by Cate Ashwood
He said good-bye and hung up, then fiddled with the dial until he found the station he was looking for on his satellite radio. There were hundreds of stations, but West usually switched between two—the financial news and national news. Today he skipped through until he found a station that played music he liked. A road trip needed music.
He didn’t make it much farther than the outskirts of the city when his phone beeped, alerting him to the text Scarlet sent. She made reservations at four different hotels along his route, the first one in Des Moines, Iowa. He’d be there around supper time. He was grateful for her foresight. He’d gotten a late start, and driving all night wasn’t something he wanted to do. He’d get a good night’s sleep and hit the road early the next morning.
He punched the waypoint into his navigation, and he was on his way. His fingers tingled around the soft leather of the steering wheel. He felt like he was a little kid again, when he and his grandfather used to play knights and dragons in the backyard. His grandfather always let him be the knight, going on a quest to slay the dragon. The same excitement lit his soul now, the exhilaration of the unknown—the great adventure.
He drove almost two thousand miles over three days, and the exhilaration of the unknown wore off somewhere around Omaha. He was tired, sore, and if he had to take a piss in one more gas station bathroom, he was going to lose his ever-loving mind. One state morphed into another, until if it weren’t for his navigation system, he’d have no idea where he was. He couldn’t tell the difference between Illinois and Iowa, Nebraska and Wyoming, or Utah and Nevada, but as he neared California, he began to feel that spark of excitement again. He was almost there.
He crossed the state line and drove through the mountains, in awe of how beautiful the landscape became. The lion’s share of his drive had consisted of open road along flat, barren land. The only change of scenery was the cities dotted along the way. There were some low hills in the distance as he drove through Nevada, but nothing like this. His mood rose steadily with the elevation of the highway as he wound his way back and forth along the mountain road.
He reached what appeared to be the summit, the sides of the highway decorated with thick forests of evergreens, some draped in snow. It was beautiful, and as much as West wanted to go to California to escape the cold, here it seemed less icy and more ethereal. Unlike the city, where minutes after snow fell it became a dull shade of brownish gray, here the snow was pure white. He wanted to get out of the car to take a picture, but he still had a few hours’ drive ahead of him and stopping now would only delay him further. His eyes were beginning to scratch with each blink, and he knew the longer he dawdled, the longer it would take until he could collapse into his pillow-top mattress at the hotel Scarlet booked for him.
He kept going, enjoying the drive as much as he could as the road wound down the mountain toward the sea. He still had a little over three hours to go before he reached his destination, and the sun was already beginning to dip behind the trees. Although twilight cast a warm glow over everything, it made his already tired eyes more fatigued as he concentrated on the winding of the lines down the road.
West reached the bottom of the mountain and drove through the little valley. His back ached from cramming all six feet two inches of himself into a small sports car for nearly forty hours in four days. Ferraris were beautiful machines, but they weren’t necessarily meant for large men to be driving on long trips.
He checked his fuel levels, noting he had a little less than half a tank left. He’d need to find somewhere to refuel before continuing to Eureka. As he drove, he kept an eye out for signs, and sure enough, a few miles down the road he found one. The next town was only six miles ahead. West rubbed his gritty eyes. He’d need to get something to eat too. He hadn’t eaten since he left the hotel that morning, and his stomach was rumbling. For a moment he contemplated grabbing something at the next gas station, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat a reheated hot dog or a soggy sandwich.
Canyon Creek came into sight as he made up his mind about stopping for dinner. It was a small town, nestled at the base of the Trinity Alps. As he drove through, looking for food and gas, he felt like he’d been transported back to the time of the gold rush. The buildings were historic looking, made primarily of brick, ornamented with crisp white details. The houses looked to be from the same era as well, and many had patriotic red, white, and blue swags hung from the railings of their neatly kept porches.
It didn’t take him long to locate a gas station, but this wasn’t his typical Chevron or Shell. There was a quaint corner store attached to the awnings that covered the shiny red pumps. West was waiting for the Apple Dumpling Gang to come sauntering out of the store. He parked and went inside to pay—no pay at the pump here.
Sitting at the counter was a young woman, her hair in a high blond ponytail, popping bubbles in her gum. Her name tag read Beth and she smiled at him when he walked in the door.
“Could I get fifty bucks on that pump there?” he asked, pointing through the window toward his little black car.
“Sure thing,” she said.
“Hey, what would you recommend around here for dinner?” His body was screaming at him, fatigue and hunger battling for dominance, but the starvation won, his stomach grumbling unhappily at not having been filled in so long.
“We don’t have a lot of restaurants, but the few we have are pretty good. The Golden Dragon, Miller’s Drive-In, and La Casa are all on Main Street at this end of town, and farther up the road is the Pour House and Johnny’s.”
“Which is the best one?”
“They’re all good. Depends on what you’re in the mood for.”
“What’s Johnny’s?”
“They do pizza. Honestly the best pizza you’ve ever had.”
West deliberated. It sounded good, but he didn’t know if he was in the mood for pizza. “What about the Pour House?”
“It’s a bar and grill type place that does mostly home-style cooked meals.”
“Thank you.” He took Beth’s suggestions into consideration. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal. Even if it wasn’t really home cooked and was only home style, it sounded perfect. “Is the Pour House on this road?” he asked.
“Yep. If you’re heading west, it’ll be on your left side as you’re nearing the end of downtown,” she said.
West thanked her once more and then headed out to his car, filled the tank and climbed in, then pulled back out onto the main road.
The downtown of Canyon Creek was as adorable as the east end of town was. A neat row of antique buildings lined each side of the road. West drove slowly, observing the drop in speed limit, and took in the sights. Quaint was the best word he could think of to describe it. He drove past the Golden Dragon, La Casa, and Miller’s Drive-In. He saw the post office, the library, the hardware store, and the courthouse.
On his left there was a movie theater, the Cameo, which still boasted the old marquee-style façade. West felt a strange sort of pull toward the town, like he wanted to stop and settle in for a few days. The place seemed familiar somehow, even though he had never been there before.
The Pour House was easy to spot, the restaurant a warm and welcoming Irish pub. He pulled open the heavy wooden doors and entered, noticing right away how busy it was. A chalkboard propped up near the entrance instructed him to seat himself, so West ventured in, finding a small table off to the side near the window.
He settled into the wooden chair, cushioned by the worn brown leather seat, and relaxed. It felt good to be sitting in a stationary spot. The thousands of miles he covered since his spontaneous departure from Chicago caught up with him. West closed his eyes and let the din of the other diners swirl around him. He was so close to his destination, but he felt wrung out. He didn’t know if he could go any farther that night.
The waitress appeared a moment later, and West ordered a glass of Merlot and a bowl of clam chowder. While he waited for his meal, he looked around, su
btly observing the other patrons. There was a group of guys who were sitting at the bar, perched high on their stools. They obviously knew one another, the way they were joking and laughing. Their jeans, comfortable T-shirts, and baseball hats, paired with their three-day’s growth of stubble reminded West of truckers he’d seen. It would make sense. Of all the roadside towns West had driven through, Canyon Creek was one of the nicest. It was warm and welcoming, and even after having only been there a few minutes, he already felt at home.
And that was saying something.
West hadn’t felt at home since before his grandfather passed away. He used to spend weekends at his grandfather’s place, especially when he was going to school. Sundays had consisted of studying in the morning and dinner, just the two of them, in the evening. His grandfather quizzed him from his notes before exams. It was the thing that drove him. West’s motivation came from the desire to see the look of pride on his grandfather’s face when he accomplished something. It was addictive, and it was the impetus behind his master’s degree. His grandfather was the inspiration for him forging out on his own after only a year under the wing of one of the most prominent venture capitalists in Chicago.
The men at the bar finished their meals and stood, thanking the woman who appeared to be the only waitress in the place before they left. West looked around once more, noticing almost every table in the restaurant had been taken while he’d been sitting there. A group of people dressed like accountants that sat across from him chattered away. They were in suits and ties, and nothing about the way they were dressed made West miss his office. He’d spent surprisingly little time thinking about work since he left.
For a man who didn’t go anywhere without his phone in his hand, being disconnected from the company for even a few hours should have been difficult for him, but maybe this impromptu vacation was longer overdue than he thought. When his mind wandered back to work, the anticipated pang was conspicuously absent. In fact, he felt almost nothing. Perhaps it was the extreme fatigue, or maybe the apathy he suppressed all those years suddenly took over, but he felt numb to the thoughts of his life up until three days earlier.
His gaze drifted away once more, and suddenly the numbness vanished. At the table ahead of him, nestled against the window, were two men having dinner together. One was blond, his back to West as he chatted with his companion, but the other made West’s breath catch in his chest. He was big—big enough to be intimidating—and West wasn’t exactly slight. He had a beard, something West didn’t usually find attractive on a man. The men West usually went for were slick and manicured, high-powered investment bankers and executives in expensive suits with expensive haircuts. This guy was the opposite. He was rough around all the right edges, and the moment his dark eyes locked on him, West felt the tight pull of attraction.
The man stared openly at him, not bothering to look away like most guys would, having been caught looking. There was a flash of something in his eyes, a challenge almost, that made West swallow hard. He couldn’t seem to peel his gaze away, though, and the longer he looked, the deeper the allure burrowed beneath his skin.
He forced himself to break the eye contact, concentrating on the marks and blemishes on the smooth wooden table surface. It looked old—very old—and well loved. He wondered how long the restaurant had been around. He took an inventory of the imperfections of the table long enough to allow his heart to slow down to a normal pace. It wasn’t often a guy got his blood boiling from a heated glance alone. When he looked up once again, the man had gone back to talking to his friend.
The waitress reappeared a few minutes later with his soup and his wine and placed them both down in front of him.
“Anything else I can get for you?” she asked.
Momentarily he considered asking her if she knew who the guy was, but what was the point, anyway? He was only in town another half an hour at most, and although he found the guy to be quite intriguing to look at, there was nothing beyond that. Instead he thanked her and told her he was fine.
The soup was incredible—a better meal than he had at many of the five-star restaurants he frequented with clients. It was savory and creamy and filled his belly with warmth. By the time he made it through half the bowl, the exhaustion that had been on his heels all day finally caught up with him. He was struggling to stay upright, and his eyes were heavy. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to make it all the way to Eureka that night.
When he was finished, the waitress returned to collect his empty bowl.
“Is there a hotel around here you’d recommend?” he asked.
“There’s Canyon Creek Inn over on Court Street.” She looked him up and down, her eyes discerning. “It’s decent, but if you’d like somewhere a little nicer to stay, I’d recommend the McClellan Bed-and-Breakfast on Churchill. It’s an old Victorian-style manor. You’ll want to talk to Ambrose Hennessy. She owns the place.”
Before West could say anything, the waitress turned around and was motioning to a woman seated a few tables away. Her hair was swept into a messy bun on the top of her head, her thick bangs brushing against the edge of her black-rimmed glasses. She couldn’t have been older than thirty, and despite her casual dress in yoga pants and a men’s collared shirt, her red lipstick and heavy eyeliner were flawless.
“Rosie!” the waitress called. The woman looked up and smiled, her white teeth in stark contrast to her dark red lipstick. She rose from her chair and glided over to West’s table.
“This gentleman is looking for somewhere to stay tonight,” she said, motioning to West, who sat, a little dumbfounded, in his seat.
“Sure. Most of my rooms are available, slow season and all. Actually, Jane and I were just finishing up. If you’re ready to go, you could drive me and I’ll give you directions.”
West spent most of his days dealing with outspoken people who didn’t hesitate to say what was on their mind, but he never had a woman offer herself a ride home before. He wasn’t even certain he was staying the night, but the waitress had apparently made that decision for him.
“Sure,” he said, leaving a couple of twenties on the table before grabbing his jacket and following Ambrose out into the parking lot.
CHAPTER FOUR
The second half of dinner had been unsettling. Rush saw the sleek black sports car pull up and park in the lot outside the restaurant. Seeing strange cars wasn’t anything new. Although Canyon Creek wasn’t the tourist mecca some of the smaller businesses on Main Street hoped for, it did receive its fair share of outsiders stopping by on their way through town.
But that car looked like something the devil would drive to a business meeting. It stuck out, parked between the rusty trucks and reliable family vehicles that took up most of the parking lot. Rush didn’t like it. What he liked less was the man who climbed out of the car. His clothes, although casual, were a little too smooth, like his jeans probably cost more than Rush’s first car.
The man sauntered across the parking lot toward the door, and Rush hated the way his own eyes followed, noticing the way his body moved. He was confident and self-assured, like he was in charge of every situation he ever walked into. He’d met guys like that before. It put Rush’s teeth on edge.
“Everything okay?”
Rush turned his attention back to Sebastian. “Sorry. Yeah.”
“You spaced out there for a second.”
“Just watching the dipshit in the sports car.”
Sebastian followed his line of sight. “You know him?”
“Nope. But I know his type.”
Rush watched as the man took a seat at the table in front of him and Cherie went over to take him a menu. The man smiled at her, and Rush couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away. He was beautiful, as much as Rush hated to admit it. His dark hair and pale skin were striking, and the way his five o’clock shadow dusted across his jaw made him look a little mysterious. Rush found his mind wandering to where the stranger might have come from—or was headed—in a car like
that. Certainly Canyon Creek wasn’t his final destination. There was nothing around there for people like him. The population was made of simple, honest people who worked hard and were grateful for what they had.
It was one of the reasons Rush returned to the small town after he left the military. He’d been all over the world, but no place felt like home except the tiny town at the base of the Trinity Alps. It was the best place he’d known.
“Rush?”
“Sorry,” he apologized again. “I don’t mean to keep spacing out on you.”
“Maybe you should head home and get some sleep. You’re probably exhausted from today.”
“I’m fine,” Rush assured him, digging back into his meal. “Just let my mind wander for a moment.”
He and Sebastian finished their meals, Rush trying to keep his eyes on his food and his dinner companion, rather than letting them wander back to the stranger at the table across from them. He mostly managed too, until he heard Cherie bellowing across the restaurant. Rush watched with rapt attention as Rosie made her way over and the three of them had a quick conversation before the man followed Rosie out the door.
Rush didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all, and as soon as the two of them left the restaurant, he called Cherie over.
“What can I get for you?” she asked. “You can’t possibly still be hungry.”
Rush looked down at his empty plates. “No, thank you. I’m good. I was just wondering who Rosie left with.”
“I didn’t catch his name,” she replied.
“But you told Rosie to take him home?”
Cherie chuckled. “No, she’s not taking him home. She’s taking him to her bed-and-breakfast. You know, the business she runs,” she teased. “He’s passing through town and needed a place to stay.”
Rush had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed by his assumption.
“Robert James Coeman, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous.”
