“I don’t wear a leash,” he replied. “Nor a muzzle. Ah, hell. Looks like the storm’s over.”
We glanced out the windows and sure enough, sunlight sprayed onto the street through a break in the clouds. Denver angrily tucked the back of his thin T-shirt into his faded jeans, which were so frayed at the ends, long pieces of thread dragged on the ground.
“Maybe I can throw those curtains in the road and tell ’em we got hit hard.”
“Do that and my mom will never cook you another seasoned pork chop again,” Lexi said in an amused voice, folding her arms and tilting her head.
“Am I done saving lives now?” Denver said gruffly. “I came here to be a nice guy for a change and all I get is heat. I’m outta here. Tell Aus I’ll be home later; I’m going to check out a new place up the road. I hear they got a three-story laser-tag room. If that’s true, then we’re going,” he said, circling his finger to everyone in the room and invisible parties not present.
Denver had an easygoing personality with a flair for humor, and sometimes that was a good quality for a man to have. The only thing I didn’t care for was how he’d walked in on a tense situation and had done little to keep me calm. I respected men who knew how to take charge, although I’d never known one outside of a paperback novel. Maybe they didn’t exist.
“Oh, no,” Lexi gasped, staring at her phone. “April, I need to go home early. Can you handle the rest of the shift alone, or do you need me to be here? I have an emergency.”
“Not a problem,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” Denver asked in a serious tone, his brows slanting down.
Lexi’s brown eyes flashed up. “Maizy’s hurt.”
His face tensed and he clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. “What happened?”
“She fell off the new swing and hit her mouth. They’re taking her to the—”
The bell jingled and Denver jogged toward an old yellow truck. Lexi grabbed her purse and followed close behind.
Chapter 2
A few minutes after ten o’clock, I decided to flip our sign in the window to Closed and lock up the store. The scent of rain hung heavy in the air, and I dreaded the walk home. I absolutely loved getting up early and walking to work, but after dark was another story.
Lexi assumed I rode the bus. She had no idea the bus didn’t go that route. My house was close to a five-mile walk and it gave me plenty of exercise, which I enjoyed. I don’t think my legs had seen muscle tone in all my life until the last two weeks after my car had broken down. The first three nights were a killer, but after that, I’d managed to build up my stamina and it gave me a boost of energy in the morning.
Most of the walk was along a busy street… until the turnoff just beyond the railroad tracks. Then I had to cut across open ground. I got spooked by sudden noises and shadows moving about. Each night, I’d slip on my dark track pants and hoodie so I wouldn’t stand out.
I looked like a burglar.
After three miles of singing “Piano Man” by my all-time favorite singer, tiny raindrops began to dampen my cheeks.
“Shoot,” I said, kicking a small rock as I hurried up the wet sidewalk.
At least we were having a mild October and the cold weather hadn’t kicked in yet. While my goal was to get an apartment, I’d been giving serious thought to buying a car first. It all depended on whether or not I could find an apartment near a bus route. I didn’t think I’d be able to continue walking once the temperature decided to drop.
The steady rain beat a staccato rhythm on the parked cars, and an SUV swerved so close to the curb that a wave of water splashed over me.
“Thank you!” I yelled with a laugh, waving my drenched arm as the car sped away.
Probably a decent guy trying to rush to the store to grab dinner for his wife and kids. I held my elbows tightly as a memory jostled loose in my head—one I’d just as soon not think about.
Every so often, I glanced over my shoulder at a strange clicking sound coming from behind me. Each time I stopped and turned around, I was confronted by a long stretch of shadows and concrete, but no boogeyman.
“I’m hearing things, I’m hearing things,” I sang to myself—the sort of thing you do when you’re alone and on the brink of running home like a frightened child. The streets were brightly lit and passing cars provided me with a sense of security, at least until I reached the wooded area.