Arrogant Devil(23)

This guy’s clothes are nice. His face is nicer. He’s cleanly shaven. His hair is trimmed short and he has one of those classic, pearly smiles. I bet he gets along with most everyone, unlike a certain dark-haired, darker-eyed devil waiting for me back at the ranch. I know he didn’t give me the keys to this clunker, but he’s still to blame for my current predicament. I don’t have any proof, but I have a gut feeling he’s somehow the reason I got the flu before my seventh grade trip to Disney and couldn’t go.

“I’ll make you a deal: you scoot over on this seat, and I’ll get you over this hill. Where are you headed?”

I start to slide across the bench seat, and he pulls open the door to take my place behind the wheel. “The grocery store.” I hold up my piece of paper. “According to my incredibly detailed directions, I’m nearly there.”

“Yeah.” He nods before he starts the truck and maneuvers it like a pro. “You should be good. The store’s just around the bend up ahead, and don’t worry, there aren’t any more hills after this one. I’d drive you the rest of the way myself, but I have to be in court in fifteen minutes.”

“Court, huh? Are you the law breaker or the law upholder?”

He laughs. “You’ll be happy to know I have a clean record, ma’am. Good thing considering you just let me hop into this truck with you.”

My eyes widen. How stupid could I be?

“Oh god. I did, didn’t I?!” I drop my face in my palm. “You could’ve been a—a highwayman or something!”

“Aren’t too many of those still around this century.” He smiles. “I just wouldn’t recommend doing it again in the future. Cedar Creek is pretty safe, but you never know when a few bad apples might be passing through.”

It’s kind of fun that small towns have a rosy euphemism for everything. In big cities they’re hardened criminals. Here, they’re just spoiled fruit.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” I promise.

“Maybe I could give you my number and you can call me if you ever find yourself in a bind again, roadside or otherwise.”

I swear he’s blushing a little bit.

If I were in the market for love, he’d be the perfect candidate: handsome but sweet, gentle and kind. He’s a golden retriever, anxious to please in hopes of a treat.

I think it’s best that I don’t lead him on though, so I offer the truth: “I don’t keep a cell phone on me.”

“You’re kidding.”

I pat my jean pockets for proof. “Nope. I’m not Amish or anything, it’s just—well, it’s complicated.”

I keep it back at the ranch on my bedside table. I hardly check it, and I would get rid of it completely but I’m scared Helen or my parents will need to reach me. Most of the time I just keep it turned off.

He puts the truck in park. “So I guess that means I’ll have to settle for the ol’ fashioned way: maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

I smile and shrug. “I’m sure I’ll stall out again soon, or maybe I’ll commit a crime and need a lawyer to defend me?”

He brushes his hand across his chin, brows furrowed. “Won’t work. I’m a prosecutor.”

“Wow, so you really are a hero. Slaying dragons and rescuing damsels—all you need is a suit of armor.” He can’t meet my eyes, as if he’s embarrassed by the attention. I smile and reach over to extend my hand. “I’m Meredith, by the way.”

He smiles as his warm palm meets mine. “Tucker.”

After that, we part ways. Tucker dashes off to court, and I’m left chugging along the last mile or two to the grocery store with a dopey smile on my face. I take my time perusing the aisles, pleasantly surprised by the turn my day has taken. Jack might have started it off with a bang, but thanks to Chris, David, and Tucker, I’m starting to think people in Texas are just as friendly as rumor has it. I check off every item on my grocery list and manage to stay under budget. Food is so much cheaper here than in California, and I even find a section of the store full of organic, local produce from a few of the surrounding farms.

By the time I make it back to the ranch—after only stalling once on the way home, thank you very much—I carry all the groceries in and get to work making lunch. It’s already 12:45 PM and Jack and Edith are hungry. Edith won’t leave the kitchen. She’s taken up residence on one of the bar stools and is watching me work.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Garlic-infused olive oil.”

“And that?”

“Panko.”

“Pank-what?”

“PANK-OH. Breadcrumbs to you. I like it on salmon.”

“Jack isn’t a big fan of fish.”

I purse my lips. “You don’t say.”

“Yeah, we’re more a meat-and-potatoes kind of family.”

Just then, Jack’s booming voice carries down from the top floor. “Is Meredith back from the store yet? I just got a call from Marty, said he saw a brunette stalled out on the side of the road in one of our trucks.”

“Yes I’m back!” I shout back, annoyed with this Marty person for being such a narc. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about! I got to the store and back just fine, no thanks to that rust bucket your ranch hands lent me!”