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She flipped through the death certificates. There. She pulled it out and took it to the only desk at the far end of the room. Leonard Reed died of natural causes at the ripe age of eighty-five on January 18, 1974. He would have been thirty-one in 1920. That tracked.
Mere knew her obsession with this was ridiculous. She was making a mountain out of a molehill. Anders looked to be in his thirties, maybe a couple of years older than her. It was only a coincidence he resembled a man who died long before she’d been born. Or—and this was the most natural explanation—he was a distant relative whose passing resemblance was enhanced by the old photo and her overactive imagination.
After her experience with the asshat never to be named, she often doubted her own intuition. Maybe, just maybe, she was looking for a reason to put some distance between herself and Anders. The man was attractive, polite, and seemed to like her. Was it enough of a threat for her to create some ridiculous obstacle in her head?
Probably. The asshat had truly messed with her mind.
Mere pulled out the picture and studied it once more. She knew she should put it back, but some instinct made her tuck it into her pocket once more. She would ask her mom if she knew of Leonard Reed. Born and raised in Strawberry Creek, her mom had deep roots in the community. And if not, maybe her great-aunt would remember. She was in her eighties herself, but still sharp as a shark’s tooth.
She locked up and drove home.
At least, she tried. A loud bang and a strange flopping sound had her pulling over about two miles from her little house. Her old Sentra had blown a tire. She rolled to a stop and put the damn thing into park.
Mere bent her head and lightly tapped it against the steering wheel. Why? This was the last thing she needed.
Getting out of the car, she clutched her sweater tightly around her and shoved her hands into the pockets. The rippled edge of the bothersome photo tickled her fingers. With a sigh, she circled her vehicle. The right rear tire was as flat as a pancake. She opened the glove box and pulled out the owner’s manual. Mere had been lucky and only changed tires for practice as a teen and once…
Smoldering anger washed over her, but she pushed it away, as she’d done often the past five years. Anger wouldn’t change her freaking tire.
She used the light in the trunk to read the instructions and pulled out the jack and tire iron. A green Chevy truck that had to be older than her by at least a decade but was in much better condition than her eight-year-old sedan, pulled in behind her. Clutching the iron tightly, Mere put on her don’t-mess-with-me face. One would never describe it as mean, let alone aggressive, but she found it an effective deterrent when accosted by unknown men.
But this man wasn’t unknown. Anders Haynes unfolded his body from the driver’s seat. He pulled off his trucker cap and tossed it into the cab.
“I finally get to repay your kindness, Meretta.”
“I appreciate it, Mr.—Anders, but I’ve got this under control.”
After suspecting him of—what, exactly? Being the physical reincarnation of a man who died decades ago? That sounded bonkers even in her head. But it wasn’t in her nature to accept help from strangers, especially since his royal asshatness.
“It will go faster with two. And those lug nuts have a tendency to get stuck. I have tools in my truck if that’s the case.”
The man made sense. She wasn’t great getting her old beater into the shop for regular tire maintenance, no matter how many times her dad reminded her.
“Fine. But once the lug nuts are off…”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I will allow the damsel to rescue herself.”
“Good. As long as we’re on the same page.”
His lips twitched into an almost smile.
They got to work. The nuts were, indeed, stuck tight. With his whipcord muscles and a liberal application of lubricant, Anders got them off much more quickly than Mere could have. But now the sun was near the horizon, casting strange shadows.
“Let me shed some light on the situation.” He started the truck.
With the light and his help, the spare was on more quickly than it would have taken her alone. Of course, if Anders hadn’t come to her rescue, she would have called her dad when she realized the nuts were stuck.
Awkwardly, Mere shoved her hands into her pockets again. “Thank you.”
Another almost smile. “You are welcome. I am glad I was in the right place at the right time.”
She kicked at the ground awkwardly. Mere’s interactions with people outside of work or family over the last several years were limited, to say the least. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to do next. Pulling out her hand, she offered it to him.
The photo fluttered to the ground. Anders picked it up before she could take a step toward it. She held her breath.
The man glanced at it, and his face grayed. “Where did you get this?”
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