by J. Sterling
Lost in thought, a sudden hissing sound followed immediately by a hard jerking motion to the right pulled me into the present. I steadied the wheel and guided my now limping BMW to the side of the road. Ungluing myself from the black leather seat, I stepped out of the car as the sweltering humidity almost pushed me right back in.
Wherever I was, it sure was hot. Don’t get me wrong, it was hot in Los Angeles, but it was a dry heat. This felt more like a blanket soaked in warm water and tossed across your shoulders. It wasn’t comforting. And it wasn’t refreshing.
Walking around my car, I noticed the shredded remains of what once was a fully functioning front tire. I crouched down, allowing my fingers to run along the rubbery edges, noting how eerie a tire looks when it was torn apart. The frayed pieces lay on the ground in different shapes and lengths, like a giant had ripped them in a fit of fury. Remembering I no longer had a spare, since I’d already used it and never replaced it, I plopped down with a defeated huff and allowed the hot summer sun to bake my uncovered arms. A light breeze blew past, and I was thankful as my hair moved with it, allowing my back and shoulders to breathe.
In my haste to leave town, I hadn’t really thought this whole thing through. I simply wanted to get away. My entire thought process went something like this: (1) drive, (2) figure the rest out later.
So I wasn’t that great at planning.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a loud muffler coming my way. I pushed up from the ground, wiped at the back of my tan shorts, and walked back around the front of the car toward the driver’s seat. A beat-up old green Chevy truck slowed to a stop behind my BMW.
Too late, I realized that my purse was sitting on the passenger seat with my pepper spray tucked safely inside. Not the best place for my only weapon right now. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I waited anxiously for the driver to emerge and for my survival instincts to tell me how to react.
The door creaked open and out hopped a freaking god in perfectly worn-in blue jeans and a fitted white shirt. The man was young, not much older than me, with a baseball cap pulled low, nearly covering his eyes. He had a muscular frame that wasn’t overly done, but begged to be noticed.
Forget the pepper spray, I wanted to spray this guy with love potion, or attraction potion, or come-here-and-put-your-lips-on-mine-forever potion.
Whoa.
Where did that come from?
“Afternoon, miss,” he said in a sexy Southern drawl.
I found myself instantly attracted to the sound of his voice. Could you be attracted to something as simple as that? In an industry filled with fakes—fake accents, fake boobs, fake tans, fake hair color, fake personalities, fake everything—when something as genuine as this stood in front of me, I tended to take notice. There was nothing fake about this guy.
“Uh…uh,” I stammered, which surprised me because I was never at a loss for words. “Afternoon.”
As he cocked his head to the side and stared at me, it never occurred to me until that second that he might know who I was. Then he shook his head, as if to rid himself of the notion, and glanced back at my car.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“I got a flat.”
He walked around the front of the car and stopped at the sight of the ruined tire, a frown twisting his perfect lips as he glanced back at me. “This needs to be replaced. Do you have the spare?”
I shook my head. “I don’t. I already used it and never replaced it. Stupid, I know.”
A slight grin appeared before disappearing just as quickly. “I’ll get it towed for you to my shop.”
“You have a shop?” I asked, assuming this guy couldn’t be more than a year older than me.
“It’s my dad’s. I’ll tow it there, but I won’t be able to get you the tire until tomorrow. Do you have someplace to stay or someone you can call?”
“I don’t know anyone here,” I admitted, feeling vulnerable and stupid. “Or even where I am exactly.”
“I’ll drop you off at the local bed and breakfast. It’s the only one in town. And then I’ll come back for your car.”
“Um…” I paused as nervousness surged through my veins. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer or something?”
He gave me a look that was part amusement, part irritation. “Do I look like a serial killer?”
Lord help me if this guy didn’t look like a dang model, but there had been hot murderers before. Ted Bundy had used his good looks to lure women to their deaths.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly, “but how do I know you really own a shop? Do you have a business card?”
“Because serial killers don’t carry business cards, right?” he said, mocking me as he fumbled around inside his truck. “I don’t have any cards because I don’t normally need them in this town, but here’s the paperwork for some parts I just dropped off.” He handed me the paper with the shop’s name and number, and some signatures at the bottom.
“Just please don’t murder me,” I said seriously before walking around to the passenger side of his truck.
“I’ll do my best,” he said dryly.
“Do you think my car’s safe out here?” I glanced back at my pride and joy.
His Holy Hotness looked around at the desolate landscape surrounding us before pinning me with an annoyed glare. “Looks pretty dangerous out here. Better lock it up after you get your things.”
I shook my head, feeling like an idiot. Reaching for my cell phone, I grabbed it and tucked it into my front pocket. Pulling my purse and duffel bag free from the front seat, I tossed my pepper spray in and gripped the handle of it tightly before locking the car doors and hopping into his truck where he waited.
“I’m Paige,” I said as I offered my hand.
He stared at it like it might bite him, as if my hand might literally jump right off of my arm and eat his face. Which was something my lips sort of wanted to do. Then his gaze flicked up to mine before he put the truck into gear and pulled out onto the highway.
“I know who you are. What I don’t know is why on earth you’re all the way out here alone. Are you filming a movie or something?” He chewed on his bottom lip, and I fought off the urge to run my thumb across it.
I shook my head to clear the inappropriate thoughts and wondered who had taken over my body. “No, not filming. I just needed to get away.”
“And you picked here? In the middle of nowhere to get away to?” His voice was thick with sarcasm and something else I couldn’t quite place, but it certainly wasn’t Southern hospitality.
Instantly I turned defensive, a side I rarely showed. “I didn’t pick here. My car got a flat tire, remember?” This guy irked me no end, and I’d known him for all of two seconds. “So do you have a name, or do I get to make one up for you?”
He grunted. “Tatum.”
“Like Channing?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“No,” he snapped back. “Like Montgomery.”
“Oh.” I frowned, unsure which name was his first and which was his last.
As if reading my mind, he said gruffly, “It’s Tatum Montgomery,” his tone beyond annoyed at this point.
I fumbled to recover, and tried to play nice. “I’ve never met anyone with the first name Tatum before.”
“Obviously.”
Wondering why he seemed so angry at me, I asked, “Did I do something wrong? Maybe you didn’t like my last movie or something?” I tried to lighten the mood by cracking a slight smile.
Keeping his focus intensely in front of him, he mumbled, “I don’t watch chick flicks. And I’m named after my grandfather, not that it’s any of your business.”
I sucked in a breath. “You can just let me out here. Give me directions to the bed and breakfast and I’ll walk there.” I didn’t care how good-looking this guy was, I refused to sit in a car with him any longer.
Tatum blew out a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m not the best at making small talk.”
“Obviously,” I said tartly, mimicking his earlier response, and he smirked before straightening his face again. “I saw that.”
“You saw nothing,” he replied, but his tone had softened and I relaxed slightly.
We drove in silence through what I assumed was the town. I smiled to myself as we neared a bowling alley with an attached café. The last time I’d been bowling was with my family a few years ago on Christmas Eve. We spent part of the evening competing with each other for top score, but my dad won, just like he always did.
Tatum slowed his truck to a stop, and I looked around to see a grocery mart, the post office, a church, and not much else. A gas station and a mechanic’s shop caught my eye across the street, and I assumed that was where Tatum’s dad worked. It was quite possibly the smallest town I’d ever seen, but it was also maybe the most charming, each building filled with more character than what I was used to.
He picked up speed once the town was behind us and turned right onto another road. As we passed a small school, I asked, “Does everyone go to school in one place?”
He glanced at me, his eyes barely visible beneath the bill of the ball cap. “Yeah. It’s three separate schools, but they’re housed in the same place.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“You mean you’ve never seen anything so small and boring?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” I didn’t know how to put my feelings into words, so I stayed silent, not wanting to upset him anymore.
Tatum pulled his beat-up truck to the right once more and turned onto a gravel road lined with green trees and land as far as the eye could see. His speed slowed until he stopped in front of the most charming ranch-style house I’d ever seen. Wooden rocking chairs lined the large porch on each side of the front door. The closest I’d ever seen to a house that looked like this was on a movie set.
There were no homes like this in LA, and I think the sight of it made me swoon. Out loud. Apparently I made a sound when the aged yellow house came into view, because Tatum shot a concerned glance my way.
“This is it. Miss Em rents out the converted barn in the back, and some of the rooms in the main home as well, if she needs to. I know for a fact that all the rooms are available right now,” he added as he turned the truck off and opened the door. His cowboy boots hit the side of the truck with a bang before his feet landed in a pile of mud, sending a splash of the brown goo into the air.
I was definitely not dressed for walking around in mud. Surveying the area around my feet, I looked for the least soggy area and made a jump for it. “So, how do you know so much about the house?” I asked as he headed for the front porch.
“It’s my mama’s,” he said over his shoulder before the screen door slammed shut and he disappeared inside.
His mom’s?
Oh crap.
Meeting Mama
Paige
A woman I assumed was Tatum’s mom stepped outside the house, wiping her flour-stained hands on the front of a well-worn apron. “Hi, Paige, I’m Emily Montgomery.” She extended a clean hand.
Wavy brown hair framed her face, and her blue eyes twinkled as she grinned at me. Apparently she knew who I was. There was recognition in her eyes, as well as a sort of giddiness in her demeanor. She seemed happy and inviting, a far cry from the welcome her son gave me.
“Hi, Mrs. Montgomery. Thank you so much for letting me stay here.”
She nodded her head and waved a hand in my direction. “It’s no trouble. No trouble at all.”
“I really do appreciate it.”
“Would you like some sweet tea?” she asked with a smile, and my own dropped a little.
“I don’t know what that is,” I admitted sheepishly.
“It’s sweetened sun tea, dear. It’s a Southern tradition.”
“You sweeten it yourself?” I asked, feeling like a complete imbecile.
“You bet.”
“Well then, I’d love some.”
As she walked toward the front door, she stopped abruptly and turned to face me. “Oh dear, I hope you like dogs.”
“I love dogs,” I said, noticing the large chocolate lab behind the screen door, wagging its tail back and forth.
“Thank goodness. This here’s Buster. He’s a big love, but he gets in the way sometimes,” she said. “Tell me something else, dear. Would you prefer to sleep in the main house, or would you like some privacy in the back house by yourself? I can get it fixed up for you, if you’d prefer.”
I thought about it for a second, then said, “I’d love to stay in the main house with you, if you don’t mind.” I didn’t want her going to any more trouble than I’d already put her through.
“That would be lovely. Truly lovely. Come on then,” she answered before yelling, “Tatum Alan Montgomery, come help this young lady with her bag right now or so help me, God—”
“No, Mrs. Montgomery, it’s okay,” I started to argue, but Tatum appeared at my side and lifted my duffel with two fingers.
Buster bolted for me as soon as the door opened. I bent down and squeezed his face affectionately before scratching behind his ears. “You are so handsome, aren’t you?” I planted a quick kiss on top of his nose, and he licked the side of my face. I laughed and stood up straight, noticing that Tatum was watching and waiting for me.
His eyebrows lifted as he walked away, his manly scent drifting toward me as I followed behind him. “Your room’s in here. Mama’s making dinner. She’ll cook breakfast, as well. I’ll order that tire first thing in the morning.”
“I’m not in any rush,” I offered, hoping to slow him down, but he didn’t take the bait.
“Well, I’ll try to get it here as soon as I can, but it might take a couple days.”
I shrugged. “That’s fine.”
“The bathroom’s across the hall.” He pointed toward an open door. “Mama’s room is at the end,” he explained, then walked away. “Come on, Buster.”
“Thanks,” was all I seemed to manage at his indifference. I didn’t consider myself an egotistical person, but when someone clamored to get as far away from me as possible, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give my ego a beating.
Glancing around at the sweet blue-and-yellow room, I smiled to myself. It was comforting and homey, the decor tasteful yet not over the top. It was everything I’d expect a Southern bed and breakfast to be.
Tossing my duffel bag on top of the queen-sized bed, I unzipped it and unpacked a few of my things on the dresser and nightstand. The bag was disorganized and nothing was where it should have been, but I didn’t care as I rifled through it, searching for my stuff. Normally I was a complete neat freak, but the chaos of the past week had put my neat gene in check.
Not wanting to appear antisocial, I headed into the kitchen where Emily, aka Mrs. Montgomery, was rolling some kind of dough.
“Hi,” I said, not wanting to startle her.
“Paige. Is your room okay?”
“It’s perfect. How much do I owe you?”
She shook her head. “Oh, we’ll deal with that later. Once you figure out how long you’ll be staying.”
I pulled out one of the white bar stools and sat down at the counter. “Tatum said it would probably only be a couple of days before he got the tire.” I glanced around, wondering where he was.
His mom caught me and a smile reappeared on her face. “He went to go tow your car to the shop.”
I nodded, embarrassed that she knew I was looking for him. “Mrs. Montgomery, I know I’ve got no business asking you for anything else after all you’ve done for me, but can I ask you for another favor?”
“Of course, dear, but I thought you were going to call me Emily.”
I chuckled. “I’m sorry. I can’t. My mom never let me call her friends by anything other than by their last name. Is it okay if I call you Mrs. Montgomery, or will you be offended?”
She stopped working the dough and turned to face me. “Offended? Oh, heavens n
o. I just wanted you to feel comfortable. Now about that favor. What do you need?”
“I really don’t want it getting out that I’m here.” I stumbled over my wording. “I mean, to the press and stuff. Is there any way to keep my being here private?”
Her face crinkled with worry before softening with what appeared to be understanding. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here. This is a small town, though, Paige. Word will definitely get out to the locals, but I’ll see what I can do about keeping them quiet.”
“I’d really appreciate that.”
“I can’t make you any promises, but I’ll do my best. Tatum will too,” she added.
“I’m not so sure about that,” I said, and she tilted her head.
“Why would you say that?”
“I don’t think he likes me much,” I admitted honestly.
She waved a hand at me and said something that sounded like pshaw. “He’s just going through his own stuff. He’s harmless. All bark and no bite. It’s not you, honey, it’s him. That sounds like a blow-off, but it couldn’t be more true.”
I huffed out a hard laugh. “I do not believe that for one second,” I said, emphasizing the word not.
Mrs. Montgomery tapped her fingers on the countertop. “Well, he’s got you fooled then. Now tell me, hon. What are you doing all the way out here?” She leaned across the counter and reached for a pitcher of tea before pouring two glasses. Pushing one toward me, she waited for my reply.
I sipped the tea. “This is so good,” I said before taking another big gulp. “I just needed to get away for a little while. I think I’m having a breakdown or something.” I managed an awkward laugh.
