Page 1 of A Lonely Road
Chapter One
Nora
“Youcandoit,Baby.”
My murmured encouragement was compounded by stroking the furry steering wheel cover, like maybe affection alone might keep the car moving.
“We’re almost there, just hold on one more minute. You can do it.”
Unfortunately, Baby disagreed with that assertion. The car stalled just as we reached the address on my rental agreement. I’d had to get a jump from a family of six in a cargo van at a rest stop in Ohio, determined to avoid calling roadside assistance if I could help it, but I made it to Spruce Hill, New York, without furtherincident.
Until now.
Ten more feet would've put us at the driveway, but at least I was close enough to the curb to pretend I’d meant to park on the street. I sighed as I stroked the steering wheel again. This car was my one constant, my prized possession—my only real friend.
What a sad commentary on my life.
Shaking off that gloomy reality, I took the key out of the ignition, not that it mattered after Baby had given up the ghost, and looked toward my new home.
The main house was white with red brick accents, green shutters, and careful landscaping, but the garage apartment about fifty feet behind it was my ultimate destination. It would’ve been nice to park right at the bottom of the stairs leading up to my new home, but there wasn’t much to unload from the car.
Only a handful of houses lined the little dead end street. My landlord had left for a six month sabbatical in Florida just that morning, hiding the key for my rental under a potted plant by the door of the apartment. When I mailed back the signed lease from my last place in Columbus, Mr. Jenkins had sworn up and down that Spruce Hill was the perfect place for me to start fresh.
Best of all, it was quiet. Blessedly, wondrously quiet.
It certainly seemed perfect, this small town nestled along the shore of Lake Ontario in the middle of New York State. The views of the lake after I left the highway soothed my travel-weary soul, and the stretch of town I’d driven through to get to the rental was adorable, in a bustling-but-off-the-beaten-path type of way.
Spruce Hill was tucked away from the surrounding cities, bordered by the lake, farmland, and forest, but not so far from civilization that I couldn’t grab a pizza or hit up a coffee shop in under ten minutes.
Scanning the mostly deserted street—it was the middle of a weekday, after all—I caught sight of someone in the neighboring driveway, a tall man in faded jeans and a white t-shirt. He was half hidden under the hood of a red, late model pickup truck. It was impossible to guess at his age, though he looked trim and fit in the way of someone used to working with his hands. My father had a similar build, so I knew this neighbor could be anywhere from sixteen to sixty.
Uncertainty warred with logic for a moment before I shook myself out of it. I couldn’t sit there at the curb all day long. This town was tiny, and for however long I stayed here, it would be perfectly adequate.
Maybe nothome,not if my years of searching and failing to find a place like that were any indication, but safe enough for a while so I could put it to the test.
I puffed my cheeks as I stepped out of the car, pulled my suitcase from the back seat, and slung the messenger bag holding my laptop and work notes over one shoulder. By the time I was halfway up the driveway, a rare sort of optimism bubbled inside me. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the smell of freshly cut grass hung in the air like the sweetest perfume.
God, I loved summer. I’d spent too much time losing myself in the anonymity of big cities lately and had forgotten all about the beauty of a little suburban town.
Just as I reached the stairs, the man next door straightened and I stumbled to a halt, nearly tripping over my own feet. Definitelynotmy father’s age, but a lean, beautiful man in his prime with cropped caramel curls and an easy smile that crept across his face when he spotted me.
Though he studied me with interest, it seemed perfectly benign and neighborly. There was nothing creepy or sinister about him, so why was my heart pounding so hard?
The man wiped his hands on a greasy rag and said, “Howdy, neighbor.”
I merely raised a startled brow at the drawled greeting and his smile widened. His voice was smooth and deep, his blue eyes sparkling with good humor. Had my love life really been so pitiful that a smile like that could tempt me so hard? I actually had to stop myself from leaning toward him.
Get a grip, Nora.
“Sorry, my granddad used to greet all our neighbors like that. I figured I’d give it a try.” A dimple appeared in his cheek. “After that unenthusiastic reception, I promise I won’t do it again.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I replied, then bit my lip when I realized I was teasing a stranger.
He grinned. “You must be Mr. Jenkins’ new tenant. I’m Jake Lincoln. Welcome to Spruce Hill.”
Clearing my throat, I said, “Yes. Thanks. I’m Nora Cassidy.”
He nodded like I was a perfectly normal new neighbor instead of a bundle of nerves and neuroses. Maybe I could manage small town life, after all. Then Jake held out his hand and, after a brief hesitation, I reached out to shake it.
