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She had to prepare stuffing casserole for family dinner the next day, as well as the yeast rolls she had bought frozen. Those took several hours to thaw and rise before going into the oven with the lasagna, which itself would take several hours to prepare.
There were her own groceries to buy, though her list was short. Coffee, a few fresh vegetables, odds and ends mostly, and she was considering a couple of steaks just in case Jack made his way to the house one evening that she was actually home in time to cook.
There were several meetings scheduled late in the day during the coming week. The prospective lessees were coming into town from New York and couldn’t fit earlier meetings into their schedules. The properties in question were two of Crossfield-Dawson’s highest-rent properties and had sat unused for months.
Caine was eager to see them signed, and River pressed Poppy to complete the deal as quickly as possible, while River’s sister, Saige, was stressed thinking that just as the previous party interested in the property had backed out, the prospective ones probably would as well.
Poppy had expected Saige to take over the deal herself. It wouldn’t have been the first time Saige asked Poppy to let her handle a property because of the high-dollar rent or an out-of-state client’s financial status.
She hurried through the store, picking up the items she needed. Thankfully, Miss Martha, the older lady at checkout, wasn’t too gossipy today, and, pushing one of the small carts filled with her bags, Poppy hurried to her car.
Hitting the key fob to unlock the back of the vehicle, she unloaded the groceries and pushed the hatchback down. She returned the cart to the front of the store and had just hurried back to her vehicle when a large blond man seemed to rush at her.
Letting out a startled squeak of fear, Poppy jumped back, almost running into an older-model pickup moving slowly along the parked vehicles. The truck came to a quick stop, the door opened, and Poppy, feeling herself beginning to panic, gathered herself to run.
“Poppy, is that you?” Calvin Hitchins, a friend of her brother’s, Mac-Cole, stepped from his truck and quickly rounded the door as he stared at her in surprise. “Did I hit you? You okay, girl?”
“I’m fine. Fine.” She shook her head, but she didn’t move for her car. And Calvin made note of it.
His sharp, intelligent brown eyes slashed to the man still standing at the back of her car, and he moved next to Poppy protectively.
“I’m sorry I frightened you, ma’am,” the stranger apologized, his accented voice and charming smile somehow at odds with his eyes. “I’m visiting, and just thought to ask directions. I was going to go inside, but then there you were.”
His smile was cold and hard, reminding her of the smiles that could cross Caine’s face when he was patently lying to a client.
Poppy couldn’t convince the adrenaline in her body to ease, couldn’t convince herself there was no danger. He looked genuine enough, but she knew how deceptive that could be.
“Get in your car and get home, Poppy,” Calvin told her firmly. “I’ll give him directions.”
Poppy nodded quickly. “Thank you, Cal.” She turned to the stranger, who watched her, a smile still curling his lips, and she tried to smile in return. “Calvin knows where everything is. He can help you far better than I can.”
She hurried to her car as the man thanked her, then she got in and hit the door locks quickly. As Calvin eased his truck out of the way, she backed up and quickly turned to head home.
Unknown men always made her uncomfortable when they approached her or popped up in front of her like that. The memories of that night nine years ago had never really gone away.
The drifter that had showed up at the parties a few times that summer suddenly appeared as Poppy hurried home on foot one night. One minute she’d been alone, and the next he’d grabbed her.
Gritting her teeth, she pushed the memory back and checked her rearview mirror, surprised to see a Harley behind her. It wasn’t Jack, but if she wasn’t mistaken, it was one of the friends who’d been at the bar with him.
The bike stayed behind her, then pulled into the small parking area across from hers as she parked behind her house.
Maybe she should have parked out front.
Her hands were shaking as she watched through the rearview mirror. Lucas, she thought she’d heard him called. He wasn’t as big and muscular as Jack, but not many men were. Still, he was a big man and in peak physical condition. And other than the two of them, the alley was deserted.
She watched as he dismounted the bike, glanced her way, then walked to Jack’s back door. Seconds later he stepped into the house. Hurriedly, Poppy pushed her door open, hit the lock and hatch release, and when it opened enough grabbed her bags with shaking hands and all but ran into the house after slamming the hatchback closed.
Panic was like a ball in her throat, threatening to explode outward even after she was safely in the house, doors locked, and her security turned on.
She looked out the window. The alley was quiet, the bike across the street still in place, and evidently Jack’s friend still in the house.
Turning to the kitchen island, she put the bags on the marble top and breathed in, deeply, slowly.
She was safe, she told herself. No one was after her. No one was going to hurt her. She wasn’t a teenager anymore and she wasn’t making her way back home along a tree-shrouded path.
She was grown.
She was going to be okay.
