Seeking Shelter. Angel Smits
store. He was surprised to see that it had a screen door, and the old Rainbow Bread sign on the handle had seen better days.
The wood frame slapped shut behind him, and Jace blinked several times as he stepped into the comparatively dim interior. The air was blessedly cool, and he thought he’d stay right here forever. Finally, his eyes adjusted, and he was pleasantly surprised at the neatness.
It wasn’t kitschy or frilly, as so many small-town shops were. Only the roadrunner wallpaper up near the high ceiling gave an indication anyone had tried to decorate in anything but stock and boxes.
Three aisles lined with well-filled shelves ran the length of the building. Canned and boxed goods sat like little soldiers in neat rows.
The counter stretched across the front, including a glass case filled with pastries and other baked goods. Next to that, a glass meat counter glistened under the fluorescent lights. A giant meat slicer and state-of-the-art steamer sat behind it.
A young woman stood behind the displays. He wondered if she was the owner or just a clerk. She didn’t seem old enough to own a business, but looks could be deceiving. A hunk of meat lay on a wooden chopping block, and she held a cleaver in her hand. She brought the blade down with a loud whack. At first she didn’t look up. Good thing, too. It could have been disastrous.
“Can I help you?” she asked as she turned around. Her voice was warm, but there was a wariness in her eyes. She took a step forward, keeping the counter between them.
She wasn’t tall, but her stance was straight and proud. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail with enough pieces left loose to fall down around her face in a golden cloud. She stared at him with wide green eyes.
She wiped her hands on a rag, and he saw that the once-white apron she wore over her jeans and T-shirt was stained with red, like the butcher he remembered Mom going to back home. A hundred years ago.
He couldn’t help but smile. It made him think of the millions of campy horror movies he’d seen. He loved those movies. It’d been a while since he’d seen one.
He shook his head to focus on the now. He’d spent way too much time in the sun.
Jace squinted at her, trying to read her expression. She wasn’t old enough to be Madeline’s contemporary but maybe she knew the daughter. “Yeah. Thought I’d get some supplies.” He indicated the aisles with a tilt of his head.
“Canned goods are on the far wall. You’ll find the snacks front middle, and beverages over there.” She waved the blade in the general direction. “If you need personal stuff, you’ll have to go see Sam down the street at the drugstore.”
“Thanks,” Jace mumbled, and headed down the center aisle. There must be a basement under part of the wood floor, as he heard a hollow tone beneath his steps toward the rear.
A wall-length, glass-fronted freezer stood at the very back, and he couldn’t resist opening the door. The cool air blasted him and he drank it in, letting it cool him as well as clear some of the dust from his lungs.
A box of Häagen-Dazs ice cream bars sat open on the bottom shelf. He grinned. They weren’t tagged, and he bet he’d just found her private stash. He grabbed one and tore open the wrapper. The rich chocolate ice cream tasted sweet and cool as he sauntered through the aisles. He grabbed a couple of sodas, some canned meat and a bag of chips along the way.
Traveling on the bike meant frequent stops, and he didn’t have much more than his clothes in the saddlebags.
He hadn’t planned this trip. Not that he planned much of anything, anyway, but definitely not this one. He’d just taken off, needing to complete this self-appointed mission. He suddenly realized that the past year—going all the way to Pennsylvania to see his brother and back—had done a number not only on the bike, but on him. As well as the emotional upheaval of losing Mac.
All of a sudden, Jace felt tired. He sighed loudly and headed toward the checkout. Dropping the pile on the counter with a loud clatter, he tossed the still damp stick on top so she’d know to charge him for the ice cream.
Their eyes met, and hers widened as she looked up at him. For the first time in a long time, something inside Jace stirred to life.
* * *
ALL HER LIFE, Amy had been warned against letting strange men in the front door. That was much easier in the context of her home. Owning a grocery store in a small town, well, she couldn’t afford to be too picky.
That was one of the reasons she’d agreed to let Katie adopt Butcher. She glanced down at the dog, who was flopped at her feet, watching the man. Fat lot of good the mutt was right now. He’d found his favorite spot in the store—on the vent beside the big old butcher block where she worked. He was currently a puddle of contented fur.
She’d been watching the man since he’d come into town, pushing the big motorcycle over to Rick’s station. The bike was a monster and must weigh a ton. He’d pushed it easily, any strain hidden by his black leathers.
He had to be baking in that jacket. The only breeze was what he created as he moved. It barely stirred his dark, shoulder-length hair.
Her gaze had been drawn to the form-fitting leather pants he wore like a second skin.
When he moved down the aisle, the dog perked up one ear. Nothing more. But it was enough to reassure her that she was safe. Or as safe as a woman alone in the middle of nowhere could be.
She returned to the butcher block and the package of steaks she was preparing for Hank. The old man would be here at four to pick them up, so she had plenty of time. As the stranger wandered down the aisle, she wondered what would be Butcher’s greater motivation—the need to protect her, or to protect his perceived dinner—if the man proved to be a threat.
She put the meat cleaver on the butcher block, but within easy reach. She’d hoped to keep track of him, but too late, he was in her space, standing on the other side of the narrow counter.
And Butcher was simply thumping his tail against the floor.
She swallowed hard before turning to face her customer. “Did you, uh, need anything else?” She cringed when her voice quavered, and inched her hand toward the cleaver.
“Not a knife, if that’s what you’re offering.”
She pulled her hand back, and the smile that was too good-looking for such a rough guy sent heat to her cheeks. People who rode motorcycles like the one she’d seen him with shouldn’t have pearly white teeth. But he did.
“It’s not.”
“Can you ring me up?” He tilted his head toward the stack on the counter.
“Oh. Sure.” A paying customer. What a novelty.
“Nice dog.” Butcher’s tail moved faster.
“He’s my watchdog.”
“Uh-huh.” The man didn’t sound convinced. His smile widened.
She chose to ignore it. But if Butcher decided to take a hunk out of his leg...well, she might let him, though it’d be a shame to ruin that nice backside with teeth marks. Her cheeks warmed and she looked away.
Amy wiped her hands on the apron and stepped behind the register. She punched in the amounts, and after each, the ratcheting of the paper feed filled the silence.
“The ice cream is a buck twenty-five.” She didn’t have a clue what they should cost. They weren’t really for sale. Too late now.
The purchases fit in one bag. He pulled a worn wallet out and peeled off a crisp new bill. She smiled. Much easier to deal with than a credit card, or God forbid, a check. The fact that it was a fifty-dollar bill surprised her.
She counted out his change, then extended her hand to give it to him.
He smiled back and reached out to take it. Her heart did a funny little flip as she looked at his wide palm.