Oh.
Oh, no.
I don’t know how I developed a crush this hard, this fast.
Maybe it’s damsel in distress syndrome.
But there’s that tick of warm, husky affection in his voice when he says Warren and Haley.
That hint tells me the owners of the inn are important to him. Friends. Maybe family.
Lucky them, when I just want to hear him say Peace in soothing baritone again, with that same gentle heat.
But he doesn’t say anything else as he cruises the fire truck forward to take that little turn-off and head down the lane, the dirt and twigs cracking under the wheels.
The first flakes of a snowstorm, thick and fat and heavy, are just beginning to streak down from the clouds by the time I get out, adding to the small, half-melted dunes that cling here and there around the property. I’m sure the deeper, burying snows won’t be far behind this dusting.
I’m lucky I didn’t get stranded in a blizzard.
It’s quiet as everyone helps me offload things from the fire truck. We carry them into the wooden slat cabin with its tall floor-to-ceiling windows and glass doors.
As the last crate rattles down on the coffee table, though, I turn to Blake, offering my hand. “Thanks again for—”
I’m looking at his back.
His back, and the tight clench of his left fist, pressed against his thigh. Clearly trying to knuckle out the pain and walk straighter, his spine stiff.
Yeah.
I know that habit.
There’s a clear wound, maybe something he got as a firefighter, maybe something else. He’s got that kind of dense corded muscle that says ex-military.
Maybe he’s been in physical therapy, maybe he’s recovered, but it’s never going to fully heal.
And he looks like the kind of man who doesn’t really listen when people try to talk to him about pain management.
“Hey,” Justin says with an easy smile, just as the door slams shut behind Blake. “Don’t mind him. He’s just…not good with attention. Too many people staring at him already around town, so add one more pretty stranger and he’s going to clam up.”
I frown. “Why are people staring at him?”
Justin laughs and sucks in a deep breath.
Rich snorts, rolling his eyes. “Oh, don’t get him started. It’s his favorite story. The—”
“Heroes of Heart’s Edge!” Justin finishes. His eyes are bright.
I lift a brow.
He can’t be more than a few years older than me, maybe close to thirty, but there’s definitely a case of fanboy hero worship in his boyish smile. “That’s what they call ’em in the papers. They just keep making all the headlines. Making some folks believe in heroes again.”
“Headlines about what?” I blink, leaning around Justin to peer past Blake’s silhouette, slowly melting away into the falling snow and the shadows of night, barely visible through the glass.
“Um, let’s see…” Justin ticks off his fingers, tilting his head, screwing his mouth up thoughtfully. “Got rid of a big-time drug runner, stopped an evil research company from killing the whole town, stopped them again from burning us down…”
I stare, my heart skipping just a little faster. “Okay, wow. The tourist guidebooks did not warn me about any of that. I thought this place was just a sleepy, peaceful little place?”
Justin grins, clapping me on the shoulder. “Aw, don’t worry. We’re back to being a sleepy small-town nothing again since autumn. Nothing’s gonna happen to you here.”
“Except a terminal case of boredom,” Rich adds. “The only big shindig for the next few months is the winter carnival. Besides that, it’s just socialites wanting to play at being rustic for a month or two, until they get sick of the crappy Wi-Fi connection.”
I laugh. “I’m not really worried as long as Netflix works.”
“Might cut out a little with everything else when the first big snow hits,” Rich says. “For some reason, the underground internet cables get weird this time of year. But it’s usually fine after a day or two.” He nudges Justin’s arm. “C’mon. Little lady’s had a rough night. Let her get some rest.”
He pitches his voice to me again. “I’ll get your van in the morning and tow it into town. You can come by Mitch’s when you’re up. Warren or Hay will give you a lift into town, I’m sure. Ask for me.”
I kind of wish I could ask Blake to give me a ride.
It’s hard to resist a mystery.
That friendly warmth when he’d been on the radio, and then the soft, almost intimate way he’d spoken, coaxed, reassured me. The way he’d said my name like it was a musical note rolling off his tongue.
Only to go cold and gruff and withdrawn the moment I’d noticed his pain.
He makes me think of a song, wrapped up in the shape of a man.
Melody in his movements.
Raw lyricism in his every breath.
I haven’t had a good muse in a long while. Maybe he could be my spark.