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The truck locks chirped as she clicked the fob. Helping Sweet Cream into the cab saved me from having to reply, to even think about how well a man who looked that good—okay, there I admitted it; he was handsome—kissed. He possessed a mouth designed for kissing. Full lower lip, the perfect Cupid’s bow on his upper lip. And he was quick to smile at us, even after being slobbered on by the hound. And now, knowing, or at least guessing, that he rode that big, beautiful bike made me itch to be behind him on the machine, pressed against his back, thighs wrapped around his hips, wind blowing through our hair, on an open road somewhere. I loved motorcycles. Always had. But Steve had refused to buy one, calling them murder-cycles. Kind of funny from an asshat who’d indulged his own death wish by cheating on me.
Burying the image of riding on the back of a motorcycle with a sexy man in the darkest corner of my brain, I settled in the truck next to Naomi and fastened my seat belt. “He was good looking, but then so was Ted Bundy. And Scott Peterson. Everyone knows what kinds of assholes those guys were. What if he was checking us out to see who’d be easier to kill?” I taunted her because I could.
Sure enough, she rose to the bait. “That’s why we never hike alone. I can run faster than you.” Her laughter filled the cab. Sweet Cream woofed in the back seat, and I groaned.
“Naomi,” I warned.
“You know what? That guy would be an excellent model for a Viking. That should be a little inspiration for your cover project.”
“The idea has merit. He would make an awesome Viking. I’ll have to keep his face in mind when I’m working on it.” Also his lean body, and broad shoulders, and his muscular thighs. And the thought of how hot he’d look on the sleek black bike. I shook my head again, hoping to clear my too-sexy thoughts away.
Naomi started singing along with a song on the radio, but her words trailed off. “Holy shit! I just realized who he was! That was the one and only Callan Wilder.” She turned up the radio with a big grin. One of his hits wailed out of the truck’s speakers.
“Was not,” I argued while I fished my phone from my pack.
“Was too. Did you see the picture of him last year, where the half-clothed starlet was hanging on him like a barnacle? Which, I admit I would as well, since his ass is so fine.”
“The press portrays him as a man-whore. Different woman all the time.” My phone screen woke when I lifted it and I saw that I had a couple text messages.
The first was from my contact at the music label’s art department, looking for a status update. I sighed and ignored that one.
“Might be a man-whore, but I’d do him. He is gorgeous. But, as I might have mentioned, he only had eyes for you.” She reversed out of the parking spot and headed toward the highway.
“Naomi, stop,” I warned again. My focus was on the next message, which came from that unknown number again. The one I now recognized but didn’t know who it belonged to. That one I tapped to open.
Unknown Number: You know how I feel about people not living up to the most minor of expectations. Dealing with some shit today. Ruined my bike ride. I know, I know! I can hear your voice saying “Don’t let anyone ruin your bliss, son. You’ve got this.” And you’re right. Love you, Dad. Miss you.
“This is so weird.”
“What?” Naomi pressed the control on her steering wheel and the radio volume decreased.
“I keep getting text messages from a number I don’t know. Someone texting their dad.”
“Happens to me all the time. Cellphone carriers are notorious about recycling phone numbers.”
“Maybe, but these are such sad messages. Like maybe the person who had this number is gone…or dead.”
“Just text back and tell the sender that you own the number now.”
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but I couldn’t bring myself to send a reply. “What if this person’s dad is dead? Telling them that the number doesn’t belong to him anymore would be like losing him all over again.” My heart ached at the thought. I couldn’t do that to someone already grieving.
Naomi pulled up into my drive and lifted the gearshift toPark. She swiveled to face me. “Girl, you have a mushy heart. Just keep it in mind. And you could always block the number. The sender might never know.”
I nodded, then leaned across the console and hugged her. “I better get going. I have a cover to design. And I may or may not use Sweet Cream’s new boyfriend as inspiration.”
“Good luck. And if you need any help or critique, just shoot me a screen shot.”
“Naomi, we both know you are a whiz in the bakery department, but it has to be said that a particular shade of persimmon wasn’t the best on a cupcake.” That red icing had been terrifying. Worse than the scene fromThe Shiningwhere the elevator doors open and the hall filled with blood. I shivered as I climbed out of the truck.
* * *
After playing with Frank for a few minutes, and refreshing his water, I’d just settled at my desk and was opening my graphics program when my phone rang. Carrie Marsh’s phone number lit up my screen.
“Hey, Carrie,” I said as I answered.Keep it simple, she’ll never know I’m avoiding replying to her text.
“Catie, where have you been?”
“Needed a break. This artwork is just not coming together. But I got some inspiration while I was hiking. I was just getting back to it.” I put my hand in my lap to keep it off my mouse. If I touched it, I’d open my stock photo account and get lost looking for images to match the hiker I’d met.
