An Unexpected Twins Proposal
Auteur
Kim Findlay
Lezers
19,5K
Hoofdstukken
21
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS DEFINITELY FLAT.
Deacon stood at the side of the road and glared at the offending tire again. Passenger side front. He wished desperately that this time it could be fully inflated, but no. It continued to mock him, the rim almost touching the gravel on the side of the road. He’d managed to pull off the road safely, but now he was stuck.
He turned his gaze to his surroundings. They were lovely. Upstate New York, a quiet country road, a mild October day. A chill in the air, enough to hint of winter to come without being uncomfortable now. Leaves were a riot of red and orange and brown, with evergreens contrasting dark patterns among the colors. It was a piece of paradise in the middle of nowhere, which was exactly the problem. Deacon checked his phone for the fifth time and found there was still no signal. No one else driving past. Just Deacon and the car and the flat tire, and he had no idea how to fix it.
This was...mortifying. He’d graduated from Harvard. Not top of his class. Much closer to the bottom, but still, he had the degree. He’d passed the bar here in New York State. He was thirty-four years old, healthy, reasonably intelligent—and he was helpless because his phone couldn’t call AAA.
He kicked the offending tire but got nothing but a sore toe and a scuff mark on his leather shoe.
If he could go back in time, he’d add a basic car maintenance lesson to his driving instruction course. It hadn’t seemed necessary at the time: he lived in New York City and rarely drove. If he did have problems, there was AAA to provide assistance, or the garage that cared for the family vehicles. There were taxis and buses and Ubers and people, but here, nothing. No one.
He hated this feeling of incompetence. If he could get some cell reception, he’d look up a video on the phone to learn how to do this himself. It couldn’t be that difficult. He was a good student. Just a bit of help...
A sixth check of the phone showed no more bars than any previous attempt. Stupid phone and stupid car and...stupid Deacon.
His free hand fisted. He wasn’t stupid. He had to stop that voice in his head.
Another glare at the Audi.
“If you needed to draw up your will, I could do that for you. In fact, maybe you should consider that, because I’m going to have to try to change this tire on my own, or drive you like this. It could get ugly.”
The car didn’t respond. Deacon leaned against it.
“If not a will, how about an employment contract? A loophole in an NDA? I have skills, I swear.”
Except none of them was going to get the car back on the road. How badly would he damage his vehicle if he just kept driving on the flat tire? Would it be dangerous on these twisty back roads?
He patted the metal under his hand. “I do have a will, just so you know—”
He broke off when a distant growl made him aware that finally someone else was driving this road, and also that he was talking to his car.
The rumbling of the engine was from the same direction he’d been coming. He had a few moments to consider who else might be traveling on this quiet road, and his brain, inspired by the true crime podcast he’d been listening to, chose to remind him that this might be a serial killer. If so, Deacon’s only weapon to hand was the cell phone that still (seventh time) had no signal.
Serial killers could probably change tires. Maybe he could make a deal: don’t kill me and I’ll help you find a good lawyer when they catch you. If they catch you.
The vehicle that appeared was a beat-up van. The kind people camped in. Well, not Deacon’s people, but other people. He bet camping people knew how to change tires. This van was old enough that Deacon guessed the driver didn’t bother with AAA.
He raised his hand in what he hoped was a friendly, please-help-me way and finally noticed the driver was a woman. Would she stop? She might think he was the serial killer, using a flat tire as a ploy to lure his victims. He didn’t think there was any way he could indicate to her that he wasn’t competent enough to be a serial killer. After all, if he was driving his latest victim to stash somewhere, he’d be in trouble when his car got a flat tire and he was stuck with a dead body in the trunk.
Either the woman could tell he wasn’t in the midst of a series of grisly murders or she was naive and helpful. Maybe she had lethal ninja skills so didn’t need to be afraid. She pulled her van off to the shoulder of the road ahead of him. The van door opened, and the woman stepped out.
She was of average height, but she was thin. Not the way his mother and cousins were thin. Thin enough that her dress hung loosely, making her torso appear broad and her arms and legs sticklike. She marched toward him with a surprising amount of confidence, considering that he could be a serial killer. As she got closer, he could see the dark hair of her ponytail was lank, the striking gray eyes had dark circles underneath and her skin was pasty.
He thought he could take her, if she was the serial killer, unless she really was a ninja. A tired one. Unfortunately, he wasn’t looking for a victim himself, and she didn’t seem strong enough to change his tire. But maybe she could call AAA once she got to a place with cell coverage.
He’d ask her for a lift, but he didn’t want to abandon his car with so many of his possessions packed inside. And that might be too close to serial killer tactics. He really needed to find another podcast.
She’d reached the front of his car now. “Are you okay? Any trouble?”
He liked her voice. Deeper than he would have expected from her slight frame. Her sleeveless dress bared arms that were surprisingly muscled for being so skinny.
He turned his head to the flat tire, and she stepped to stand beside him.
“Gotcha. No spare?”
His cheeks warmed. “Uh, I think I have one. I just...” Could he really tell her he had no idea how to change a tire? “I don’t have any phone service here, so if you could call AAA when you get a signal, that would be very helpful.”
The woman stared at the rows of trees climbing the hillsides beside them. “Yeah, not a surprise that this place has no towers. I have no idea when I can call, or how long they’ll be, so maybe we should just see if you’ve got a working spare?”
He liked the sound of we, but he didn’t like to expose his ignorance. What else was he going to say? The chances that his car didn’t have a spare were slim. And if he sent this woman away, when might someone else come along?
He nodded and pulled his fob out of his pocket, tapping it to open the trunk. It was full—suitcases, golf clubs, a bag with shoes. Moving to a new town, even if it was just for a year, meant his car was packed.
He opened his mouth to apologize, explain, something, but his companion had reached in and tugged at the handle of the top bag.
“Oh, let me—”
The bag was already sitting on the ground, and she was reaching for another. Deacon jolted into action, grabbing his golf clubs, which were ready to fall out. It took only minutes for the trunk to be empty, and the woman was peeling up the carpet, exposing the spare tire.
Deacon heard that voice in his head again, calling him stupid, but he’d known that’s where the tire was supposed to be. He also understood there was a jack to lift up the car to enable the flat tire to be removed and the spare put on.
He just didn’t know the practical aspects. The stranger reached for the tire, and he lurched forward to grab it first. He might have no idea how to change it, but he could at least take the tire out of the trunk.
He set it on the ground and looked at it. It was smaller than the tires he currently had. At least, to his eyes. “Is it okay?”
“Yeah, it’s a doughnut. You’ll have to get a proper tire as soon as you can. And drive carefully on these roads.”
He nodded. Now that she mentioned it, he’d seen cars driving around with small tires like this. He mentally added getting a proper spare tire to his settling-in list.
She reached in and pulled out some other items buried in with the spare. One thing that must be the jack, and other things that would remove the old tire? Hopefully. And put on the new one. She passed him the jack while she picked up the other tools.
He stood, holding it, desperately trying to figure out how it worked and where on the car he needed to put in. Somewhere near the tire, on the frame, but not where it would impede removing and replacing the tire. What he wouldn’t give for a few bars on his phone and a quick video tutorial....
“I’ve never done this,” he admitted and risked looking at her. She didn’t look surprised, just jerked her head for him to follow and walked around the side of the car to the flat. She set down the tools and turned to face him.
“So, I can do this for you—I’ve done it more times than I care to count—or I can show you how to do it, so you’re ready if this happens again. Your choice.”
She looked thin, and tired, and there was no way he was going to stand here watching while she did all the work.
“Would you tell me how to do it? Please? I’m happy to do the labor—I just don’t know how.”
She nodded. “First thing, let’s find a rock.”
“A rock?”
“We’re on a slope, so we need something to block the back tires from rolling if the jack slips.”
That sounded smart. He set down the jack and walked into the brush beside the road. He came back with what he thought was a good-size rock, and she nodded. Then she told him how to place it.
That’s how they worked. She instructed him in a patient, neutral voice, and he put the jack together. She explained where to put it and why. Once the car was jacked up, she removed the first lug nut, and he did the rest.
Again, he was impressed by the strength in her slim arms. Those lug nuts were screwed on tight, but she handled them.
Flat tire off, spare tire on. After she checked that the nuts were tight again, they lowered the car and put everything away. She offered to handle the flat tire, since it was dirty, but he kind of liked the idea of being a little messed up from doing a job like this. Something outside his normal. Something that made him feel competent in an arena he didn’t usually work in.
Once the flat tire was back in the trunk with the tools, and his luggage rearranged on top, he turned to thank her. Again.
“Could I reimburse you for your time? You’ve been so helpful.”
She shook her head. “Nah. Just pay it forward sometime.”
She strode back to her van, opened the door and climbed in. With a wave of her hand, she pulled onto the road and was gone.
He hadn’t even asked her name.
THAT WAS STUPID.
“Pay it forward?” Jess muttered to herself. The guy was driving an Audi. He had money, obviously. His clothes, the golf clubs—everything indicated that he had enough cash that he didn’t worry about where his next meal or place to stay was coming from. But instead of saying, Sure, I’ll take a hundred, she’d wanted to impress him. Show him she wasn’t a nobody he could pay off and forget.
Which was ridiculous, because he wasn’t going to remember her. They’d never see each other again. And if they ever did, she’d learned her lesson about guys like him. They stuck to their own.
She was on her way to Carter’s Crossing. No, now it was Cupid’s Crossing, renamed to promote it as a romantic destination. If she didn’t find her brother there, she’d keep on going. Her brother was the only reason she had to return to that town. Well, that and the fact that the new romance business they had created to replace the former wood mill meant there would be lots of work for someone like her.
Someone who knew how to wait tables, clean rooms, handle a reception desk: Jess was a master of those kinds of jobs. If her brother was still in town, which an online article had indicated was the case, then it might be worth settling down here for a while. For the first time in years, she was looking to connect with her family. Some of them. Maybe. Depending on what they were like now.
Her hand rested on her abdomen for a moment. She had someone else to look out for now.
She wondered if the rich guy in the Audi would stop to get a new tire in the Crossing. It had been almost fifteen years since she left, so she had no idea what resources the town had now. But even if he did, the local garage was not where she was going.
Actually, she had no idea where she was going. According to the article she’d found, her brother Ryker had married Rachel Lowther in Cupid’s Crossing just before Christmas last year. Jess wasn’t sure if the happy couple had stayed in town. She wasn’t totally sure how Ryker would react to the news that he was going to become an uncle, either. She hoped he’d be supportive. He’d been that way in the bad old days, growing up. When their dad had been drinking, when seven kids had been jammed in that house after their mother died. Jess had been so young she didn’t remember the woman.
They’d all escaped: Ryker to the air force... Jess wasn’t sure where the rest were now. In any case, if Ryker freaked or turned out to be a jerk when she saw him face-to-face, she could survive. She’d been surviving on her own for a long time.
She slowed down when she hit the limits of Cupid’s Crossing. The sign was new, which made sense, since the name change was recent as well. Jess drove past the mill, noting that it looked drastically different as an event venue. And busy. It was where Rachel and Ryker had gotten married. That might be a place to find a job, if she stayed.
Then another mile or so and she was in the business section of Cupid’s Crossing. That also looked different from her memories. A lot had changed, but for the better. A couple of storefronts that had closed now held new businesses. The rest looked like they’d been cleaned and painted and were busy. Jess found a place to park her van on a side street and drew a long breath.
She was impulsive. Always had been. That was why, when she’d suddenly found herself without a husband and with an unexpected pregnancy, she’d done some online searching, found her brother’s name and packed up and driven across the country to find him.
If he was still here.
She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked terrible. Morning sickness, fortunately limited to mornings, had left her thinner than ever. Her hair was lifeless and her skin blotchy. Whoever had talked about a pregnancy glow was a big fat dirty liar.
Would anyone recognize her now?
She’d run away when she was sixteen. Life at home had been horrible. Her dad was a professional and mean drunk. Ryker, when he’d been there, had been a buffer, absorbing their father’s anger and fists for his sisters. Ethan and the twins had never bothered.
But Ryker had his own problems, and he’d crashed a stolen car while drinking. He’d been facing a prison term but had been offered an alternative: signing up for the military. He’d joined the air force, and then there’d been no one to act as a buffer with their father.
Jess left.
She was no longer that sixteen-year-old. She’d grown up, but she hadn’t changed that much on the outside. She’d never grown taller, and her precarious existence had left her skinny still. She had the same hair and eyes as most of the family, but did people still remember the Slade family? Remember and judge?
Things had changed enough that Ryker had married the pastor’s daughter, so that was hopeful. Rachel had been in Jess’s class and had been nice to Jess, so Ryker had chosen well. She just didn’t know if they were still here, or if any of her siblings were. She hoped the twins, at least, were still gone, since they’d taken after their father. Ryker was the only reason she had to come back. She wanted family around now that she was going to have her own.
She pulled the keys out of the ignition and dropped them in her purse. She undid the seat belt and straightened her spine.
You may look like crap, but you always find a way to get by. So go ask if Ryker is here, and if someone says something nasty, well, you can handle that.
Not the greatest pep talk ever, but it got her out of the van. She’d spotted a diner on the main street, the same one she remembered from before. Someone in there would probably be able to tell her about Ryker, and she could get something to eat.
She mentally counted her cash. Something cheap. Soup?
Her stomach grumbled. Now it wanted food. When she’d gotten up this morning, she hadn’t been able to face eating anything.
She walked to the corner and paused for a moment to get her bearings. To the right was the town park, looking much better than she remembered. She turned left and wondered for a moment if she’d started hallucinating. Was that a pregnancy thing?
“Ryker?” The tall man walking toward her stopped and turned his gaze her way.
“Jess?” Shock was written on his face. Then he crossed the remaining distance and wrapped his arms around her.
Everything she’d been through the past weeks, months or even years suddenly bubbled to the surface, and she started to cry.
Pregnancy hormones were the worst.
