Chapter 10
Cruz angled his truck down the two lane rural road, searching for the turnoff that Rosie had said looked like it went nowhere but was actually her driveway. She was technically outside of the main town area, in one of those houses that sat in the middle of fields of crops he had yet to identify without his phone.
She had texted directions to her house earlier in the day, and Cruz silently thanked the nation’s search engines and online navigation programs that Sundown was on GPS. Rosie had clued him in with a few landmarks as well.
Spotting a group of three towering trees, then a mailbox with bluebirds on it, he checked off his mental list and turned. The road appeared to lead straight into a field, but after a couple hundred yards, it made a ninety-degree turn to the left. Another couple hundred yards ahead was a little brick house.
Two birds with long tails swooped overhead. None like he had ever seen before, and he added it to the bucket list of things to learn about country life. Each yard closer to Rosie’s house brought more of it into focus: the porch that she made into two syllables. The millwork along the upper edges that made it look feminine like her. And the wooden swing, big enough for two, with red pillows at each end. A wind chime swung in the barely-there breeze, not even enough to make it ring.
Clusters of brightly colored flowers sectioned off the corners of the front yard. The whole scene was straight out of a movie. He parked his truck and got out, walking across the neat lawn. Did she mow it herself? What about when something in the house broke? Who did she call?
He’d never wondered how a woman took care of herself or got things done before. Rosie seemed independent. And hell, the whole town knew her. She probably didn’t have to look far for help.
Then again…she sure as hell needed it the night he met her.
His fist clenched but he pushed the negative thoughts out of his head. Other than meeting her, that night didn’t deserve any space in his head.
Tonight was all about her. He wasn’t sure what to expect from a county fair, but he wanted time alone with her. Selfish? Maybe, but she sure didn’t seem to mind—
The front door of the house swung open and Rosie stepped out.
Holy fucking hell.
Cruz hadn’t made it up the three steps yet, so he was level with her boots.
Cowboy boots.
He never in a million years would have thought cowboy—cowgirl—boots could be hot. But words failed him as he took in the brown leather that ended below her knees, and her bare toned legs that were on display. More denim shorts, these ones with ripped edges. Strands of pale blue cotton fiber brushed against her thighs, making him think about doing the same with his fingers. Or mouth… She wore a black and white checked shirt tied at her waist. It was unbuttoned, revealing a black tank top beneath. Her hair swung long and loose, and in her hands was a light brown cowboy hat.
She set it on her head and raised a brow. “Too much? I wasn’t sure about the hat.”
Cruz could only stare, because that damn hat short-circuited any coherent thoughts. All he could process was unbidden images of her in that hat—and nothing else. Shit and fuck, he needed to cool it. He cleared his throat. “Ah…”
“Yeah, thought so.” She took it off and shrugged. “Another time.”
“Sure,” he coughed. Another time might kill him.
“Lemme just set this inside and we can go.” She ducked back through the doorway.
That perfect tight ass. That sexy honey hair. Tonight would require his biggest effort ever to keep his hands to himself.
A porch light flicked on. She emerged and locked the door behind her. “So you found me okay.”
“Yeah. Three trees and the mailbox. This is a hell of a driveway.”
“It’s a quarter mile.” She descended the steps to stand in front of him. “Guessing you don’t see that back home?”
He shook his head, wanting to absorb every nuance of her porcelain skin, her tumbled hair, the fruity fragrance that curled into his nose. That tank top she wore was just low enough to show off the tops of her breasts. Jesus.
“Cruz,” she said softly. Sweetly and with a hint of a drawl.
Shit. “Sorry.” He met her eyes, not actually sorry to be caught checking out her tits. But the expression on her face was more amused than anything else. “Right. The driveway. What do you do when it snows?”
She glanced at the strip of road. “Enough of the townsfolk hook plows to their trucks in the winter—someone always ends up over here to plow me out. Though, main roads first, so it can take a while.”
“So you really are snowbound.” He didn’t know if that was good or bad. If she couldn’t get out, then no one could get in either.
“We really don’t get as much snow down here as upstate, so it’s not bad.” She stuck a hand in a front pocket. “But snow is a distant thing right now. Tonight is fair night!”
Her enthusiasm was contagious. “Let’s go.” He walked to the truck and opened the passenger door for her. She hopped in, and he made the effort to look at her boots and not her ass. “Nice boots.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Didn’t wear yours, I see.” A teasing smirk that he wanted to kiss right off her lips.
“Nope. I have to fess up and tell you that I don’t have any.”
She sucked in a breath. “Well, we’ll have to fix that right away. Can’t have no boots.” Her tone still taunted. Still so damn sexy.
“You can help me with that. Pick some out.” He rounded the front and climbed in. He cranked the engine to life and steered the truck back down her driveway. The radio, hovering at a low volume, played a country station. “I noticed all the radio stations are country or talk.”
“Yep.” She paused to listen, and turned up the volume a little. “Oh, it’s Dierks Bentley. I like this song.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard it.”
“You’re gonna hear it all the time now. Unless you hook up your phone and stream whatever you want. Oh, and tonight? There’ll be live country music. Some folks really get into the dancing. Two step, line dance, even square dancing.”
“You serious?”
“I kid you not. Costumes and all.”
“I didn’t know people really did that. I thought square dancing was something they made us do in elementary school PE to torture us.”
She laughed, a merry sound that filled the car and made him want to bottle it up and keep it for the times she tried to hide her shadows. “No, the do-si-does and allemande-lefts are real down here.”
Twenty minutes later their truck joined a long line of cars snaking through a grassy field. Fair workers with yellow vests and orange flashlights directed the cars to park in makeshift rows, creating one line and then another.
They exited the car and followed the crowds to the hustle and bustle of the fair. Low, flat-roofed buildings sat in groups, while dozens of white-topped tents were scattered all around.
“Just FYI, you may want to watch your step,” Rosie said. “I’m not sure what was in this field last week.”
“Good to know,” Cruz murmured, just in time to hear a child ahead of them shriek about finding cow poop.
He looked at Rosie and they both laughed. “Country life.” She shrugged.
After they got to the entrance and Cruz bought tickets, Rosie studied the map they’d been given. “Here’s the derby.” She pointed to a spot at the far end. “Let’s go.”
They threaded their way through throngs of people. Families, teens, and senior citizens meandered with food, drinks, or maps in hand. The aroma of grilled meat enticed his nose, followed by the scent of sugary treats as the wind shifted. “This is the most people I’ve seen in one place since I moved here,” he remarked.
“I told you, the fair is the place to be this weekend. Oh—there’s the goat pen. We gotta come back this way after the show. My old baby sitter has a couple goats in there. I need to see if she won any prizes.”
He nodded. Anything and everything about Redemption County was different, and he was over being surprised. He could go along with it—prize goats, giant vegetables, butter sculptures, anything they might have here, just to hang with Rosie.
The demolition derby took place in a dirt-filled arena with bleachers on one side. Cruz and Rosie climbed the worn wooden steps and found a spot in the middle. Two women and six kids occupied the spaces on Cruz’s right side. They smiled and scooted to make more room, giving the short glances you give to strangers that you’re going to sit next to for a specified amount of time. All except one.
A little girl—Cruz had no idea how to estimate kids’ ages—with purple all around her mouth, focused on him with big eyes.
Rosie noticed and gave the child a small wave. “Hello.”
The girl peered at Rosie but then turned back to Cruz. “Did you drawed on yourself?” she asked in a voice that was somewhere in between awe and you’re-getting-in-trouble.
Rosie stifled a snort.
“Ah…” Cruz frowned. Christ, the kid had to be three feet tall. And she stared at him like a courtroom judge who expected an honest answer immediately. “No. One of my friends did.”
“You gots to wash it off,” she said. “You’re ‘posed to use soap but we don’t have soap. Here.” She grabbed a grubby napkin from on top of a paper plate at her feet and proceeded to rub it along Cruz’s arm.
“McKenzie! Stop that!” the woman next to her grabbed her hand and pulled it away from Cruz. “I am so sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” Cruz said.
“McKenzie, we do not take dirty napkins and wipe off people’s arms. Understand?”
“But he gots to wash it. He needs soap. I think he needs a bath,” McKenzie said with utter seriousness.
Rosie covered her mouth, but a giggle slipped through. Cruz shot her a wry grin before looking back at the woman.
“Oh my goodness! Child—stop. No more talk about baths and washing until we get home and you are getting a bath. You got grape slushy all over your face. You’re a mess.” The woman turned to Cruz and Rosie, cheeks crimson. “I am so, so sorry. She has no filter.”
“No, really, it’s fine,” Cruz assured her. “She’s got a point--normally you don’t draw on yourself.”
“True but—” She shook her head. “Thank you for understanding. It’s been a long day.”
“No worries.” He leaned forward, letting his hands dangle between his knees. He angled his head toward Rosie, who was shaking in silent laughter. “Yuck it up.”
“Cruz, that was the funniest thing I’ve heard all week,” she whispered, wiping her eyes.
“Glad to be the entertainment.” He studied the ring as an engine roared through the early night air, then a second. The space was filled with all kinds of beater cars. Some looked like they’d seen action earlier in the day.
A voice came on the loudspeaker, announcing the start of the derby, and for the next twenty minutes ten cars slammed and crashed to the crowd’s delight. The watchers cheered each driver as he—or she, in one case—wrecked beyond repair and exited their car. When it got down to two cars, the voice on the speaker rattled off their names and whooped the crowd into cheering for one or the other.
It was all in good fun. But unbidden, decade old memories popped into his brain. His own defensive, evasive driving on Chicago’s dark streets. Stolen vehicles brought to a warehouse along the sanitation canal and delivered to the senior members of a gang who were owed a favor by the men Cruz wanted to join. Semi-automatic weapons trained on him as he delivered the goods alone. He was fifteen, and on the path that would lead him to prison.
The crowd around him erupted in applause, yanking him back to the present. Rosie stood up and clapped. “That was crazy! Look at that old truck—it’s smoking!”
He got to his feet and scanned the arena. Cars had stopped anywhere they pleased. Fenders lay on the dirt, along with one tire. “That was cool.” It sounded lame, but he didn’t want to tell Rosie he’d spaced out, lost in his shitty past.
“Whew! Yes, awesome!” The side aisles were jammed with people. She started to climb down the bleachers in front of them. “I need some food, and that barbeque has been smelling delicious ever since we parked. I—”
One of her low-heeled boots slipped off the edge of a bleacher and she wobbled. Without thinking he reached for her with both hands, catching her around the waist. “Whoa.”
A gasp left her lips as she clutched his biceps. Wide blue eyes stared up into his and breaths whooshed through her parted lips. Breaths that were part startled and part lost, as if she didn’t have any idea how she ended up holding on to him.
She was warm under his hands. Her fingers, light as birds wings, flexed into his muscles. Seconds ticked by and he had to fight off the feeling of wishing like hell they were alone. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she murmured, not moving. “Stupid boots.”
“I like them.” His blood roared to close the space between them and taste her plump lips. But they were on bleachers with people maneuvering all around them. “Let’s get you over to the side.”
“Okay.” She released her hold on his arms, only to surprise him by grabbing his hand.
Her hand was tiny and perfect in his as they made their way to the edge of the seats and down steps that were made for descent, unlike the precarious stands. Only at the bottom did she squeeze his fingers. “Thanks. I’m okay now. I think I can walk without tripping.”
“Good.” He didn’t let go of her. “Next stop—food?”
She smiled up at him. “Yep.”
Minutes later they found a spot at a table in what was designated as the dining area. A few dozen picnic tables were arranged under a large tent. Strings of white lights twinkled along the fabric high above. One area was sectioned off into a beer garden, while the rest was filled with families. Every kid had either an ice cream cone or a cloud of cotton candy, or was clamoring for one.
Rosie and Cruz dug into pulled pork sandwiches and cheesy French fries. “This is probably a thousand calories, but it’s sooo good,” Rosie said in between bites.
“Hey, the fair only happens once a year. You’re entitled.”
“Next we need to get elephant ear—”
“Rosie Marlow, is that you?” a shrill voice carried across the tent.
Rosie turned to the sound, a look of surprise, mixed with dismay on her face. She quickly adjusted it to a smile that passed for genuine. “Charmaine! How are you?” She dragged out the last word long enough to make it a separate sentence, and stood to greet the newcomer.
Charmaine had big brown teased hair and a tight lime green top on. Loads of makeup covered her face, which was more than likely attractive under all that color. “Rosie. Y’all haven’t come by for custard in ages.”
“I know. I’m sorry. The Grille is so busy and, gosh, I’ve lost track of how long it’s been.” Rosie tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll come by soon, I promise.”
Charmaine had stopped paying attention to Rosie at the word Grille, and focused heavily mascaraed eyes on Cruz. “And who is this?”
Cruz stood and extended a hand. “Cruz Zaffino. Nice to meet you.”
“Cruz just moved to Sundown,” Rosie explained.
Charmaine held his hand a second longer than he thought she needed to. “Zaffino. My, that sounds erotic. I mean—” She covered her red-painted mouth and giggled. “Exotic. Where are you from? Italy?”
“Chicago, actually.”
Her eyes lit up like she’d discovered gold. “Oh, a big city man! How exciting that you joined our little town!”
He nodded. “Seems like the ideal place to live.”
“It is ideal, let me tell you. You made a good choice.” Her eyes roamed his tattoos before swinging back to Rosie. “Well, I’ll let you two keep on with your supper. I just had to say hello as soon as I saw you. Take care now.” She grabbed Rosie for a hug, then sashayed off to one of the food booths.
Rosie sat down and so did Cruz. She had the oddest fake smile plastered on her face. “Oh my god, that woman is the biggest gossip in Redemption County.”
“Okay,” he said, frowning. “Guess they’re everywhere, right? What’s with the expression?” He drew a circle in the air with one finger.
“I’m keeping a smile on because ten to one she’s still watching us. Believe me, I want nothing more than to roll my eyes right now.”
He chuckled. “Wow. That bad?”
“Yes.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “She’s probably put a hundred pictures on her social media already, of every part of this fair. And everyone she talked to.”
“Got nothing better to do?”
“Nope, she doesn’t.” Rosie sighed. “She’s not a bad person. She just literally can’t keep anything to herself.”
Cruz munched on a fry dripping with cheese and was glad Rosie knew his past. This Charmaine might be about to dig up more than she bargained for about him.
They finished their sandwiches and started their search for the elephant ear booth. “We should just look for people with powdered sugar all over themselves,” Rosie joked. “Those things are so messy.”
And shit, there she went again. Or maybe his sex drive was more out of control than he realized. Her innocent words sparked an image of her, naked, covered in powdered sugar.
And maybe with her hat.
He gritted his teeth and racked his brain for the most unsexy topic he could think of. Changing the oil in his truck. Yep, that would do.
They found the booth a minute later and he bought them each one of the doughy treats. Elephant ear in hand, Rosie nibbled at it carefully. Still, each bite sent powdered sugar flying in all directions. She peeked up at him with a grin. A dusting of white streaked her chin, and he couldn’t resist. He reached toward her.
“You gots to wash this off,” he mimicked the child from earlier, gently brushing the sugar from her skin.
Her eyes dropped to his thumb and her lips parted. A hundred inappropriate ideas about her mouth tumbled through his head. But hell, they were at a family-friendly event and he had barely managed to keep his thoughts under control. Those boots, those shorts, her soft brushes against him as they walked—
Sudden trepidation fired up his spine as his focus was hijacked by deep-set instincts. Behind Rosie, a woman with a fussing toddler struggled with toys, two bags, and a stroller. The child’s shrieks of protest pierced the air, carrying over the woman’s attempts to soothe. Both her bags gaped wide open, slung over her shoulder as she leaned down to try to buckle the child into the stroller. Another slightly older child twirled nearby, chomping on cotton candy, inching away from them toward a stray balloon that had lost half its air and rolled along the ground. “Will! Get back here. Stand right here so I can see you. Will!”
The smaller kiddo kicked and screamed. The whole scene would have been typical—except for the mayday bellowing in his mind. The woman was a target.
A shaggy haired man, clad in black from head to toe, slipped in close behind the woman. Silent and swift. She didn’t seem aware of him as his hand dipped into her bag and emerged with her wallet. In a flash, he was speed walking down the midway.
Oh, hell no.
Cruz charged after the guy. He caught up to him and clamped a hand on his neck, pressing into the skin on the sides. “You’re gonna give that back, asshole.”
“What the fuck?” The man—only looked to be in his early twenties—tried to shrug off Cruz.
But Cruz only tightened his grip. “You deaf?”
“Ow, fuck. Who the fuck are you?”
Cruz steered him to the side of a building, away from the crowd. “Someone you’re gonna wish you never saw. Drop the wallet.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rosie following them.
“Don’t fuck with me man. Stay out of it.” The guy struggled.
Cruz shifted his hand to exert more pressure on the carotid artery. “Ten seconds til you pass out. Drop it or I’ll take it and leave you here.”
The guy’s hands clutched at Cruz’s arm. He blinked rapidly. “It’s just a …wallet…Not like I touched her or nothing…”
“Five seconds,” Cruz growled.
Panting, the man retrieved it from his baggy pants pocket and dropped it at Cruz’s feet.
Cruz let go, and the man took off like a shot into the dark area behind all the tents and buildings.
He picked the wallet up and opened it. A quick glance inside showed cash and credit cards still there, thank fuck.
“Cruz?” Rosie’s voice was tentative behind him.
He blew out a breath and turned to her. “We need to return this before that woman goes home.”
“Cruz!” Rosie stood in front of him. “What just happened? How did you—”
“This first.” He thrust the wallet into her hands. “You do the talking. Tell her it fell out of her bag. Let’s go.”