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“Mangy rat I rescued from the ditch?” His raspy voice turns affectionate as he rubs the puppy behind the ears. “Yeah. It is.”

The wiggling puppy, combined with the man’s kind eyes, makes me trust my gut.

I look at his motorcycle. His black leather jacket. I bite my lip, feeling bad. “You’re on your way out.”

He shakes his head. “Not a problem.”

I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the door handle. “I have mace and a nail file.”

“I like a prepared woman.” His tone is amused.

I inhale a steely breath. If I’m killed by a man with a puppy strapped to his chest, then so be it. I deserve my fate.

I punch open the glove box, grab the USB, then exit my car. The man keeps a respectable distance as I reach into the back seat to retrieve Ratson, my duffel bag, and a sparkly pair of thigh-high boots. I know I said necessities only, but this counts.

“Follow me,” he says.

It’s too dark to really see anything, but we trudge across rock, then long grass. In the distance, lit up by moonlight and silhouetted against the dark, are tall buildings that look like silos. “Is this a ranch?” I can smell hay and animal, mixed with a sweeter, more pleasant smell.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me and my brothers own it.”

We come to a stop in front of a small house. The man digs in his pocket for a ring of keys. “We call this the Creek House.” He opens the door, flips on the light, and lets me pass.

After so long cocooned in the dark of the highway, I blink at the brightness of the lamp. Relief fills me as I survey my home for the night. Smiling, I walk around the small room. It’s lovely. Thick wooden beams on the pitched ceiling. White walls. There’s a leather couch in the middle of the room. Behind it, a Murphy bed. Next to a large window is a small kitchenette with an island and two stools. The only separate room is the bathroom—otherwise it’s one large living space.

“Everything’s clean.” The man’s voice rumbles at my back. “Including the sheets. We use this place as a fishing spot but haven’t yet this year.”

“This is perfect.” I settle my bags and Ratson on the counter, my boots on the floor, then turn to face him. “Thank you.”

His eyes widen as they drift over me. “There’s ice in the freezer.” His voice is low, soft. “Might take some of the swelling down.”

Shit.

I slide a shaky hand over my face, knowing what he sees. A black and blue bruise on my cheekbone, finger marks on my wrists. Pressure builds behind my eyes. It’s too kind. Especially for me. All I can do is give him a watery smile, on the edge of hysteria, on the edge of saying too much.

“I’m River.” In the light of the Creek House, his blue eyes sparkle. He’s heavily inked, colorful tattoos peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his leather jacket. He’s tall, handsome, intense, and serious. Good thing I’m not interested.

“Delilah.” I reach into the pocket of my gray sweatpants, feeling around the USB to dig out a wad of cash. “Take it,” I say, stretching out a hand, feeling desperate to pay him back for his kindness. “For the room.”

He hesitates but doesn’t argue, taking the money from me and pocketing it. “Listen, if I see you, or if I don’t, I hope everything works out for you.”

“Thanks.”

After one last long look, he leaves the keys on the entry table and exits the Creek House.

I slide the USB out of my pocket. My fingers itch to get rid of it. I look around and find the perfect place. The sparkly fringed cowboy boot. I hold it over the shaft, let it go, and it falls into the black void with a clatter. Good riddance.

I prop my palms on the counter behind me and sag back. My entire body feels dazed and hollow. There’s the roar of a motorcycle and then silence. I let out a little laugh, then squeeze my eyes shut. My eyes begin to burn as I hold back emotion.

God, this fucking night.

When I open my eyes, I flinch.

There’s a minibar in the corner of the room.

If I never see another glass of whiskey again, it’ll be too soon.

3 Cole