Page 7 of Bounty

His height and broad shoulders are intimidating. He’s dressed in work boots, jeans, and cold weather gear with his coat hood up and a baseball cap underneath it. It shadows everything but the tip of his nose and his full lips. His beard is a couple inches away from his face, but looks well kept and has some gray threaded through it.

He motions for me to lower the window, and I crack it enough to hear the wind outside. He comes close enough that I can hear him.

“Ma’am are you okay?” he asks in a southern twang. It’s not the harsh northeastern accent from around here and reminds me of West Virginia, my home state. A place I desperately wish I was right now, even though I know I can’t go back. His gravelly voice is a balm to my frayed nerves.

“Um, no.”Why can’t I stop crying like a twenty-four year old baby?“My car died and I don’t know how to fix it,” I sniffle. He doesn’t have to hear about the whole ordeal that happened beforehand or how my life is crashing down around me.

“Well there’s no need to cry. I’ll get you where you need to go, and my brother can tow your car after the storm passes.” He smiles at me, and it’s so familiar and comforting.

But I don’t know him, and I’m a mess right now. He could take advantage of me, and I can’t solve my problems if I’mdead on the side of the road. I’ve survived this long on my own without Aunt Norma, and I can figure this out.

“Don’t worry about me,” I assure him. “I’ll find my way home. I can use a rideshare app.”

“No one will be working during this storm. I hope you’re not suggesting I leave a woman stranded on the side of the road to fend for herself,” he says around a frown. “My momma didn’t raise an asshole, ma’am. I insist you let me see to getting you home in one piece.”

I pull the app up, and he’s right. No one is available. And I really don’t want to hitch-hike or walk in this weather. I have no other choice than to accept a ride with him. He seems safe enough.

“Okay. Let me get my purse.”

He nods, running back to his truck before grabbing a white cloth to stick on my dashboard. I make sure I have my keys, phone, purse, then take some time to wipe my face clean with some tissues. My makeup is ruined, but it doesn’t matter. My life is a wreck, and I can’t add romance into the mix. He won’t want a mess like me anyway. Love never seems to be in the cards for me anyway, so why make an exception now?

“Where’s your coat?” he shouts, his voice barely audible over the gale winds.

Shame heats my face. I left my brand new coat at the office.

“Um, I don’t have one,” I lie.

“You can wear my extra one.” He helps me put on a heavy winter coat he grabs from the backseat before helping me into the cab. His momma did raise a gentleman it seems.

The cedar and spicy scent of his coat help me relax somewhat.

“Thank you so much, for the ride and warmth. What’s your name?” I feel sorta silly accepting a ride from a stranger.

“You’re welcome, ma’am. My name is Cain. What’s yours?”

A chill runs down my spine, and it has nothing to do with the winter weather.Cain?He couldn’t possibly be Cain McAllister could he? I glance at the man’s face again, but it’s mostly obscured by the darkness in the cab.

He starts his car, and the center light comes on, but I can still only see the tip of his nose and his mouth. Cain isn’t a common name, but this couldn’t possibly be my Cain. His beard has gray streaks, so he must be too old. Colin and Cain were only two years older than me, and Jude was three years older.

“Willa Jean,” I almost whisper as I play with the coat sleeves.

“Well I’m glad I found you,Willa Jean.” The way he rolls my name around in his mouth, like he’s trying it on for size, makes butterflies erupt in my stomach. His voice is so soothing, and soundswarm, if that’s even a thing. “Where am I taking you?”

“I live off Exit 14 on the town’s border. You can get on the highway down this road,” I direct him as he starts his truck.

He queues up a playlist on this phone and folk music blares through the speakers.

“Do you have a phone to call anyone who may be worried about you?”

My phone died after checking the rideshare app, and I have no one that gives a shit about me. A couple of friends, but they’re surface level because I can’t tell them anything about my life, not really. It’s sad that a complete stranger is the only person who cares about me. I feel even more pathetic than I did before.

“What brought you down the road during a snowstorm?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Work.” He tilts his head toward me slightly, then focuses on the road again.

He’s a man of few words, which is a shame, because his voice is beautiful. It’s raspy, yet soft. His car has heat, and I melt against the leather seat, straightening my shoulders as I exhale.

“What do you do?”

---