Whispers Under A Southern Sky. Joanne Rock

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       CHAPTER TWO

      RETURNING FROM THE grocery store, Amy took the Partridge Hill Road slowly, climbing the sharp incline at a respectful speed. The tarmac looked like the town had been ignoring it for decades, and she was wary of the potholes and cavernous cracks.

      Her car was on its last leg—to be expected since she’d snagged it on eBay for next to nothing after her previous vehicle had died. A gray sedan built for efficiency and not comfort, the car was held together with duct tape, furnace cement, a few well-placed zip ties and a whole lot of YouTube video knowledge on DIY mechanics. She was proud she’d kept the thing running this long, but she wasn’t about to risk her luck on one of those black holes.

      Even if that meant she couldn’t zip past the house where Sam Reyes lived.

      She kept her eyes on the road so as not to risk any accidental sightings. Not that she wasn’t curious, of course. Her long-ago boyfriend had been hot when other teenage boys were still gangly and awkward. Her imagination could quite nicely envision him as a man full grown. She didn’t need that visual confirmed, though. Especially not after they’d had the world’s most awkward non-breakup.

      He just up and disappeared. Vanished into thin air with Gabriella Chance, a particularly adorable majorette who probably would have been homecoming queen. If she hadn’t left school to run away with Sam. His mysterious email—weeks later—claiming that he’d left to “help a friend” hadn’t exactly eased her anger.

      Thump!

      The car dipped down into a rut she hadn’t seen. The passenger-side tire scraped something sharp, a grating noise against the wheel. She hit the gas on instinct since her vehicle was prone to stalling.

      And yet, of course, her sedan died right there.

      “Unacceptable.” She closed her eyes. Willed the vehicle to life. “If not for me, you would be in a scrap heap.”

      Sadly, it wasn’t her first dialogue with the vehicle. But for the first time the cursed thing seemed to listen because it fired up again with a cough and a splutter.

      “Yes!” She hit the gas hard, desperate to get out of sight from the last house on Partridge Hill Road.

      She wasn’t a woman who enjoyed being rescued, and, thankfully, her closest neighbor wouldn’t be obliged to fill that role today. Racing up the rest of the hill, she dodged the remaining pits and crevices, flush with victory and the knowledge she had enough supplies to last her for the next two weeks. She wouldn’t need to worry about seeing anyone until she felt well settled in, and—

      Oh. Crap.

      A large man stood on the porch of the hunting cabin.

      Dressed in black and wearing dark sunglasses, the figure stood with his back to her, his large shoulders bent over something he seemed to be examining on the front-porch swing. A hit man deciding which weapon to use? Her brain churned out a whole series of crazy possibilities when he did not turn toward her as she slowed the car.

      Fear crawled up her throat since no one should be here. Her sisters had promised her—promised—that they would let her decide when she wanted to see the family. No one else knew she was here. And the guy on the porch sure didn’t look like he was selling something. Or trying to convert her.

      Why hadn’t the man noticed her yet? She debated backing down the road again. She could just slide it into Neutral and she’d be at the bottom of Partridge Hill in moments. Then suddenly, even with her heart beating hard and the car’s heater blowing on high, she realized she could hear the wail of an infant.

      Even as she told herself that made no sense, the man on the porch straightened. He held a baby in his arms.

      But that wasn’t nearly the most shocking thing about her uninvited guest.

      Because the man in front of her was Samuel Reyes.

      Seeing her, he raised his hand. A greeting? A warning?

      She mimicked the movement as she sat in the driver’s seat, staring at him as if she’d seen a ghost.

      So much for getting past his house unnoticed.

      Shutting off the engine as he walked toward the car, she wondered about the etiquette for this situation. How did a woman act when confronting a man who’d broken her heart and run off with another girl? Did she go with a breezy, blasé manner like none of it mattered? Pretend she didn’t recognize him?

      He was more handsome than she’d imagined he would be, and her imaginings had been plenty favorable to start with. He looked like a man who took his job seriously, and trained hard enough he’d be able to capture Olympian sprinters while on foot. Even in his dark pants and jacket, the muscles in his limbs were evident.

      His features were more sculpted, too, his jaw and cheekbones more angular somehow, his gray eyes more hooded. Or was it that his expression was less open, his gaze more calculating? Sliding across the seat to the working passenger-side door, she reminded herself to breathe.

      He was at the car door sooner than she was, opening it and holding out a hand to help her out.

      Her heart beat faster for no good reason.

      “Looking for someone?” she asked, ignoring his hand to step out onto the patch of gravel that counted as a driveway.