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Rolling papers at the cash register. A bait and tackle counter in the back. Ammo on a bookshelf. Well-stocked shelves with dry goods and coolers with an array of beverages.
“The basement doubles as a moonshine still,” Charlie says. “But you didn’t hear that from me. C’mon.”
I smile and follow him back to a small dining area set in front of a deli counter. The scent of fresh bread and slow-cooked pastrami has my stomach grumbling.
“Wyatt isn’t here,” Charlie shouts when there’s a clattering from the kitchen. “Just me, Fallon.”
A girl with long thick hair the color of caramel storms out of the back room. She looks familiar but I can’t place her. She wears a tattered apron and a frown to rival Charlie’s. In her right hand, she holds a butcher knife that she promptly sets aside. She tosses me and Charlie a curious look but says nothing.
“Biggest cinnamon roll you got,” Charlie says as we claim a table in the center of the room.
Fallon disappears.
I fold my hands together and lean in. “Thanks for the tour, Charlie Montgomery. You almost sound like a local.”
He cuts me a quick glance. “What makes you think I’m not?”
“You have an accent.” It’s faint, but I locked on his voice as soon as I heard it. A slow southern drawl as sticky as molasses.
“I’m from Georgia,” he offers. “Little town called Wildheart.”
“I’m from Indiana. Big-little town called Carmel. Thanks for the recommendation on the hotel, by the way. It was lovely, but I can’t stay there for more than one night. Especially if I’m staying in town. It’s too expensive.”
He sighs, and I wonder if broody is his normal expression. “You shouldn’t stay at the Yodeler.”
“Well, I am. I’m going to eat my cinnamon roll, and then I’m going to go back to Nowhere and get a job.”
“That’s your plan?”
“It’s the best I have,” I say, going for honesty.
After last night, Nowhere seems like a place I want to both conquer and avoid.
My phone buzzes in my purse. Damn Max. He’s been on my case to come home ever since I told him I landed in a new town.
Nope. Not happening.
Charlie’s brows rise. “You gonna get that?”
In answer, I silence my phone and eye the glowering man in front of me. “So, Cowboy,” I say smiling big. “What do you do?”
He shifts like he’s uncomfortable. “Own a ranch out of town,” he says. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “A ranch that’s hanging on by its last goddamn string. You?”
“Social media manager in a past life,” I say brightly.
“Great, you’re one of them,” he mutters, rubbing his brow with two big fingers.
“One of them? Like an alien or cyborg?” I tilt my head. “Charlie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
His face darkens, a snarl of warning on the tip of his lips. “Ruby ...”
“It’s just ...you have this vein right here ...” My fingers dance up to my temple.
With a hitch of breath, his jaw tics, and annoyance clouds his expression.
