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His physical hunger might still be raging, but their sexual appetites had been mutually appeased, she knew, remembering everything that had transpired in the back area of the truck. The man was an incredible lover, so attentive, generous, and passionate. As a result of his focused attention on her and her pleasure, she felt impossibly mellow, every one of her five senses relaxed and wholly satisfied.
They made their way down a well-traveled gravel road bordered by two fenced-in pastures with grazing horses, and passed a newly painted red barn, along with a pen of chickens, goats, and a separate garden of fruits and vegetables—a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the city that she was used to. A few minutes later they cleared the front porch steps to the house. While Jo put away the umbrella, Dean rapped his knuckles loudly on the screen door that opened into a living room.
An older man wearing a pair of faded jean overalls appeared in their line of vision. Dean unexpectedly slipped his palm into hers and intertwined their fingers together. She had no idea why he insisted on holding her hand, but she couldn’t say she disliked the intimate gesture.
The man stopped on the other side of the door, a frown furrowing his bushy gray brows as he looked from her to Dean. Not that Jo could blame him for being wary. No doubt he didn’t get many unexpected visitors at his off-the-beaten-path farmhouse.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice deep and gruff, though his brown eyes reflected a genuine kindness beyond all that caution.
“Who’s at the door, Frank?” a soft, feminine voice interrupted. A plump, pretty older woman with graying brunette hair came up beside her husband, wiping her hands on the floral apron wrapped around her waist as she peered curiously at the two of them.
“Don’t know, Iris,” Frank replied, pushing his fingers through his thinning gray hair. “That’s what I was trying to find out.”
“Hello,” the older woman said pleasantly, her smile warm and friendly. “Are you two lost?”
An engaging grin lifted the corners of Dean’s lips. “Actually, my wife and I are traveling from Seattle to San Francisco to visit family, and our vehicle broke down a few miles back with a blown radiator hose,” he explained to the couple before Jo had the chance to speak at all. “We were stranded during the storm, and you’re the first sign of civilization we’ve seen on this road. We were hoping you could help us out.”
His wife? Visiting family in San Francisco? Jo had to physically restrain herself from gaping at Dean for his blatant lie.
“Nope, there isn’t much on this stretch of road,” Frank agreed, scratching his temple. “In fact, the nearest service station is in Medford, about fifteen miles ahead on the interstate.”
“Frank, mind your manners,” Iris scolded gently. “There’s no sense in them standing out in this damp, muggy weather after everything they’ve been through.” She stepped in front of her husband and opened the screen door wide in a friendly small-town welcome. “Come on in, and we’ll see what we can do to get you back on the road and safely to your family.”
Dean inclined his head gratefully. “Thank you, ma’am, we really do appreciate that.”
“Yes, thank you,” Jo said, and followed Dean inside the small but cozy house.
The rich, redolent scent of hearty meat and vegetables curled around them, along with something sweeter, like baked apples and cinnamon. Not surprisingly, Dean’s stomach growled loudly, obnoxiously, making Jo bite back laughter and Dean extend an apology for his rumbling belly.
Iris’s eyes widened at the ravenous sound, though she waved away Dean’s embarrassment. “There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for. You must be starved after waiting out the storm then walking to our place. Let’s get the two of you fed.”
“Oh, no, really, that’s not necessary,” Jo insisted, certain she felt the very hungry man standing beside her squeeze her hand in protest.
“There’s plenty, and we insist, don’t we, Frank?” Iris didn’t give the other man a chance to answer. “What with living out in the country and no neighbors nearby and my children scattered about the state with their own families, it’s not very often that we get company. And it would make me feel so much better knowing that you two left here with full stomachs.”
“Then we’d love to join you for supper,” Dean said eagerly before Jo could refuse again.
“Wonderful.” Iris beamed happily. “You two have a seat in the dining room right in there. Frank, you come help me put ever
ything in serving dishes and bring it out to the table.”
The older couple disappeared into the kitchen and Dean led the way into an adjoining room where they sat next to each other at two of the six chairs at the oak table. Jo turned to Dean and took the opportunity alone to express her disbelief over his fabrication of their relationship.
“Your wife?” she whispered incredulously as they waited for their hosts to return. “What was that all about?”
He blinked guilelessly. “Would you rather I told our only source of help that you’d taken me into custody believing I was a felon waiting to stand trial for grand theft auto and that you’re taking me back to San Francisco to clear my name?”
She swallowed laughter at his matter-of-fact tone and acceded to his point. “No, I guess not. But acting like a married couple is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“What can it hurt?” He shrugged lazily and brought the back of her hand to his warm lips for a kiss—for show should their hosts be watching, or out of genuine affection, she wasn’t sure. Either way, it felt good, and she enjoyed the attention. “Frank was leery enough of us showing up on his doorstep, and it probably put them at ease and gained their sympathy for our situation, so why not?”
She sighed as he let go of her hand, unable to argue with his logic. “And you get a free meal out of the deal.”
“Which you nearly sabotaged,” he said, sending her a mock disgruntled glance. “After the physical exertion you put me through this afternoon, I need sustenance. And whatever Iris is cooking smells so much better than the fast food you’ve been feeding me.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, not the least bit insulted by his complaint. “Poor baby. Enjoy supper, and don’t expect any gourmet meals when we get to Oakland, either, because it won’t happen.”
He looked disappointed. “You don’t cook?”
