Page 6 of Pretty Little Scars

This will not be a bad place to work for a year.

I climb out of the car and stretch my legs, shake my hair out, and then turn when I hear footsteps in the gravel behind me.

And when I see who it is, all of the blood leaves my face.

No way.

No fucking way.

My hotshot from the diner is here? Jesus, I haven’t seen him in more than five years, but somehow, he’s gotten more handsome. More rugged. More ...everything.

And he’s walking right for me.

“Well, hey there, Hotshot. Long time no see. I’m looking for the owner.”

He stops just a few feet away, and his deep-green eyes move over my face, as if he’s soaking me in. This could be exciting.I always enjoyed seeing this guy come into the diner, and if he works here, well ... who knows what might happen?

“And you’ve found him,” he says, taking me by surprise, and with those four words, he tosses cold water on all my hot fantasies.

My hotshot is my boss.Which means there will benothinghappening.

“Tucker,” he says, offering me his hand.

“Uh.” I eye his tanned, strong hand and feel myself take a step back. I don’t trust men.Ever.And it takes me a minute to warm up enough to let one touch me. Only Holden gets that privilege. I’d grown comfortable with Tucker and our flirty interactions at the diner, but that was a while ago now, and a there’s a lot of water under the bridge I’ve traveled since then. “Hi. Sorry, I’m not a toucher.”

He lifts an eyebrow and nods. “No problem. So, your name’s Darby.”

I smile and shove my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. “Yeah, it’s Darby. You can call me D, though.”

“I’ll call you Duchess,” he replies, and for some reason, that makes the tension leave my shoulders and sends a little thrill down my spine that I refuse to acknowledge. “Come on, I’ll show you around, and then we’ll get your stuff out of your car.”

“I don’t have much,” I tell him as I fall into step beside him. I’m tall, and I have a long stride, so keeping up with men isn’t hard for me, but Tucker doesn’t walk like he’s in a hurry. In fact, he moseys. It’s kind of cute. “Are you sure it’s okay if I bunk here? I can stay with my sister in Bitterroot Valley and commute.”

“That’s a long commute,” he says, shaking his head. “And if there’s a medical emergency out here, it would take you too long to get here.”

“Do you have many of those?”

“No. And I’d like to keep it that way. But they happen from time to time. You’ll be staying out here in the cabin.”

I’m surprised when he shows me to the little cabin a few yards away from the main house. I thought I’d be staying in a bunkhouse, or in a guest room inside, but this is way better.

I prefer to be alone.

“It’s small,” he says as we step inside, right into the kitchen, and I smile as I take it in.

He’s right, there’s not much square footage to speak of, but what’s here is so freaking beautiful, it almost brings tears to my eyes. The kitchen has white cabinets with a black countertop, making it feel larger than it is. There’s a peninsula that faces the living room, with two stools where I can sit and eat at the counter.

The living room boasts a tan double sofa with a matching chair that both look comfortable, and the window that gazes out at the pasture where at least fifty black angus cows graze makes me sigh happily. The mountain view isstellar.

I get to live here?

“The bedroom and bath are through there,” he says.

There’s a freshly made queen-size bed and a brown dresser. The bathroom has a pretty white pedestal sink and a step-in tub and shower combo, and it’s all just ...perfect.

“This is way more than I was expecting,” I admit as I join him in the kitchen.

“My foreman usually lives out here, but he got married and moved to town, so it’s just been sitting empty. This way, you have your privacy.”