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She smiled again, but there was something more to it this time. Something that had me instantly suspicious.
“This is a small town,” she said ominously. “And Alma’s not the only girl from that club that I’m friends with.”
Well, fuck.
“So you already knew about all this.”
“Yep. And I also know it’ll probably take a lot more than coffee and sugar to get you out of whatever doghouse you’re in that earned you those shiners.”
Goddamn small towns.
I hefted the box under my arm to free my hands to carry the coffees. “Yeah, well, gotta start somewhere, right? And maybe if I spend enough in here, you’ll put in a good word for me,” I said hopefully, earning a snort from the mild mannered Dani.
“Hey, you might be famous, but you’re still the new guy. I’m team Alma. At least until you’ve proven yourself.”
I should have been annoyed that I’d just gotten schooled by a stranger, but I wasn’t. In fact, I really fucking liked it. When we’d been together, Alma had talked to me about never feeling like she’d belonged anywhere. She’d been forced to move from place to place for so long because of her father’s work in the service that Nashville hadn’t felt like home for her. Back then she used to say it was all right because once we met, it was obvious she belonged wherever I was. We were each other’s homes. Until I ruined everything.
It was a relief to know she found a place where she not only belonged, but where the townspeople had her back, especially when someone they didn’t know came calling. I loved that this unassuming coffee shop owner wasn’t the least bit impressed by me and cared enough about Alma to put me in my place.
I nodded my head and started moving backward. “Challenge accepted.” I lifted one of the cups high. “And thanks for the help.”
“You’re welcome. And good luck.”
I headed back to the inn and loaded everything into my truck to make the drive over to Alma’s. It had been like pulling teeth to get her address from Lincoln, and he’d made it clear they would never be able to find my body if I let it slip that he was the one who’d given it to me.
I programmed the address into my navigation system and started in that direction. The neighborhood she lived in was like something out of a postcard. The houses were set back on their lots, providing huge, green front yards filled with plants and flowers and water features. It looked like the whole yard-of-the-month thing was a big deal in this neighborhood, and every house took the competition very seriously. Huge mature trees lined the sidewalks, creating a canopy over the streets. It was beautiful, really; each house was different in size, shape, and color, but the owners took pride in what they had.
I enjoyed the scenery as I wound through the quiet, picturesque neighborhood before turning onto Alma’s street. Her house was just as charming as the rest of them. I threw my truck into park and killed the engine, staring at the pretty flowerbeds lining the foundation of the house. Alma’s green thumb was well at work with the beautiful shrubs and flowers still in bloom as autumn turned to winter. The front porch, complete with a rustic looking swing, had a beveled glass door, and I could picture Alma inside, curled up on the couch beneath a cozy blanket. I imagined the inside was as warm and comforting and homey as the outside appeared.
A luxury SUV sat in the driveway, letting me know she was home, and since this was the kind of place that looked out for their neighbors, I didn’t want to risk the cops being called on me for being that creep sitting in someone’s driveway. So despite the twisting in my stomach, I threw the door open and climbed out.
My heart beat painfully in my chest, the echoing thump matching the thud of my boots on the steps leading to the front door. I blew out a deep breath and sent up a silent prayer for this to go smoother than the last time. Then, with no more reason to delay, I lifted my hand and knocked.
12
ALMA
When I woke up in the middle of the night with a skull-splitting headache, I first thought it was the effects of all the day drinking I’d done as I opened up to my friends about my past for the first time. By the end of their visit, the bottle of vodka had been emptied and I’d tiptoed past buzzed and straight into sloppy.
Before leaving, my girls had tucked my drunken ass into bed, where I’d been until the heavy metal band raging in my skull had woken me up. I’d staggered out of bed and downed some pain meds, along with two full glasses of water and crawled back under the covers. Only, the medicine hadn’t helped. The pounding had never gone away. I’d ended up getting chills that wracked my body so bad my teeth clattered together. No matter how deep I’d snuggled under the covers, I couldn’t seem to get warm. With the chills came body aches, and eventually my stomach had started twisting and rolling, wave after wave of nausea crashing into me and sweeping me under the surface.
Between the vomiting and uncontrollable shivers, I’d managed to doze in and out of sleep, but it never felt restful. I’d spent most of the time tossing and turning. My head was a foggy mess, so when I first heard the banging, I thought it was something I’d been dreaming or imagining.
My eyelids flipped open, spots dancing across my vision for a few seconds before clearing. I listened to see if I’d hear it again. I half convinced myself if had been in my head until it happened again. The banging was coming from my front door.
I let out a pained groan, turning to bury my head in my pillow. “Go away,” I mumbled into the memory foam, willing whoever was on my front porch to go the hell away.
I wasn’t that lucky. The knocking came again, followed by the tinny ring of my doorbell.
“Son of a bitch,” I grumbled as I threw the covers back. The chills had gotten so bad that I’d piled extra throw blankets on top of myself. I managed to push myself out of bed, my limbs feeling completely stiff, and hobbled down the hallway to my front door, hugging my arms around my middle—for warmth and to hopefully keep my stomach from trying to escape up my throat like it had been for the past several hours.
I nearly tripped over Tortellini on my way to the door, but managed to catch myself before I face-planted. Finally, I made it just as the knocking resumed.
“I’m coming,” I said through chattering teeth. “Hold your horses.”
I threw the deadbolt, turned the knob without checking the side window to see who it was, and yanked the door open. The moment I spotted the person standing across the threshold, I knew I had to have been hallucinating.
“Hey, Freckles,” Roan greeted, that single dimple slowly disappearing with his smile as he took me in. “Jesus, you look like shit. What’s wrong?”
