A young widow must choose between her past and her future when she returns to her hometown and is charmed by a sexy firefighter.
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Ruby Sinclair-Matthews never intended on moving back to the roll...
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The closer I get to the next chapter of my life the more I want to DNF the book and go back to bed.
Road trips are the worst, especially when you're not sure how you feel about the destination. My eyes sting from the sun glaring off the pavement, I'm suffering from a severe case of numb buttinitis, and if the radio plays one more depressing country song, I'm going to rip it from the dashboard with my bare hands and toss it out the window.
I cram my empty coffee cup back into the holder and let out a pitiful breath when a sudden boom thunders through my SUV. The wheels shudder against the blacktop. On instinct, my gaze shoots up to the rear view mirror to inspect the precious cargo in the back seat. Thankfully, everything's still in place.
Heart pounding, I swerve to the shoulder, whatever's left of my tire flopping against the pavement like a desperate fish. Once I'm in park, I leave the air conditioner running and hop out of the vehicle, curving around the front bumper to the passenger side.
And damn it, it's just as I figured. Flat as a flitter.
Seriously—why now? I'm running low on patience as it is and I need to get home.
Home.
That's going to take some getting used to. Lakeside hasn't been my home in over twelve years. A lot can happen in that amount of time. A lot has happened. Most days, it feels like too much.
The blinding Georgia sun beats down as I squint both ways down the road. But there are no sign of life. Not here, and not for at least the past fifteen miles.
My shoulders sag as an exaggerated breath punches out of my lungs. Cocking my head, I peer through the half-open window at the sleeping toddler in the backseat. Mya's snuggled in her car-seat, one chubby cheek pressed against her silky blonde curls.
With any luck, she'll stay that way. A flat tire and a cranky two-year-old could very well be the end of me.
Tugging the cell from my back pocket, I pull up my contacts and press the number for AAA. This is the first time I've been grateful Tommy talked me into a roadside membership. "You never know what can happen, and what if I'm not around?" he reasoned at the time. "I'd hate to think of you and Mya stranded somewhere all alone. I want to know my girls are safe."
Even though I knew he was right, I still gave him a hard time. That's what I do. And now here we are; marooned in the boondocks and Tommy nowhere in sight.
My eyes narrow as the silence on the opposite end of my cell grows longer. No reception. Of course, there isn't. There's a hack for getting around this, but damned if I remember what it is. Shotty service is something I'll have to get used to if we stick around these parts for long. And that is definitely not the plan.
I stuff the phone back into my pocket and kick the deflated tire with the toe of my sandal. Bad idea. A stabbing pain ricochets through my foot and up the back of my calf, leaving a series of dull tingles in its wake. My head falls back as a cry explodes into the universe from somewhere deep inside me.
