic. My friend Gina got to go to New York, and she said everything was chic."
"Julia," Eric interrupted in the longest pause she'd allowed so far. Tiff had already brought the adults coffee and Julia a soda. "Figure out what you want to eat."
"Okay."
She stared at the menu, and while her attention was diverted, Eric shot Vanessa an apologetic glance. It was all Vanessa could do to keep from laughing, and he seemed rEriceved. She immediately liked Julia, and apparently being from New York was all it took to impress the girl. But why did he care about what she thought of his daughter? What his daughter thought of her?
She knew before she even asked herself the question. He liked her, and she liked him. But he was a package deal, and he wanted her to like the package. She wondered how his ex-wife fit into the picture.
None of it matters, she reminded herself firmly.
She'd just come out of a shitty relationship, she was on her way to Florida, and she did not have time to explore her attraction to this stranger—who was becoming less strange with each passing minute.
Eric's knee touched hers under the table, and she felt the electric chemistry between them instantly. Her face flushed and one look into Eric's blue eyes told her he'd felt it, too. Shit.
"I want bacon, egg, and cheese on toast." Julia' decision snapped them out of their momentary reverie.
"And I'd love another BLT," Vanessa added with a smile.
"What happened to your face?" Julia asked suddenly, continuing the conversation as Tiff walked away.
"Oh." The question caught Vanessa off guard. "I just...accidentally ran into a door. I'm clumsy sometimes."
"Oh, that happens to me all the time. Not with doors, but I just started cheer leading this year and I fall all the time. See?"
She lifted her knees above the table to point out various scrapes and bruises.
"Wow, that must be tough."
Julia shrugged and put her legs back under the table. "It's kind of hard but mostly fun."
"I dance," Vanessa told her, toying with her coffee cup. "When I was in school the cheer leaders would incorporate dance into their routines. Does your team do that?"
"Not really. But I think when we're older and we've been doing it for longer we'll get to do more stuff. I like dancing, though. My first school dance is next year, but Dad says I can't have a date. I'm going with friends instead."
"That's great. I went to prom with friends my senior year and had tons of fun."
"Really? That's good. But Daddy did promise if Nick Jonas showed up I could go with him. Do you like the Jonas Brothers?"
"Um, yeah, some of their music's okay. Nick's cute."
"You're kind of old for him, though."
"Julia!" Eric hissed.
"What?"
Vanessa brought a napkin to her mouth to conceal a laugh. Her eyes met Eric's again. He seemed happy. Embarrassed, but happy. Maybe too happy. She sobered slightly, and they settled into eating. There was no denying it. Being next to him felt good. She was comfortable—happy, even—with his talkative daughter.
But everything about the timing was wrong. She was leaving tonight. She was just out of a shitty relationship. Nothing could come of this.
They finished their meals. Eric wouldn't let her pay.
"We'll walk you back," he offered.
She nodded, holding onto the strap of her purse a little more tightly, excited tension boiling in her blood. There was absolutely nothing not to like about Eric Sims. He was gorgeous and good. The two qualities rarely came in a single man. She'd thought Goe was good, too, of course, but she was learning the differences. Goe appeased her. Eric helped strangers, made time for his family, was up front and honest. He was also tall, confident, smelled amazing—
"Do you like Hickman?" Julia skipped along beside her.
"Very much." Vanessa smiled.
"You look kind of tense."
Her cheeks flushed. She looked at Eric. He didn't try to hide his self-satisfied smile.
"It's a strange town to me. Don't you get nervous when you have to go to a new place?"
"I guess. Do you like Justin Timberlake?"
"Definitely."
"He's kind of old. But my mom liked him a lot, so I ended up liking him. I named my dog after him."
"Your mom doesn't like him anymore?" Vanessa asked.
"She might, I guess. She's dead. But Dad says you have everything you want in Heaven; it's just the people you love that you have to wait around for. So I guess she could be listening to him up there."
The bottom of Vanessa's stomach dropped out. She hadn't been expecting that. Eric as a widower rather than a divorcee had never crossed her mind. He was too young. She hesitantly rais
ed her eyes to look at him, but he was staring at the road ahead.
"Hey, Julia, why don't you visit your Uncle Bommer for a bit?" he suggested. "I'll walk Vanessa the rest of the way."
"Okay."
She ran up to the door as they passed and pulled it open. Vanessa and Eric walked quietly together. The excited tension of a first date mixed with a sort of reverent silence for his wife. Vanessa didn't know what to say. Eric's hand captured hers. Her fingers closed around his instinctively.
Vanessa found herself wishing the motel was farther away. These feEricngs were dangerous. So, so dangerous.
She led him to a door on the first floor and leaned against it. "Thanks for walking me back."
He grinned, and that dimple she'd grown to adore in such a short amount of time popped onto his right cheek. Their fingers were still intertwined, and she was in no hurry to let go. He stepped closer. Her heart beat faster. He raised his free thumb to gently caress the bruise on her cheek. She bit her lip, not wanting to show that it hurt, inside and out. His blue eyes met her brown ones. Heat, compassion, and some kind of unreadable sadness filled their depths.
"I like you, Vanessa," he said finally. "If you're ever back in Virginia, I hope you'll give me a call."
She nodded adamantly and took the business card he offered. In this moment, she didn't want to leave at all. Eric brushed her lips gently with his. The caress was so sweet, so brief, yet filled with meaning. That was all he gave her—just a taste. He pulled away, eyes smoldering. She couldn't remember if a man had ever looked at her like that before.
"Bye, Vanessa," he said.
"Bye, Eric."
He tipped his hat and began walking back toward his brother's shop. Vanessa took a moment to admire the way his t-shirt clung to the muscles of his back before she found her key, opened the door, and threw herself on the bed. She liked him. He was amazing. And she was leaving tonight. She allowed herself one frustrated scream into the motel pillow.
He really was Prince Charming. But the timing and location just plain sucked.
Chapter Four
Vanessa lay in bed, picking at the comforter and watching a Project Runway marathon. Julia was so young, so happy, so enthralled with the glamorous New York City lifestyle as it was portrayed on TV. She had no idea that Hickman was more welcoming and more comfortable than the Big Apple. New York was Vanessa's home, and she loved it, but it also gave her a unique insight to the city's flaws. Simplicity meant less disappointment, less heartbreak. She knew better than most those bright lights and fast-paced crowds could induce untouchable fantasies.
Vanessa's phone buzzed before Heidi Klum could announce the winner. She'd blocked Goe's number. Bommer was working late so he could get her back on the road before she had to stay another night. She didn't know anyone where she lived who would have done that without charging double or triple time.
"Hello?" she answered.
"Hey, Vanessa. You're car's ready."
"Thanks. I'll be right over."
She grabbed her purse and walked to Bommer's shop. The door to his front office was open, letting a cool spring breeze enter the unadorned establishment. Another door led to the garage in back. She watched Bommer drive her sedan around front through a grimy window. He got out and flashed his brother's grin, minus the dimple. She'd be on her way to Florida again within the hour. Bommer placed the keys in her hand.
"Thank you for doing this," she said, handing him her credit card.
"What could possibly be more important than fixing a pretty girl's car? Especially if I get a date out of it."
He winked, and Vanessa laughed. His come-on was meant to be funny—she hoped. That grin popped on his face again, reassuring her. Bommer was undoubtedly attractive, but, to Vanessa, he just couldn't compare to Eric.
"Well, you know, I'm just coming out of a relationship." She pointed to the bruise on her cheek, a wry smile on her lips. "And I'm just passing through. Otherwise..." She winked, and it was his turn to chuckle.
The banter was easy. He could be a friend. He had that same kind of flirtatious humor Tom had when they first met, only, of course, Bommer was straight.
"I think Eric would kill me, anyway. He has his eye on you."
Vanessa felt her face flush as she signed the receipt. "Maybe so. But I'm just coming out of a relationship and just passing through."
"That's more promising than if you were just getting into a relationship. And nobody said you can't stay longer."
"Solid as that logic is, I need to go. I told my mother to expect me by tomorrow morning."
"Worth a try." He shrugged and stuck his hand out. "It was really good meeting you. I think you did my brother some good while you were here."
"It was good meeting you, too."
Vanessa shook his hand and headed to her car, taking a moment to inspect the new tire. She was good to go, and that was just what she planned to do. She swung her key chain around her finger and clipped her pepper spray back on. It was ironic, really. She'd always been so careful to protect herself from strangers, and the real threat had been someone she was familiar with—someone she'd loved.
She drove to the motel. By the time she loaded her back seat, checked out, and finally convinced herself that it was stupid to stay for someone she'd just met a day ago, night was falling.
She opened her phone to text Tom.
On the road again.
His reply was immediate—the man spent way too much time on his iPhone.
Say goodbye to Hunk o' Burnin' Love for me.
Vanessa rolled her eyes and put her car in gear.
In just a few minutes, she was on the highway again. Hills rose in the dimming distance. Instead of buildings and concrete, there were fields and trees all around her-and the occasional guard rail. She took a moment to admire the view, and then she put her foot down hard on the gas. The farther she was away from Hickman, the sooner she could attempt to forget about Eric.
For the next twenty minutes, Vanessa focused on the road ahead of her—on the cars driving past, on staying between the painted lines. In New York, that and pedestrians was all she'd had to worry about.
She bobbed her head to the pop rock music blasting from her speakers and saw the bright eyes, pointed horns, and graceful silhouette too late. She slammed on her brakes but hit the deer at forty-five miles per hour.
Terror streaked through her, and then the airbags beat all sensation out of her. The sound of her windshield shattering and the deer bleating rang in her ears. Brakes squealed as other motorists avoided the accident.
It was all over in just a few seconds. The airbags deflated. Vanessa put the car in park and turned on the hazard lights with shaking fingers. She'd wrecked her car and killed something. She was horrible. She was horrible, and she'd never make it to Florida. If she'd gotten on a plane, it probably would have crashed.
Vanessa crawled over broken glass to fumble with the passenger-side door. She practically fell out of the car and onto the shoulder and somehow managed to drag herself on the grass. All she could see of the deer was one twitching hoof. She burst into tears.
"Honey, are you okay?"
An older black woman made her way toward Vanessa from the roadside. She was the only motorist who stopped. Vanessa nodded, trying to catch her breath. The woman knelt down and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"We called 9-1-1. They'll be here in a few minutes. Are you hurt?"
"No, but the deer..." Vanessa managed.
"Oh, you're worried about that? It happens to people all the time, honey. The deer just don't realize they've run out of grass until it's too late. There's nothing anyone can do about it except go back to driving horses and buggies."
She hugged Vanessa tightly. Again, she was grateful for the kindness of a stranger.
"You're bleeding a bit, dear. Are you sure there's nothing else wrong with you? Do you hurt anywhere?"
Vanessa glanced down. Small cuts were scattered on her arms. A stinging sensation on h
er forehead told her a piece of glass caught her there, and her palms and knees were bleeding. But other than her mental state nothing was seriously out of place.
"I think I'm okay."
The words were barely out of her mouth when a loud bang caught her off guard.
"My husband," the woman explained. "He had his hunting rifle in the truck."
"Oh, God," Vanessa moaned, burying her face in her hands.
She'd killed Bambi—all-grown-up Bambi, but Bambi nonetheless.
"It's okay, honey. We'll put that deer to good use." She rubbed the young woman's back soothingly.
"Oh, God!" Vanessa started crying again.
"Where are you from, hun?"
"New York," was her muffled reply.
"The city?"
"Yes."
"That explains it."
Sirens and flashing lights closed in before Vanessa had the chance to feel offended. She looked up to find two policemen stepping out of their vehicles. They took a look at the damage. One talked to the woman's husband while the other approached them on the grass.
"I'm guessing you're the driver," he said to Vanessa. "Do you need an ambulance?" She shook her head. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"I was driving, and the deer just ran into the road."
"Were you speeding?"
"Five miles over at the most."
"Well, that five miles might have given you a little extra time and saved you a lot of damage." Vanessa stared at him. Was she seriously about to get a ticket for this? "Are you a witness?" he moved on to her companion.
"Yes. It's just like she said."
The panic began to ebb. Maybe he'd decided she'd learned her lesson.
"We'll make a report for your insurance company. You'll want to call them as soon as possible. And you need to get your car off the road. We can get you a tow truck. Is there anyone you want to call?"
She nodded. "I need my purse."
"Go ahead."
Under the policeman's supervision, she got the car off the road. The woman's husband already had the deer in his truck. Vanessa handed over her license and registration and took out her cell phone. The strangers who had stopped were free to go.