Rachel Lee - What She Saw

Buck’s strong arms wrapped around her, hauling her close.

She should have resisted, but that embrace felt so good, and those arms felt so strong and protective. It had been way, way too long since anyone had hugged her, and her throat tightened as she realized how much she had missed that kind of comfort.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmured. “That much I can swear. Not one bad thing is going to happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” she said weakly into his shoulder. “Nobody can.” Life had certainly taught her that lesson the hard way.

“I can. It used to be my job. Nobody’s going to hurt you. They’ll have to get through me first.”

Conard County: The Next Generation

Dear Reader,

This book started as a game. I was having a terrible time coming up with a story idea, so a couple of friends and I played an improv game. One set a scene. Then each of us added to it, none of us being able to change what came before.

The game is called, “Yes, and…” Each subsequent person builds on what came before.

And while the game didn’t give me the whole idea, it raised a question: What did Haley see in the parking lot that was so dangerous?

From there other ideas occurred to me as I tried to answer that question. Among the things I wanted to do with this book, other than tell a suspenseful love story, was revisit Conard County in a way so many readers asked for. A lot wound up being cut for length, but I feel I’ve at least added to the sense of homecoming for those who asked for more.

I hope you enjoy What She Saw . Because what Haley saw bought her a whole peck of trouble and a whole lot of love.

Hugs,

Rachel

RACHEL LEEwas hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Nothing hinted that a man would die that night.

Haley Martin arrived at the truck stop for her shift at eight in the evening. The place was open round the clock, and was busy enough at any hour because this was the only big truck stop for nearly a hundred miles in any direction.

Big enough for rigs to park and idle while drivers slept. Big enough to have hot showers and other amenities. And the restaurant itself was famous for good down-home cooking.

That night the lot was almost empty, but she knew this would change. Traffic always seemed to come in waves, maybe because the truckers liked to travel close together so they could keep in touch by radio and chat.

On her way in, she noticed two trucks parked back-to-back. That was unusual. They usually parked side by side. One of the trucks was smaller, a box truck, not a trailer rig like the other. It didn’t seem important, though, and she quickened her step so she wouldn’t be late. She’d taken a small role in a college play and the rehearsal had run over.

She liked the job. It was tiring, being on her feet for hours, but she liked it anyway. As a college student, it fit her perfectly, and when it got quiet the boss didn’t mind if she studied.

She was only taking one class this summer, and working full-time, but the class had more than an average amount of reading and homework, so a quiet night would be welcome.

She breezed inside, waving to the other waitress, Claire, an attractive thirtysomething redhead, and the skinny short-order cook and owner, Hasty. He tossed her a grin as she passed by on the way to her locker, then returned to his cooking.

After getting her purse and books stowed, she tied on her apron, starched and white, over her pink uniform, checked that her blond hair hadn’t escaped its bun, then punched the time clock and headed out to work.

“Coffee’s fresh,” Claire said as she returned to the restaurant. “It’s been slow since I got here at four.”

“That’ll change,” Hasty remarked as he slipped burgers onto buns and scooped them onto plates with fries. He turned and put them on the counter for Claire.

“Might as well study, Haley,” he said. “You’ll know when to hop.”

Yes, that was part of why she liked this job. Hasty seemed to care as much about her education as she did. But she also liked the truckers who came in here. Most of them were nice enough, and some even told great stories about the places they’d been.

There was one driver in particular, she thought as she went back to get her books and a cup of coffee. One guy who seemed to stand out, although she wasn’t exactly sure why. It wasn’t just that he was awfully good-looking, or that he seemed to have a body honed to hardness, unlike many other drivers who had been softened by the endless hours at the wheel.

No, it was something else, she thought as she took a seat by the window. Something about his manner. Quieter and more respectful than the others, not that many gave her a hard time. He was the only one who didn’t address her by name, even though it was plainly written on a badge above her breast. No, he always called her ma’am . And he tipped generously.

But that wasn’t it, either, she decided as she opened her book. It was his eyes. Dark, dark eyes that seemed to hint at danger while reflecting a good helping of sorrow.

Almost without fail, he was here three nights a week, and unless she was mistaken, tonight was his night. For some reason, she had begun to look forward to seeing him.

She chided herself. She’d already made up her mind that she wouldn’t let anything get between her and completing school, and there was nothing like a relationship to do that. She’d seen enough people drop out to get married. Besides, what did she know about him except that seeing him made her heart skip a beat? That he wasn’t married and drove a truck, and his last name, embroidered on his gray shirt, was Devlin. Not a whole lot, even for a fantasy.

Shaking her head at herself, she burrowed into her text. She was discovering very little real interest in diet and nutrition, maybe because she had had to juggle so many diets during her mother’s illness.

Interested or not, she still had fifty pages to read before class tomorrow, and there would probably be a pop quiz, plus the final loomed on Friday morning, so she dove in.

A noise from the lot caught her attention and she looked out through the plate-glass window. The brightly lit restaurant didn’t help her view any, nearly turning the glass into a mirror, and those two trucks she had noticed were parked at the far end of the lot in near darkness. But she heard a clang, and then squinted. Were those two trucks transferring something?