True North Read online

  True North

  Kelly Collins

  Copyright © 2014 by Kelly Collins

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

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  Acknowledgment

  Praise and Awards

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Thank you for reading.

  A Sneak Peek into One Hundred Reasons

  Do you love small town romance?

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  About the Author

  Acknowledgment

  As always my thanks go to my husband and my

  children who make my life a pretty place to live.

  To my sisters who are always there to lend a helping

  hand or a swift kick in the pants depending on

  what is needed at the time.

  To my mother who is my biggest fan. Thanks for scanning my books for hours searching for that one error that needed to be corrected. Your eye is appreciated.

  To my friends who read my books and love me anyway.

  Praise and Awards

  “This story is an excellent reminder of protecting one's assets. Fun, enjoyable romance” Why is the lead male character is paying teenage girls cash? Interesting story line, great dialogue and believable characters.”

  ~ Bookzilla

  “Kelly Collins has a gift for drawing the reader into the story. She tells you just enough to get you hooked and builds your curiosity to want to learn more. True North followed suit. There is depth and layers with the two main characters of True North that will surprise you as read further into the story.”

  ~ Joy Capps

  Chapter One

  Sweat drips from my forehead. I swipe at my wet hair, trying to get it off my face. Without the humidity in the air, your lungs want to shrivel and die with each breath. Add in the heat, and you have a recipe for disaster.

  Disaster, that’s exactly what I’m facing. Sitting outside of my broken down car on a lonely stretch of highway between Los Angeles and freedom was not my plan. I paid a mere nine hundred dollars for an old Toyota Camry, but I had hoped it would get me more than a few hundred miles outside of L.A. I knew I was in trouble when the oil light came on. I was screwed the minute the check engine light blinked rapidly and the engine began to sputter. I pushed the green beast as far as it would go and pulled over to the side of the road as it died a slow death. I managed to choke out another mile before it coughed and collapsed, leaving me sitting here on the open highway with the sun high in the sky.

  Sweat drips from my chin and lands on my chest. A constant bead of perspiration pools between my breasts. With the car door open, I sit on the torn leather-like upholstery of the driver’s seat, trying to protect myself from the sun. I don’t know what’s worse: the heat, or the feeling of despair.

  Only two cars have passed in the same amount of hours. One cruised by while I was peeing behind my car, the other floated by without giving me a second glance. Who does that? Who leaves a woman alone on a deserted highway in 120-degree heat?

  I sip on the Gatorade I purchased seventy miles ago. The last town I passed was very small; a gas station was all it had. I filled up my tank, bought a drink and a Twinkie, and headed north.

  Holding my head in my hands, I reflect on the last few weeks. His voice still echoes in my ears.

  You fucking bitch, you know you will never get away with it. How could you ever think you could outsmart me? I am the master planner, not you, not your father. I found you, and I seduced you with promises and sweet words of affection. You were fucking pathetic. Your father was worse. He was so intent on getting a son—any son that he basically gave me a partnership to marry you.

  I shake my head, trying to forget it all. That was my past; I have no plans for the future. I’m free now, free of Tyler, free of my treacherous family, and finally free of pain. My immediate plan is to get a ride to the nearest town, get my heap of junk towed, and find a place with air conditioning.

  The heat rising from the asphalt gives the road a wavy, wet look. I glance in both directions. Although I would rather head north, I am willing to go in any direction if it takes me away from here.

  In the distance, I see the sun reflecting off something. I have no idea what it is. The last hour, I’ve been like a nomad in the desert, seeing mirages of every type. I stand and stare, hoping beyond hope the reflection morphs into a vehicle of some sort. I’m ready to throw myself into the center of the road to stop anyone.

  I watch the glimmer of light in the distance and feel a sense of relief when the distinctive outline of a vehicle becomes clear. I begin to wave my arms wildly, hoping whoever is driving will see me and stop. The heat is unbearable, and I’m beginning to feel sick to my stomach. I won’t last out here much longer. I’m sweating more than I’m drinking, it won’t be long before I’m past the point of dehydration.

  As the vehicle gets closer, I realize by the grill that it is a truck. I jump up and down, trying to grab the driver’s attention. The truck whizzes by. I fall to the ground in a heap and cry. With my head hidden in my hands, I shed the tears that have been building up for the last year, sobbing uncontrollably. My hope fades as fast as a pair of jeans soaked in bleach. I’m in such a state that I don’t hear the truck approach, or the man driving it approach.

  A tap on my shoulder sends me scurrying backward in a spider crawl. My eyes shoot up to a large, imposing figure looming in front of me. His shadow gives me much needed respite from the sun, but his presence alarms me. Fear squeezes my chest, forcing my pounding heart to pump harder. Where did he come from?

  “Hey, are you okay? I saw you as I passed, but I didn’t react fast enough to stop. I came back.”

  In a stupor, I stare up at the man. I have no words. My only reaction is to bury my head in my hands and cry. The stranger kneels beside me and talks softly.

  “How long have you been out in this heat? Let’s grab your stuff and get you in my air-conditioned truck. I can take you to the edge of town, there’s a motel there. It’s a dump, but it’s clean. I own the bar across the street. We have cold drinks and hot food.”

  I feel his hand wrap around my upper arm and pull me into a standing position. I’m dwarfed by his size. He towers over me in the most terrifying way, yet I’m relieved someone has finally stopped to lend a hand. I take my free hand and wipe my dripping nose. I must look a mess.

  “Grab your stuff, we can get Todd to tow your car tomorrow.”

  I still haven’t uttered a word; I reach into the car to pick up my purse and take the keys out of the ignition. It strikes me as funny when I lock up my vehicle. It’s not like someone can hotwire it and drive away. I’m pretty sure the engine has seized up. I have a feeling this car is on its way to an early burial. I walk to the trunk and open it to retrieve my suitcase. I don’t have much, just the essentials. I left my life behind, and that meant everything I owned stayed there as well. What I do have was purchased at a second-hand store. What I couldn’t find there, I purchased
at Walmart. I swing my bag from the trunk and walk to his truck. He sees me struggling to get my bag into the back of the truck and comes over to help me.

  “Here, let me get that. You have to be spent. How long have you been out here?” This is the second time he’s asked me that question. I suppose I owe him an answer. I look at my watch to see the time.

  “I’ve been stranded for nearly three hours. No one would stop.” I begin to cry again. I catch the sob forming in my throat and swallow it down. I’m not sure if I’m swallowing my pride or my sorrow, but either way, I could sure use a chaser right now. He puts his hand behind my back and ushers me toward the cab. I feel the air rush out as he opens the door. The frigid air is heavenly. I clamber into the cab and push my face toward the vent. I sit there until he enters the driver’s side.

  “Thanks for stopping.”

  “No problem. Let’s get you into town. Don’t you have a phone?”

  Feeling better, I lean back into the seat and relax. I turn to my left to get a better look at my rescuer. He’s a large man, tall and muscular, with biceps that stretch the cotton of his T-shirt to its limit. His hair is sandy-blond, and his eyes are almost slate blue, maybe gunmetal-grey. If he didn’t have such a gruff look on his face, I would say he appeared kind. His look is a stark contrast to his demeanor. He seemed pleasant as he was kneeling next to me, but now his questions are coming at me as more of an accusation than an actual inquiry.

  “I asked why you didn’t call someone? There is cell service in the area,” he says gruffly.

  I stare at him and notice his frown. I’m wondering if stopping for me has put a glitch in his day.

  “No, I don’t have a cell phone. My service was canceled, and I didn’t want to set up a new service until I got to where I’m going.” Saying that out loud makes me realize how poorly I planned this trip. There was no planning at all. I grabbed my stuff and ran.

  “Where are you going?” He glances at me, then back at the road.

  “I’m not sure at this point. I’m just going. I’ll know when I get there.” It’s the most honest answer I can give. I walked out of the courthouse this morning and over to the used car lot. I handed over nine crisp one hundred dollar bills, and an hour later I drove off the lot and onto Interstate 5. I wound my way around and turned when I felt like turning. I decided to head north, and that’s how I ended up on this patch of highway.

  “Are you running from something? Who jumps in the car in the middle of summer with no destination in mind and no phone? Are you out of your mind?” The rough timbre of his voice makes me feel like a small child being scolded by an angry parent.

  I stare at him with my mouth agape. This man doesn’t know me. How dare he make assumptions about me. I don’t answer him. I look forward and gaze into the distance.

  “How far until the next town? What is it called?” I see nothing in the distance and feel grateful I’m sitting in his cold, comfortable truck.

  “We have about ten miles to go. It would have been a very long walk for you—seventy miles back or twenty miles forward. The town is called Sugar Glen, but don’t let the name fool you; it’s anything but sweet.”

  Silence fills the truck’s cab for the rest of the trip. I sneak a glance at my rescuer and realize we haven’t even exchanged names. I suppose if he were interested in knowing mine, he would have asked.

  I relax for the next few minutes and make up names for him in my mind. If he were a god, I would call him Thor. If he were a superhero, I would say Captain America, with his boyish face and a manly body. In reality, I bet his name is something simple, like Jack or Tom.

  Up in the distance, I see another mirage, or maybe it’s the town. I’m not sure at this point. We arrive at the edge of town, and true to his word, the first thing we reach is a shabby motel with a bar across the street. The sign above the bar says Last Resort. The motel is called Shady Lane. I would say that is an accurate description for a place on the outskirts of town.

  He pulls his truck into the dirt parking lot of the motel and exits. I dread opening the door, knowing I’m going to get smacked in the face with sweltering heat as soon as I leave the truck. I brace myself and push forward, my body slides from the cab, and my feet hit the dusty dirt lane with a thud. He pulls my bag from the truck bed and sets it on the ground in front of me.

  “I’ll send Todd over to get your car. He is the most reasonably priced in town when it comes to towing services. Do you have enough money to get a room for the night?” His behavior is confusing. He totters between hostile and civil. One moment he’s gruff, and the next he’s nurturing.

  “Of course I have enough money. How much can it be? It’s not the Hilton, for God’s sake.” My nerves are on edge from the heat. I reach down and pick up my bag. “I’m sorry, I should have thanked you. Instead, I was rude. Thank you for picking me up.”

  “Okay, well, good luck.” He turns on his heel and walks around his truck. He climbs in and puts the vehicle in gear, spinning tires stir up a cloud of dust as he drives away. I was certain he would drive directly across the street to his bar, but he didn’t; he headed deeper into town.

  I watch as he drives away and realize I still don’t know his name. Picking up my bag, I march myself into the lobby and ask for a room. The woman at the counter is friendly and cheerful. She seems like she could be someone’s grandmother. I have this thing with guessing names. I imagine her name to be something like May or Mavis. She tells me about the facilities, which are limited to a vending machine, the refrigerator filled with strawberry Quik and cheap beer, and the coin-operated washers and dryers. I tell her thanks, but before I leave I ask her name.

  “Trudy is my name. Let me know if ya’ need anythin’ else,” she says.

  The name Trudy is so far off my radar, but I think I nailed her name as far as similarity. If there were a genre for names, Mavis and Trudy would be in the same category.

  I slide my key into the lock of door number three. It’s an actual key, not a keycard, but an honest to goodness key with a plastic, green keychain attached with a big gold 3 etched on the front. The back of the keychain says ‘Shady Lane, where real people come to relax.’ Well, I guess until this moment, I was living a disingenuous life. I thought I was a real person, but when I went somewhere to relax, it usually housed a spa and didn’t sell Mickey Big Mouth beer in a refrigerator in the lobby.

  I slowly open the door and walk into my twenty-eight-dollar-a-night dwelling. In all honesty, the place isn’t bad. It smells clean, and it’s air-conditioned. There is a microwave and a small refrigerator. A hotplate sits on the counter.

  Priority number one is to take a shower and remove the layers of sweat and dirt one gets from sitting on the side of the road, waiting for a rescuer. Once I’m clean, I collapse on the king-sized bed, glad to be somewhere safe and cool. I pick up the remote and scroll through the channels. I’m tickled the property has cable. Sitting comfortably against the headboard, I watch two episodes of Chopped. Why the combination of squid, black beans, grape jelly and pork rinds would be appealing, I have no idea. I hear the rumble of my stomach and acquiesce to its need to feed.

  I shove all but twenty dollars cash into a spare shoe I place in the microwave. No one is going to look there if I’m robbed. Shady Lane seems rather shady, and I’m not in the most trusting of moods these days. The jerk at the car dealership told me he would sell the car I bought to his grandmother, that’s how solid performing it would be. Well, he must hate his grandma, or she’s dead. The sleazy dealer should have had a sleazy name like Vinnie, at least that would put people on guard. Nope, his name was Ben. It’s an innocuous name. I would feel safe around guys named Ben.

  I stumble into the heat, rush across the street and into Last Resort. I walk into the bar and grill and notice I may be the only female in the place. Adjusting to the dark room after entering from the bright light of day, I find an empty table in the corner. I climb up onto a stool, take a seat, and look around at my surroundings. I woul
d say this is probably what I would have described if you asked me to tell you what my idea of a biker bar looked like. I could have a field day in here making up names for people all day. I can already see the names flash in front of me. Names like Weasel, Frog, and Moose come to mind. The big guy in the corner probably goes by Tiny or Little Al.

  Neon signs advertising every type of beer imaginable hang from the walls. The wooden bar seats twelve. Mounted above it is a classic Harley Davidson painted black with shiny chrome accents. The well-worn booths are placed around the perimeter, and bar tables with stools are littered throughout the space. Off to the right is a small stage that looks ready for either karaoke or live music. Directly in front of the stage is a small empty section of worn flooring that would be perfect for three or four couples to dance.

  It’s nicer inside than the outside would lead you to believe. I look around at the people occupying the seats and see mostly middle-aged men with beer bellies and beards. Biker bandanas are tied around nearly half of the balding heads. A younger crowd is seated to my left. Tougher looking men with tattoos and women who look rode hard and put away wet are playing darts and pool. It’s difficult to discern some of the men from the women. All in all, they seem harmless and engrossed in each other.

  I lean against the wall and wait for someone to come and take my order. After ten minutes or so, I walk to the bar to see if I can get some service. I lean against the wood counter and wait.