Where Would I Be Without You

Chapter Three

I began walking at a fast clip downhill. The road was steep going down, so walking back up would be a challenge with a lot of groceries. I began making a mental list in my head as to what I would need. A good bottle of wine was going to be worth its weight to carry. I had some sorrows to take care of. Forget health food. I was on a warpath that didn’t involve men or slender waists. I could now eat what I wanted when I wanted, and not get judged for a pound gained. I smiled at that thought and felt a warm sensation fill my body with hope. I rounded a bend in the road, and it opened wide to a valley below. It was breathtaking.

The rolling hills that intertwined into a valley river below filled with aspen trees of green and yellow shades, coloring the landscape. The tall intermingling pine trees were lush with green fir tips, and the river sparkled with clear dark-blue water with the late day sun starting to cast golden stars of light off the bending river.

I took a deep yoga breath in, and stretched my arms over my head and slowly let it out as I let my arms sink to my sides. I felt alive in a new and unusual way. I didn’t feel so helpless and alone anymore. I didn’t think Sabrina would understand my love for the fresh mountain air. It ran parallel in first place to my desire to sit on a beach and let the ocean lap at my toes. This place might not be so bad after all.

I did notice, that I did not see a town in sight. I could only hope it was down the road and hidden by all the trees. Because if not… I was screwed. Hell I was screwed any ways. Maybe I would pull a Forrest Gump and just run my broken heart to all eternity.

I looked down at my newly acquired tennis shoes I had bought just for the trip to match my turquoise blue yoga tank top and dark navy blue yoga pants with the matching bright turquoise design. I had pulled my long blonde hair into a puffy ponytail before I left the cottage. I was a walking billboard for fit and athletic cute. I didn’t doubt that. I hadn’t thought to wash my face before I left which I was sure was a puffy splotchy red mess of mascara ruins.

I spit into my fingertips, wiped my spit under my eyes, and used the underside end of my tank top to wipe my eyes clean. Thankful this brand of waterproof mascara held to its fifty-dollar price tag. It was actually waterproof. I slapped my face with my hands and pinched my cheeks to get the blood flowing. I figured by the time I got to civilization that I would look normal, as long as I held back any more tears.

I felt like I had walked several miles when I knew it was most likely only one. I heard the crunching of tires approaching behind me, and I stepped to the side of the road to let them pass. Who should pass me but my neighbors in their black Range Rover with darkly tinted windows. I watched the Rover slowly crawl to a stop then sat there. I smiled at them and stopped myself, turning extremely nervous inside. What if Sabrina had placed me directly in the path of a serial killer? Or worse. How the heck, do I explain my existence in that rundown shack?

I froze with a plastered smile on my face as I watched the black Range Rover slowly back up next to me. Then in what seemed like an even slower pace was watching the passenger window lower down. Who was driving the car was not who I expected. I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Maybe some dangerously looking mountain man, with a hidden knife next to his seat to dice me up with.

“Need a lift?” His voice was smooth and deep. His eyes hid behind very expensive sunglasses while his jaw was chiseled in a tense motion, and his mouth was set in a straight line. He had one hand draped across the black leather steering wheel and another down by his side. ‘Serial murderers come in all shapes and sizes.’ My inner scared cat voice squeaked in my head. While the sexual part of me imagined what lied behind those sunglasses and underneath the pricey tee shirt he was wearing. As if he read my mind, he raised his glasses to his head and attempted a smile. “Mike Smith. I believe we are neighbors.”

I reached my hand in to shake his. He accepted and pulled his hand off the steering wheel and turned towards me as he shook my hand. “Klarissa Rhi… I mean Beck.” Hell I had to remember I was no longer a Rhinholt.

He repeated his question as if I was bothering him. “Need a lift to town?” Before I could stop myself, I asked the stupid question, which I knew could lead to more questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. “How far is town?”

He cocked his head and with a squint of his eyes; he reached up, slide his glasses back down and draped his hand back over his wheel looking straight ahead. “Farther than you’d want to walk those pretty new shoes of yours.”

How did he know my shoes where new? Christ did I have immature stupid written on my forehead. I sensed Mr. Smith and I, if that was even his real name, were not going to be new BFFs. As if. A*shole. “No thanks. I’ll enjoy the walk into town.”

He grumbled something, then started to raise the window and drove about two feet. The Range Rover stopped again and this time, he shut it off and out walked a very tall and fit man with the type of features that read rich, yet laid-back man. He walked with confidence. His leather flip-flops matched his worn jeans. However, not his pricey cotton tee or his expensive shades or brand new Range Rover. He had money, but he had attitude as well. His blonde hair and blue eyes made him look clean cut. His lean athletic body shape did things to my body that any healthy normal woman would respond this way. I cut myself some slack for feeling any sort of attraction on looks alone.

I took a step back almost scared he was coming at me at such a fast clip. He stopped just short of the cliff we were next to and pointed out to a large boulder on a rocky cliff on a mountaintop quite a ways over. “Well, sweetheart. If you insist on walking, you might want to head straight down this hill and hike the next to walk straight down the next. Town is down that hill from that boulder there. On the other hand, you can catch a ride with me and be there in less than fifteen minutes. Your choice. I leave in ten… nine… eight…seven…” He was talking to me like a child.

I stopped him short. I put my hands up in the air. “I get it.” I examined my predator for a split second. His facial features softened quite a bit. The sun was starting to fall in the sky, and it lit up the back of his curly blonde hair like a halo. His hair was just shy of his neck with little light wispy curls on the edge of it. His blue eyes were intense when they weren’t hiding behind sunglasses and his face aged him somewhere in his thirties, possibly ten years older than my twenty-five. He was most likely far more educated and mature then I had ever been.

I jumped in the Range Rover’s passenger seat and clicked the seatbelt in. I felt messed up. I should have just grabbed a few clothes and started hitch hiking my way to the nearest motel six and try to get a waitress job at a local café. Because at this particular moment, I knew exactly what Sabrina was laughing at while sitting in the Caribbean lounge about - me.

The first minute of the drive down, the now very windy road, was quiet between Mr. Mike Smith and me. I should be thankful to my knight in shining armor. He certainly knew how to act put out. With a slow intake of breath, I composed myself and turned to a man with extremely handsome features once he seemed more relaxed. “Sorry.” I whispered softly from my lips, as I let out a light puff of air.

“No sorry needed. I just get the impression you have no idea how far it is to town when your limo driver dropped you off.”

Nice, he saw the whole show. I tapped my fingers against my legs. Now I had no freaking clue where I was or how far. How the hell, do I say that without coming out looking like Queen Stupid.

A few more minutes passed, and we were still deep in mountain country on a single-lane dirt road. Shit we were far from town. I was going to need a car, and I don’t think a thousand dollars was going to get me much. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I get the impression something’s amiss?” His voice had a timber smooth sound to it, a serious sound to it.

My voice, on the other hand, sounded squeaky and high-pitched. “No. What makes you say that?” I kept my eyes adverted from him as I knew I was a lousy liar.

He slowed the Ranger for a sharp curve and then started straight again. This time we were off the main mountain we lived on and next to the riverbed. I saw a few other houses along the way that looked far from the road.

“Hmm.” His voice sounded speculative of me, rightly so. I was wondering myself what everyone would think about me, and my new humble abode. Looking for a job in a small mountain town can be hard if no one knows you.

The river looked beautiful. I found myself getting lost in the scenery. The soft mediation music coming from the Range Rovers speakers reminded me of my last massage I got last weekend. I did not think I would be getting too many more of those anytime soon.

“Hmm.” This time it was louder, along with the taping of his fingers against the steering wheel; I got the impression, he was not going to let this go.

“How much of the limo driver dropping me off did you see?” My voice sounded weak and wimpy.

He didn’t speak up right away, and then he slowed the Rover to a stop along side of the river and turned and looked at me. “None. Why? What was there to see?”

I looked at him not sure, if he was lying or telling the truth. “Nothing. Nothing at all. However, you said you saw the limo driver drop me off.”

“I didn’t say that. What I saw was a limo coming up the road as I was driving into town. When I got back, the porch of ol’ man Kunz’s place was loaded with more expensive luggage than I’ve seen in a while and no one in sight. My journalistic aptitude assumed that was you in the limo, and the luggage belong to you. My next question is why in the heck are you there?”

I swallowed hard. Why was I there? Could I spill the truth? Yeah right. Who in the heck would believe me? I did what I did best when backed into a corner and reflected the subject back to the man. Which every man loved, didn’t he? “So? You’re a journalist? For what, like Time or National Geographic or some big news gig?” I sounded too enthusiastic for myself.

The Rover started up and raced down the road at a much faster clip than before. The silence dreaded on. I had not answered his question, and he had not answered mine.

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