Chapter 2

Noah
She’s still out there. It’s been twenty minutes, and she’s yet to so
much as crack her door. And, yes, I am watching her creepily
from my window acting like the psychopath she thinks I am. I’m not,
for the record—though I’m not sure my opinion really counts in this
situation. I am a little worried she’s gonna die tonight, however. It’s
80 degrees outside and she’s not allowing any ventilation through
her car. That woman is going to smother herself out there.
Whatever, not my problem.
I let the blinds snap closed and pace away from the window.
And then I pace right back and open them again.
Dammit, get out of the car, woman.
I look at the clock. 11:30 P.M. I shoot up a prayer to anyone
listening above that Mabel won’t be too pissed at me when I call and
wake her up. After dialing her number, I have to wait six rings before
her scratchy forty-years-of-smoking-but-recently-quit voice answers.
“Who is it?”
“Mabel, it’s Noah.”
She grunts a little. “What do you want, son? I was already dozing
in my chair for the night, and you know I have insomnia so this
better be good.”
I smile. “Believe me, Mabel, I wouldn’t be disturbing your beauty
sleep unless it was an emergency.”
She acts tough but her heart is mush for me. Mabel and my
grandma were best friends—more like sisters really. And since my
grandma was the one who raised me and my sisters, Mabel always
treated us like family, too. Lord knows we act related. We look
different, Mabel is Black and I’m white, but we both share the same
general dislike for people being up in our business. (And yet she’s
always more than happy to be all up in mine.)
“Emergency? Noah, don’t string me along. Your house on fire,
son?” She’s called me “son” since I was in diapers and continues to
despite the fact that I’m thirty-two years old. I don’t mind. It’s
comforting.
“No, ma’am. I need you to speak to a woman for me.”
She coughs with disbelief. “A woman? Honey, it’s good to hear
you’re looking again, but just ’cause you’re lonely in the middle of
the night doesn’t mean I have a list of ladies on speed dial ready to
—”
“No,” I say firmly before she continues with what I’m sure would
be a string of words I never want to hear exit her mouth. “The
woman is in my front yard.”
I hear the squeak of a chair and imagine Mabel snapping her EZ
Boy recliner shut, sitting bolt upright. “Noah, tell me now, are you
drunk? It’s fine if you are, I’m not the judgy type, you know this. I’ve
said many of my best prayers to the Good Lord after a night with
Jack Daniel’s, but I need for you to call James or one of your sisters
when you’re drunk, not—”
She’ll go on and on if I don’t stop her. “Mabel, a woman’s car
broke down in my front yard and the engine is smoking but she’s
scared to get out because she thinks I’m going to hurt her. I need
for you to act as my character reference so she’ll get her ass out of
there.” I would call one of my sisters but they would definitely say
something off-color about how long it’s been since I’ve slept with
anyone and then ask the woman what her relationship status is.
Definitely not calling them. Definitely don’t care what that woman’s
relationship status is.
“Oh, well, baby, why didn’t you say so! Get out there and let me
talk to the poor girl!” I hear a twinkle of excitement in Mabel’s voice
that I don’t appreciate or want to encourage. This whole town has
been on my back lately to give dating another try, but I’m not
interested. I wish they’d leave me alone about it and let me live in
peace, but that’s not their style. And now that I think about it, I’m
not so certain Mabel won’t say something similar to what my sisters
would say.
I
peek through the blinds again and see the woman fanning
herself aggressively with her hand. I swear, if I have to call a
paramedic and spend the whole night in the hospital losing sleep
with this strange woman because she gave herself heatstroke out
there, I’ll never open my front door again. I’m one more woman
wrecking my life away from boarding up all my windows and turning
into a hermit that yells profanities at Christmas carolers.
“Don’t get any ideas, Mabel. This isn’t a romantic thing. I just
don’t want her to die in the heat out there.”
“Mm-hmm. Is she pretty?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes against the
annoyance building up my spine. “It’s pitch-black outside. How
would I know that?”
“Oh, please. I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”
I groan. “Yes.” So damn pretty. I only got a brief look at her with
my flashlight, but what I saw had me doing a double take. She had
dark hair piled in a bun on her head, a pretty smile, thick lashes, and
sharp blue eyes. The odd thing is, I feel like I’ve met her even
though I’ve never seen her car in town before. It must have been
one of those weird instances of déjà vu.
“Well then,” she says with a pleased sigh. “Take me out to our
fair beauty.”
“Mabel…” I use a warning tone as I open the front door and step
outside. The summer heat immediately threatens to strangle me,
and I wonder how the woman has survived this long in her car with
the windows rolled up and no air-conditioning.
“Oh, hush! It’s not every day a woman is dropped into your lap
like this, so zip your lips and hand the phone over.” This is what I get
for living in Rome, Kentucky, most of my life. My neighbors still treat
me like the boy who ran through town in his Superman underwear.
Leaving the front door cracked so the phone cord doesn’t get
pinched, I walk through the yard toward the little white car. It’s too
dark out here to see her features without shining the flashlight at
her again, but I do see the silhouette of her face turn my way. And
then she immediately throws her seat back. She’s trying to trick me
into believing she’s not in there. I refuse to smile at the
ridiculousness of it.
When I knock on the window, she screeches. Jumpy.
“Hey…” You? Woman? Lady currently killing the grass in my yard?
“Uh…Here. This is a friend of mine on the phone. She’s going to act
as my character reference so you can feel safe to get out of your
car.”
The lady pulls the lever on her seat and the whole thing comes
flying up. She yelps and I have to bite the inside of my cheeks. Her
big eyes peer up at me through the glass, and unfortunately, there’s
not enough light to figure out how I know her, but now I’m
convinced I do.
She frowns. “How do you have cell service right now?”
“I don’t.” I raise the phone up so she can see it.
Her eyes drop to it and she laughs. “What is that?!”
You’d think I was holding a rare species of animal by the way
she’s gaping and laughing. “It’s generally called a telephone.”
“Yes, but…” She pauses to let out another delighted laugh and
the sound curls around me like a cool breeze. “Did you steal it from
the museum of 1950s history? Now the mannequin with the blue
gingham print dress and matching headband won’t receive her
husband’s call saying he’ll be late for dinner! Oh my gosh, that cord
has to be fifty feet long!”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you going to roll down your window or
not, Smart Mouth?”
Her eyebrows lift. “Did you just call me…Smart Mouth?”
“Yes.” And I won’t apologize for it. I’m not trying to make friends
with her or make her feel cozy—besides she insulted my phone. I
love my phone. It’s a good phone.
Oddly, her face splits into a full, gorgeous smile and she laughs.
It makes my stomach tighten, and my heart thump angrily. I tell
them both to shut up and behave. I will not be moved by another
woman passing through my town. I’m going to help her tonight
because (1) it’s the right thing to do; (2) so she doesn’t die in my
front yard; and (3) so I can get her the hell on her way again.
“Well, okay, then.” She cracks the window only about two inches
so I can slip the phone in. Our fingers brush in the exchange and my
whole body reacts to it because apparently it wasn’t listening to the
threatening speech I gave it a minute ago. The woman whips the
phone into the car and zips her window back up before I can slide a
pitchfork in and impale her.
She eyes the phone warily before raising it to her ear. “Hello?”
Immediately I can tell that Mabel takes over because the
woman’s eyes grow twice their size and she listens with rapt
attention. Five minutes later, beads of sweat are rolling down the
back of my neck as I lean with folded arms against the hood of her
car, waiting for Smart Mouth to finish laughing her ass off with
Mabel.
“He didn’t!” she says practically howling and now I know it’s time
to take the phone back. I go to her door, knocking against her
window. “Time’s up. Are you getting out or not?”
She holds up a finger to me and finishes with Mabel. “Uh-huh…
uh-huh…yeah. Okay, it was great talking with you, too!”
I have to back up when, surprise, surprise, the woman opens the
car door and steps out, handing me back my phone. At her full
height, she comes to my chin, but her messy brunette bun stands to
about the top of my head. I don’t want to admit it, but she’s cute—
classy. She’s wearing a navy-and-white-striped T-shirt tucked into
white, old-timey-looking shorts. They’re the kind that climb high on
her petite waist, hug the soft curve of her hips, and cut off high on
her thighs. She belongs on a sailboat in a black-and-white photo—
not from around here, that’s for damn sure. She’ll be gone in the
blink of an eye, so there’s no use letting myself admire her looks.
She turns her face up to me, but her gaze bounces nervously
back and forth between me and my house. “Your friend, Mrs. Mabel,
gave you a glowing recommendation, Noah Walker.” She says my
name with a greedy emphasis, gloating that she knows my name but
I don’t know hers.
“Super, I’m so relieved.” My tone is the Sahara Desert. I cross my
arms. “And you are?”
Whatever ease she was starting to feel vanishes, and she takes
one large step away, anxious to crawl right back into that death trap.
“Why do you need to know my name?”
“Mostly so I can know who to charge for my grass seed bill.” I
don’t mean for it to come off as friendly or jokey, but she seems to
take it that way.
She smiles and relaxes again. I’m not so sure I want her to feel
relaxed. In fact, I have a strong urge to tell her not to get comfy at
all.
“Tell you what,” she says with a sparkling smile of camaraderie
that I don’t return. “I’ll leave some cash on the counter for you in
the morning.” In the gaping silence that follows her statement, I lift
an eyebrow and she finally hears what she’s just said. “Oh! No. I
didn’t mean—I don’t think you’re a…not a prostitute.” She winces.
“Not to say you can’t be a prostitute if you—”
I hold up a hand. “I’ll stop you there.”
“Thank goodness,” she whispers, dropping her gaze while
running her fingers over her temples. Who the hell is this woman?
Why is she driving through my backwoods town in the middle of the
night? She’s jumpy. She’s a nervous chatterbox, and she gives off
the impression of a woman on the run.
“You can stay in my guest room tonight, if you want. There’s a
lock on the bedroom door so you can feel safe while you sleep…
Unless there’s someone you can call tonight who will be able to
come get you?