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I’m still shaking, but somehow I keep myself together by a thread as we speed west on I-20, south of Ft. Worth, then connect with Highway 377. We pass a lake and disappear into the country.
“Where are we going?” I ask finally.
“Someplace safe. Think of anyone who might want you dead?”
I’ve been pondering that while Rand drives, fast and steady, down the road, controlling the vehicle with his firm grip and cannon-sized biceps. But between the trauma of being shot at and our narrow escape, the uncertainty ahead, the hyperawareness of being basically naked under his shirt, and the memory of his shockingly commanding kiss, my brain is mush.
“Nothing yet,” I murmur.
“It’ll come. It’s barely noon and it’s been a terrible day. You hungry?” he asks as the freeway turns into a two-lane road that runs through a little town that can’t be more than a speck on a map.
It’s crazy to me this place is less than an hour from the city where I grew up, and yet it’s nothing like my former neighborhood. It’s a hodgepodge of mom-and-pop businesses with a regional grocery store and a few fast-food restaurants. That’s it. But people live their entire lives in close-knit towns like this. They’re born here. They work and live and fall in love and have children before they die here. I’ve had such a global, nomadic life for the past dozen years. It seems crazy to me—in a good way—to spend your life in one place. I’m jealous of people who have a sense of permanence and belonging.
“Not really.”
He nods. “Let me know.”
“You from around here?”
“No, just been here a few times.”
End of conversation. He’s really not a talker.
But he’s an amazing kisser. I bet he’d be fantastic at plenty of other things, too.
I stare out the window at the last of the little town sliding by. If I don’t, I’ll just stare at Rand and silently wish he would touch me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Fine.”
“I’ve got to make a phone call.” He slides the device from his pocket and scrolls through his contacts while the road is empty. The person on the other end of the connection answers quickly. “Hey, Joe. I’ve got a favor to ask.”
The reply is short and muffled. I hear nothing but a deep voice.
“That little place you had by the lake available for a few days?”
This time a longer, more animated reply.
“Perfect. Key still in the same spot?”
Another answer, even shorter, followed by a laugh.
“You’re a lifesaver, man. I’ll explain when I can. Just don’t tell anyone you’ve heard from me. I’ll call my brothers so they don’t freak and you won’t have to deal.”
The voice on the other end replies once more, this time sounding final.
“Thanks. Hey, I owe you a beer next time I see you,” he says just before he ends the call.
“A friend?” I ask.
“Of my brother, yeah. Joe is a good guy. He hooked us up.”
Rand falls quiet again, and it’s not much longer before we roll into another town, this one bigger than the last. I’ve heard of Granbury, but I’ve never been.
All the old buildings around the square have been converted into quaint little shops and restaurants. In the middle stands the county courthouse. It’s French style, made of white bricks, with a clocktower, circa 1890.
The town is charming. I’m immediately enthralled. “Wow.”
