Some called it an “ah” moment. She called it knowing. She’d described it once to Summer as a shimmering energy that resembled light and felt like warmth. She’d experienced it the day Summer had driven into Orchard Hill six years ago, the day Aaron Andrews took the vacant desk next to her in the fifth grade, and fleetingly when she’d first encountered Riley Merrick today. It was happening again right now.
“Do I have grease on my face?” Ruby asked.
Madeline chided herself for staring. “Goodness, no. I was just thinking how much your name suits you. You’re gorgeous. How tall are you?”
“Five-eleven.” Ruby opened the door and put the car in Neutral. “And a quarter,” she added quietly.
Ruby may have been shy about her exotic beauty, but Madeline soon discovered she wasn’t shy about anything else. She talked while she hooked the cable to the front axle, while she started the winch and while she pointed them toward town.
Listening, Madeline learned what it had been like growing up in Gale, a small town twenty miles west of Traverse City, and how Ruby had decided early on that the family business wasn’t for her. Ruby had reached the point in her life story where she’d graduated from the University of Chicago when Madeline noticed the silver car in the side mirror.
“I took a job with a prestigious marketing firm in L.A.,” Ruby said. “After spending three years going stark raving mad in a tiny cubicle that for all intents and purposes might as well have been a chicken crate on an egg-laying assembly line, I chucked it all and returned to the roots I’d spurned. You’re sure I don’t have grease on my face?”
This time Madeline smiled. “I’m positive.”
At the city limit sign, Ruby said, “I’ve done all the talking.”
Now the silver car in the mirror was close enough to discern the make and year, close enough to see Riley Merrick behind the wheel.
“I don’t mind,” Madeline said. “Really. My fiancé once told me I have a face everyone talks to.”
She didn’t miss Ruby’s quick glance at her bare ring finger. “Does your fiancé drive a silver Porsche?” “No.”
Now they were both keeping an eye on the car in the mirror.
“But you know somebody who does.” At Madeline’s nod, Ruby added, “A friend then?”
“Not exactly,” Madeline said as the wrecker crawled through a pothole on its way into the garage’s driveway. “He just threw me off some property and accused me of trespassing.”
Along with the gift of gab and legs long enough to give Heidi Klum a run for her money, Ruby O’Toole possessed the rare and uncanny ability to move her eyebrows independently of each other. She demonstrated before saying, “I should have let you do the talking.”
Madeline looked out the side window to see if Riley would follow her into the parking lot. Ruby leaned ahead to peer around her.
Together, they saw him stop at the curb. He lowered his window and stared at Madeline. Yearning swelled inside her, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to tear her gaze away. She wondered how long she would have sat there if he hadn’t broken eye contact. Probably as long as it was going to take the beating rhythm of her heart to return to normal.
“Something tells me you haven’t seen the last of him,” Ruby said quietly after he’d disappeared around the corner at the end of the block.
She was still making up her mind about that.
Madeline left Red’s Garage an hour later with a preliminary quote for the repair of her car, simple walking directions to the Gale Motel six blocks away, and more O’Toole family history—red hair wasn’t the only thing that ran in that family. She set off at a fast clip, her tote over one shoulder, her purse over the other, her wheeled suitcase bumping along behind her.
Red O’Toole had cautioned her to keep an eye on the sky. She was more concerned about the Land Rover that was following her. She stepped up her pace and reached into her purse for her cell phone.
“You don’t need to call 911,” a man with shaggy blond hair said, rather sharply in her opinion, as he pulled up beside her. “Riley sent me.”
She tried to recall where she’d seen him. “Why would he do that?” she asked as she considered flagging down the car approaching from the opposite direction.
“You’ll have to ask him.”
The approaching car passed while she was foolishly still deciding. Great. Now it was just her and this stranger and her cell phone.
The houses in this part of town sat close together. Their graying porches and brown lawns looked forlorn despite the daffodils blooming along their foundations. Not a single curtain moved, which meant there would be no witnesses. She could practically hear their grumbles if her brothers had to drive all the way up here to identify her body. That lovely thought finally brought her to her senses.
Again, the man spoke before she completed the 911 call. “Riley told me your car broke down and that you could use a ride.”
“Like I said,” she repeated, “why would Riley do that?”
“Like I said, you’ll have to ask him.” The guy wasn’t going to win any awards for charm. For some reason that made her feel less threatened.
“My name’s Kipp Dawson. I’m six-one and go a buck seventy soaking wet. See for yourself.” He fumbled through the glove box then held his license toward her. When she failed to move closer, he tossed it to her, wallet and all.
She read his ID while keeping an eye on her surroundings. “What are you doing here, Mr. Dawson?”
“I’m giving you a ride. Unless there’s somebody else who can come and get you.”
“I have three older brothers. Three protective older brothers. Accomplished hunters, all of them.”
“If you were going to call them, you would have by now.”
In other words, she’d wasted her breath on the implied threat.
“Riley has two brothers,” he said as if it had relevance to this conversation. “Half brothers, technically, one older, one younger. Pains in the ass, both of them. They come through for him when it counts, though.”
A fat raindrop landed on her forehead while she was wondering why this stranger was sharing Riley’s personal information with her. Within seconds the sky opened up, just as Red O’Toole had predicted.
Kipp got out of his vehicle and wrestled her suitcase from her. After tossing it into the back of his aging Land Rover, he said, “Riley has friends, too, who have his back. We’re worried about him.”
She stood ten feet away in the pouring rain, uncertain what to do about Kipp Dawson and his offer.
“Riley thinks his mother sent you,” he said, getting soaked, too. “I talked to Chloe a few minutes ago. She didn’t mention you.”
Madeline could have blurted the truth, but if she told anyone the reason she was here,
