Angel Smits - Seeking Shelter

“Canned goods are on the far wall. You’ll find the snacks front middle, and beverages over there.” She waved the blade in the general direction. “If you need personal stuff, you’ll have to go see Sam down the street at the drugstore.”

“Thanks,” Jace mumbled, and headed down the center aisle. There must be a basement under part of the wood floor, as he heard a hollow tone beneath his steps toward the rear.

A wall-length, glass-fronted freezer stood at the very back, and he couldn’t resist opening the door. The cool air blasted him and he drank it in, letting it cool him as well as clear some of the dust from his lungs.

A box of Häagen-Dazs ice cream bars sat open on the bottom shelf. He grinned. They weren’t tagged, and he bet he’d just found her private stash. He grabbed one and tore open the wrapper. The rich chocolate ice cream tasted sweet and cool as he sauntered through the aisles. He grabbed a couple of sodas, some canned meat and a bag of chips along the way.

Traveling on the bike meant frequent stops, and he didn’t have much more than his clothes in the saddlebags.

He hadn’t planned this trip. Not that he planned much of anything, anyway, but definitely not this one. He’d just taken off, needing to complete this self-appointed mission. He suddenly realized that the past year—going all the way to Pennsylvania to see his brother and back—had done a number not only on the bike, but on him. As well as the emotional upheaval of losing Mac.

All of a sudden, Jace felt tired. He sighed loudly and headed toward the checkout. Dropping the pile on the counter with a loud clatter, he tossed the still damp stick on top so she’d know to charge him for the ice cream.

Their eyes met, and hers widened as she looked up at him. For the first time in a long time, something inside Jace stirred to life.

* * *

ALL HER LIFE, Amy had been warned against letting strange men in the front door. That was much easier in the context of her home. Owning a grocery store in a small town, well, she couldn’t afford to be too picky.

That was one of the reasons she’d agreed to let Katie adopt Butcher. She glanced down at the dog, who was flopped at her feet, watching the man. Fat lot of good the mutt was right now. He’d found his favorite spot in the store—on the vent beside the big old butcher block where she worked. He was currently a puddle of contented fur.

She’d been watching the man since he’d come into town, pushing the big motorcycle over to Rick’s station. The bike was a monster and must weigh a ton. He’d pushed it easily, any strain hidden by his black leathers.

He had to be baking in that jacket. The only breeze was what he created as he moved. It barely stirred his dark, shoulder-length hair.

Her gaze had been drawn to the form-fitting leather pants he wore like a second skin.

When he moved down the aisle, the dog perked up one ear. Nothing more. But it was enough to reassure her that she was safe. Or as safe as a woman alone in the middle of nowhere could be.

She returned to the butcher block and the package of steaks she was preparing for Hank. The old man would be here at four to pick them up, so she had plenty of time. As the stranger wandered down the aisle, she wondered what would be Butcher’s greater motivation—the need to protect her, or to protect his perceived dinner—if the man proved to be a threat.

She put the meat cleaver on the butcher block, but within easy reach. She’d hoped to keep track of him, but too late, he was in her space, standing on the other side of the narrow counter.

And Butcher was simply thumping his tail against the floor.

She swallowed hard before turning to face her customer. “Did you, uh, need anything else?” She cringed when her voice quavered, and inched her hand toward the cleaver.

“Not a knife, if that’s what you’re offering.”

She pulled her hand back, and the smile that was too good-looking for such a rough guy sent heat to her cheeks. People who rode motorcycles like the one she’d seen him with shouldn’t have pearly white teeth. But he did.

“It’s not.”

“Can you ring me up?” He tilted his head toward the stack on the counter.

“Oh. Sure.” A paying customer. What a novelty.

“Nice dog.” Butcher’s tail moved faster.

“He’s my watchdog.”

“Uh-huh.” The man didn’t sound convinced. His smile widened.

She chose to ignore it. But if Butcher decided to take a hunk out of his leg...well, she might let him, though it’d be a shame to ruin that nice backside with teeth marks. Her cheeks warmed and she looked away.

Amy wiped her hands on the apron and stepped behind the register. She punched in the amounts, and after each, the ratcheting of the paper feed filled the silence.

“The ice cream is a buck twenty-five.” She didn’t have a clue what they should cost. They weren’t really for sale. Too late now.

The purchases fit in one bag. He pulled a worn wallet out and peeled off a crisp new bill. She smiled. Much easier to deal with than a credit card, or God forbid, a check. The fact that it was a fifty-dollar bill surprised her.

She counted out his change, then extended her hand to give it to him.

He smiled back and reached out to take it. Her heart did a funny little flip as she looked at his wide palm.

Back in junior high, she and her best friend, Caryn, had bought a book on palm reading. They’d pored over all the meanings of the lines in a person’s hand. Looking at this man’s hand, with its calluses and lines, she wished she remembered some of that information. He intrigued her. She didn’t usually care about strangers, especially not men. But this man had been places outside this town. And he was heading someplace else once he left here. She wondered where.

She shook her head to dispel her thoughts, and nearly dropped the coins.

To keep the money from falling, he curled his hand around hers.

Heat that had nothing to do with their location in the middle of the Arizona desert shot up her arm. Surprised, she looked up, then tried to hide her uncertainty. “Your change.” She pulled back her hand, and he let her go, though the feel of him lingered. She moved to the butcher block as he headed to the door.

He stopped, holding the screen door open, and faced her. “So, is there somewhere I can get a room for the night?”

Startled, she actually dropped the meat cleaver, but thankfully, managed to miss her foot. The unmistakable clatter echoed through the store. Why in the world would he want to do that?

“You want to stay here?” She turned and looked at him. There was something about him that rubbed her the wrong way, a way that made her itch all over. She hadn’t felt that way since...since... She shut that thought down nearly as fast as it appeared. It must be that conversation with Katie yesterday that had stirred up all this...awareness.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He frowned at her.

“No one stays here.”

“I’m going to. You friends with the sheriff?”

“What?” She’d seen Gavin talking with him and Rick. What had that idiot said now?

“Oh, nothing.” The man shook his head and smiled as he popped one of the sodas he’d bought and took a deep drink.

Amy could only stare at the muscles of his throat as they worked. “Damn,” she mumbled. Without another word, she walked past him, pushed the screen door open wider and tilted her head toward the old Victorian house across the square. “Hank runs the B and B. Over there. He can always use the business.”

The house had seen better days, but Hank was slowly fixing it up. The stranger moved close—close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body. He stared past her toward the house, then stepped outside. An eyebrow lifted, but that was his only reaction.