Seeking Sanctuary

by Annie Anderson

  “Yes to both, however, I don’t know if I’m staying here or not.”

  “Oh, you’ll stay,” she dismissed my words with a wave. “I’ve got a nose for these things. I can tell at ten paces whether someone has the mettle to be a local or not.”

  “And you think I do?”

  I couldn’t say why I felt honored, but I did. No one except Smitty had ever told me I was worth a damn. I couldn’t count the lies Cole spouted before I moved in – those weren’t worth more than the breath they were said with.

  “Yep. You’ve got some gumption to walk in here looking like you look and still order a plate or three of food as polite as you please. Most women in your situation never leave those kinds of men – don’t have the stomach to start over. You look people in the eye, you don’t cower, and despite a case of skittishness, I’d say you were close to bomb-proof, and that’s praise I save for my favorites.”

  “Thank you?” I posed it as a question because I’d never had anyone besides Smitty just lay it all out there like that.

  “No problem. What are your skills? I can’t guide you to the right job without knowing what you can do.”

  It was like she’d appointed herself as my den mother and was hell-bent on guiding me on my way through settling here. I didn’t know if I would stay in Evergreen forever. It was a small town, and that was the only advice Smitty gave me.

  ‘Don’t settle in a small town, kid. It’s a sure-fire way for people to know your face.’

  Sorry, Smitty, it might be too late for that.

  “I’m an accountant – or at least I was. I can do bookkeeping, accounting, hell, I could work a register if it comes to it.”

  And I would, too. I didn’t have any shame or pride when it came to jobs. Working a register wouldn’t be the worst job I’d ever had.

  “Grady’s Garage needs a bookkeeper slash receptionist. Levi’s other girl Marla left him in the lurch months ago, and he’s been picking up the slack. I never liked that girl – knew she wasn’t a long-timer, but not everyone accepts my opinion as gospel. You could see if he’d hire you,” Constance offered with a shrug as if to say she’d never been wrong. Maybe she hadn’t.

  “I think I’d like to wait until I don’t look like I tried out MMA fighting the hard way, if you don’t mind.”

  “Suit yourself, but I know the Inn isn’t cheap.”

  She was right – how she knew where I was staying was interesting, but I decided to dismiss it for now. Highland Haven Creekside Inn was about the least cheap place I’d ever stayed that I’d had to pay for myself. It didn’t really matter that I had an extra five hundred thousand just chilling in a suitcase. I’d never planned on spending a dime of that money. It felt dirty and tainted, and I couldn’t imagine a scenario where I could bring myself to use it.

  “Valid. Okay, I’ll see about the job. Can I finish my breakfast first?” I asked as I drenched my pancakes in strawberry syrup and cut a triangle to shovel into my mouth.

  “Sure,” she smiled indulgently as if I was a cute puppy or a sassy child. I couldn’t decide if that was offensive or not.

  “No offense meant by this, but…” I trailed off not wanting to offend the woman who seemed to be single-handedly guiding me through getting my shit together in a paper sack. “Why are you helping me?”

  Constance’s nearly black eyes seemed fathomless, the weight of a past I couldn’t even begin to imagine swimming in them.

  “I’ve been exactly where you are right now. Alone. Beat up. Bruises on my face and so many more no one could see. Holding myself just so, so the ache in my ribs wouldn’t pinch my breath. I was scared, and by myself for the first time in a very long time after being told for too long that I was too stupid to tie my own shoelaces, much less anything else. Someone helped me get on my feet then, and I’m helping you now. When you see a sister in the same sinking boat you used to be in, you help.”

  She shrugged as if this was no big deal, but I had a feeling she knew exactly what this meant to me.

  “When you get the job, we’ll discuss where you’ll live.”

  I guess we would.

  4

  LEVI

  I shoved back from the ratty old desk trying to hold in my groan. I hated doing the books, but my usual bookkeeper, Marla, left us high and dry three months ago. I think she’s said something about wanting to go to New York, but I wasn’t listening past the words ‘no notice’ garbled through shitty cell phone reception and wind blasting through the receiver. After reviewing her work, I wondered what the fuck she did here all day besides trying to run my shop into the ground.

  This shit, I did not need.

  I’d inherited my dad’s shop once he retired. Retiring being a loose term for him coming in whenever the hell he wanted instead of every single day for thirty years straight. I didn’t blame the man for wanting a little freedom. He managed to be a single father to two of the rowdiest boys known to mankind, and neither of us ended up in jail or on drugs. In this day and age, that was close to medal-worthy.

  Grady’s Garage has been an Evergreen staple since cars were born. I’ve worked alongside my dad since I was in diapers, so the joint was a second home. But in a town of less than ten thousand and over an hour’s drive outside of Denver, pickings were slim in the bookkeeper department. If I didn’t get someone in soon, I was going to start losing my mind. My employees were dependable, but I hated desk work. Give me an engine, and I would be in heaven. Make me sit down and figure out stock and balance the accounts? Like pulling teeth. Particularly with the mess Marla left me with.

  Like I didn’t have enough problems already.

  I abandoned the office to head to the diner down the block for a decent cup of coffee. Try as I might, the coffee here was vile, and it was more than likely my fault. Sure, I’d blame Graham, one of my best mechanics, but we both knew it was me.

  My shop was just off the main drag, and while not the only auto shop in town, it was the most frequented. We worked on bikes and cars equally, but our primary clientele in the summer months was of the biker variety. The day was sunny, as many days in the Colorado Rockies were, just cresting over seventy degrees. It was finally bike weather, and the shop was booked out for days. I couldn’t spend so much time on the books, or we’d fall behind. Shit, we were already behind.

  I’d just made it through the shop and to the sidewalk when I nearly mowed someone down as I turned the corner. Odd, considering Evergreen had only ten thousand people, tops.

  The someone was a petite brunette, and I managed to catch her by the upper arms before we both went down. My grip must have been too tight, however, because she hissed as she shoved away from me, catching me in the sternum with her fist. Her strike hit me just wrong, and I got the wind knocked out of me, gasping as I doubled over, my eyes watering. I’m a big guy, well over six feet, but the way she hit me it was if she was wearing a pair of brass knuckles.

  “Sorry! I’m so sorry!” her soft voice apologized as she rubbed my back, coaching me on how to restart my breathing. “Breathe all the way out, and you should be able to breathe in again. I’m so sorry,” her soft, husky voice instructed, a slight Southern accent softening her words.

  I followed her advice, forcing all the remaining breath from my lungs and magically I was able to suck in some air. Once the dizziness faded and I was able to stand back up, I was struck breathless once again.

  You’d think the first thing that would catch my eye would be her beauty – and don’t get me wrong, she was beautiful – but it isn’t what I noticed first. The thing that hit me before anything else was the healing cut on her cheek and the swollen bruised skin surrounding it. Then my eyes fell on the almost healed split of her lip and the shadows of her throat only barely hidden by one of those floaty scarves that were more decorative than functional.

  I’ve never felt instantly protective over someone before, never wanted to hunt down a son of a bitch without knowing the ins and outs of what happened. But with this woman, I did
. She must have seen my subtle step into blind rage because she removed her cool hand from my arm and took a generous step back. That’s when I noticed the rest of her. Wavy dark brown hair pulled back from her face by her sunglasses, a tiny frame hidden under a billowing maxi skirt and jean jacket, the silky fair skin underneath all the layers and makeup. Her clear, ice-blue eyes, struck me dumb.

  “Like I said, I’m sorry for hitting you. If you’ll excuse me,” she said as she tried to edge around me, stepping off the curb rather than sharing the sidewalk.

  “Now, I’m the one who is sorry. To be honest, I took one look at your cheek and wanted to kick someone’s ass. Please tell me whoever did that to you paid for it,” I said as I took slow steps toward her.

  That stopped her, and she took her time looking me over.

  “You’re the third person to say that to me today. What is with this town? I get being protective and all that, but you don’t know me. I could have asked for it. I could have had it coming. You have no idea who I am. I could be the Anti-Christ for all you know,” she responded, and I would take offense to her tirade if she weren’t so put-out.

  “First off, most of the men in this town would knock out the Pope if he took hands to a woman. No lady deserves that kind of treatment, I don’t care what she’s done. It’s never okay to hit a woman the way you’ve obviously been hit. Second, I’ve met the Anti-Christ personally, so I know you aren’t her. Her name is Marla, and she’s my former bookkeeper. And you never answered my question. Did the guy who did that,” I said as I gestured to her cheek, “pay for it?”

  Her lips parted as if she was going to answer me before slamming closed. When she spoke again, though, it wasn’t to answer my question at all.

  “Your bookkeeper? So you’re Levi Grady? The man Constance at the diner told me to talk to about a job. Of course, I punched you in the chest. Awesome,” she muttered more to herself than to me. “So, I’m going to go and pretend this whole day didn’t happen. Maybe hole up in a hotel room until the true breadth of my stupidity isn’t plastered all over my face for the whole world to see. Good to meet you, Mr. Grady. Sorry again for the trouble.”

  She did a quick U-turn, the dark chocolate of her hair swinging with her, fanning out to smack me in the face. She didn’t wear perfume – a blessing and a curse – but the fragrance of her shampoo mixed with her natural scent made me want to trail after her like a lost puppy. She was adorably awkward and more than a little funny.

  I resisted the urge to grab her arm, knowing full well she was a wounded animal in the most basic of senses. She needed help, maybe some understanding, and I just couldn’t let her go without saying something.

  “The job’s still open, you know,” I called to her back, “If you’d be willing to walk to the diner with me for some coffee, I’d be glad to talk requirements and pay. Discuss your qualifications. At this point, I’d just be happy with someone who could properly add and subtract.”

  She looked over her shoulder, sizing me up again. Something on my face must have convinced her because I got a terse nod and she waited while I caught up, sliding her shades down to cover her eyes.

  “What’s your name? You know mine, but I didn’t get yours.”

  “Isla. My name is Isla.”

  It was pretty, fitting for a woman like her. She couldn’t be older than twenty-five.

  “You got a last name, Isla?”

  “Yeah, it’s Young,” she replied as she flitted her eyes to mine and then bit into her full bottom lip. Even behind her aviators, I knew she was lying.

  “That isn’t your real last name, is it?” I murmured, calling her out before I got too deep in whatever the hell this was.

  “No, but it’ll be on the ID I give you, and it’ll clear the national databases, so it’s the only one you’re gonna get. Is that a problem?” I wasn’t expecting such a frank reply to come from her. Isla seemed cagey yet sweet, and I couldn’t figure out who was the real girl underneath.

  “Is trouble going to come looking for you here, or are you safe?”

  “I’d say it’s about seventy-thirty in favor of safe, the odds getting better as I go along,” Isla offered the odds as if she were talking about the stats of a baseball team.

  “Well, at least you’re honest,” I murmured falling into step beside her.

  “In the grand scheme, yes,” she replied shrugging. Within moments we arrived at my original destination, Connie’s Diner. Connie’s owner, Constance, greeted us at the sound of the overhead bell on the door. Connie’s has been a staple in my life since I could climb on the red vinyl barstool and order myself a chocolate milk.

  “I see you found him, honey,” Constance addressed Isla, the smile on her face just a bit dimmer than normal. She could see just as plain as I could that Isla needed some help but was too proud to ask for it.

  Constance – never Connie – was as old if not a smidge younger than my father, but you wouldn’t know it by the lines on her face. If it weren’t for the white color of her hair, I would guess she was forty at a push. The deep brown of her eyes paired with black brows against the white of her hair had always both unsettled me and made me feel at home.

  “Yes, ma’am, I did,” Isla returned, blushing in embarrassment.

  “You mind if we grab a booth?” I asked, eschewing my usual spot at the counter.

  “Sure thing, babe. And tell that no good brother of yours to come see me, eh?” Constance said the same thing every day, and every day my ‘no good’ town sheriff’s deputy brother came running.

  “Will do,” I called as I led Isla to one of the back booths. She snaked around me, grabbing the seat facing the entrance, likely so she wouldn’t have her back to the door. I hated that too and was tempted to scoot her over and sit beside her, but I didn’t.

  I had a feeling if I penned her in, I’d get to see if she actually had brass knuckles in the pocket of her jean jacket.

  I wondered if she’d ever not be the wounded woman I saw before me. Scars like those sometimes didn’t heal, and a part of me wondered if I could help her heal them.

  5

  ISLA

  Sitting across from a potential boss at a diner after I punched him in the chest had to be the weirdest and most embarrassing job interview ever in the history of the world. So, naturally, it would happen to me. Why not? I mean, it wasn’t like I was on the run from the cops, knocked up with a surprise baby, or in possession of half a million dollars in stolen cash.

  Oh, wait. I was all of those things.

  Yep, this was my life. I needed to settle someplace. I needed a plan that didn’t involve violence, punching out my would-be boss, or old people accosting me because of the state of my face. Settling here didn’t make a lick of sense logically, and I knew that, but I liked the feel of the town. I loved the cozy, safe feeling of people knowing you’d been hurt and were angered on your behalf.

  It felt like I had someone – or several someones – in my corner. And being a kid who grew up with almost no one, I couldn’t give it up. Call it daddy issues or mommy issues, or abandonment, whatever. I needed that feeling to keep me going when I didn’t know which way was up.

  “So what experience do you have in accounting?” Levi’s question broke into my thoughts as I studied the memorabilia on the walls, doing anything but look at him. I was uncomfortable with how good-looking he was. A part of me shied away from being attracted to a man so soon after Cole. It didn’t feel right to notice men that way anymore. I was going to be someone’s mother. Holy shit, did that scare the ever-loving crap out of me.

  I made myself look at him as I answered, refusing to acknowledge the crisp, assessing multi-color blue-green-gold of his eyes, the fullness of his bottom lip, the deep timbre of his voice, the way his shoulders filled out the cotton of this t-shirt, or the sharp angle of his jaw.

  Nope. Not acknowledging shit.

  I cleared my throat, shoving down all my feelings of awkwardness at the ridiculousness of the situation.

&n
bsp; “I have a B.S. in Accounting with a minor in Statistics, and I’ve worked for the last five years for a company that I’d rather you not contact for a reference. I realize that sounds shady as hell, but...” I trailed off with a shrug.

  I couldn’t tell him the school I went to or the company I worked for. I couldn’t provide a reference. Hell, I couldn’t do anything short of beg him to take me at my word.

  I wouldn’t take me at my word.

  “Look, I know you’re running from someone. The state of your face is a testament to why. Why don’t we do a trial run? You take a look at the accounts and the shop. See what you can do. We’ll see if it is a good fit. Constance referred you to me. She knows people. She’d never send me a crook. The pay is thirty-five an hour. We’re open from eight a.m. to six p.m. with a one-hour lunch break. You’d get Saturdays and Sundays off. I’d need you to do the books, order parts, and run the front office taking payments, answering the phone, and making appointments. Is that doable?” Levi asked as he took another sip of his coffee.

  His face was an earnest, no-bullshit kind of open, and his words confirmed everything I’d thought already about this place. People were different here. He knew I was running and was still willing to hire me. I didn’t know if he was just nice, or he was just that desperate, but my gut went with the former.

  I considered the work and did the salary to hourly conversion in my head. Thirty-five an hour was way more than I was getting paid in Florida, but the cost of living here was atrocious. It didn’t matter. There were mountains and friendly people here – both of those severely lacking where I came from. Plus, I needed the cash. Taking that money from Cole’s didn’t sit well with me. I had savings that I’d pulled out, so I had enough to live on for a while, but those funds would dry up fast. I’d rather starve than dip into that money.