Page 3 of Scent of Home

The day was cold, but the night is threatening to be colder still. I hope this bus has heating. The street lights flicker on and off. The concrete bus terminal transforms from beautiful to creepy as the shadows stretch. I’m glad I’m on the bus and not out there. I will end today here in this ugly concrete jungle and wake up in some rural paradise tomorrow. How wonderful!

Why am I doing this again?

I reach for my briefcase and have to still the panic when I realise I don’t have it. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose like the work-appointed therapist told me to do. It doesn’t help at all.

“Excuse me?”

I jerk a little and bump my elbow on the armrest. The man is leaning towards me, half over the aisle. Good alpha, he is a stunning specimen of a man. I’d like to lick him. A lot. Like an ice-cream cone but tastier.

“Sorry. I just…could you tell me where we’re going?”

I frown. Who gets on buses without knowing where they’re going? “It’s a small town, population 320, called Twin Rivers. Nowhere that better have fresh air.”

He blinks, surprised. “320? Is that even possible?”

“Indeed,” I say with a half smile. “Dreamy, isn’t it. Peace, quiet, and no one around. Hell on Earth,” I mutter to myself. “I’m going to make their lives hell when I get back.”

“Uh, thanks.”

I study him and realise the arrogance is unease. I soften, cursing myself because I never could resist a cry for help. It’s why I work in contract law, because I have no ability to look at my poor clients and say no. Boundaries, you have abandoned me.

“Erin Bradley, overworked, overpaid lawyer who is looking for adventure and a, uh, temporary escape from corporate boardrooms.”

He hesitates. “Locke Raines.” There’s a hesitation when he tells me his name, which makes me wonder if it’s his real one. “Overworked, overpaid musician who is looking for something different.”

“Well, we’re both on the right bus for that. I’ve never been to a country town with a population of 320.”

He flicks me an amused grin. “You’re obsessed with that number.”

I shrug my shoulders and lean my head back on the headrest. “It’s a good number. I feel good about it. Like something might actually change my life with 320. The way it rolls off the tongue. It’s auspicious. Three hundred and twenty.” I linger over each syllable and shiver dramatically when I’m done.

Locke shakes his head and returns to his seat. He hesitates, then gathers his belongings and moves to the seat in front of me.

I take note that he turns his back to the glass and is careful about looking out the windows in a quick peek. Is someone after him? Is he running from his drummer? Lover’s quarrel?

Stop being so nosy, Erin.

The bus driver gets on, stands in the aisle looking over us, and hoists his pants up high before he plonks his derrière on the seat. He’s a middle-aged man with a gut that cheerfully looks like a balloon. His cheeks are rosy, and his hair is long and hangs in thick dreads.

“All aboard. You’re flying TransBus Travel,” his voice booms through speakers throughout the bus. “We’ll be driving through the dreaming hours and making our first stop on the dawning of the new day in a wondrous town called Caeylon. Now Caeylon is a special town, known for its circular shape and the tea cakes, made by all the finest women I know!”

The group of old people whoop.

“All right, all right, settle down! My name is Hero, by the way, for those of you who don’t know me. And for anyone who stays on this bus to heaven, we’ll be making our ultimate stop at Twin Rivers, a secret paradise that will steal your heart plain out of your chest.”

“I don’t know if he’s serious or not,” Locke says in amusement and brushes his hair back.

I see him without the hair over half his face; I realise he’s actually quite striking, with high cheekbones. When he smiles, it’s painfully potent.

“Sit back, get some sleep, and let me do all the work,” Hero booms. “I got this.”

Sounds kinky. I consider the bus driver and wonder if any of the old biddies know that what he’s saying could be treading a fine line. Oh, of course, they know. The kinky old gals probably love it.

I cock my head to the side. “Do you think Hero is a real name?”

“I don’t know, but it suits him,” Locke whispers, and we both laugh. “So, why are you alone, Erin?”

“Because I want to be,” I say with a small smile. “With whom else should I be?”

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