Roadside Attraction Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Abby Knox

  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.

  * * *

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations

  Roadside Attraction

  Abby Knox

  Summary

  After escaping a bad situation, Juniper is on the run. A little car trouble is to be expected on her cross country road trip to nowhere in particular, but breaking down and getting stuck in a strange little town called Fate was not in the plan. Neither was meeting a surly tow truck driver/mechanic named Rex who arrives just in time. Rex is broody, bossy, and strong, and the connection between them is instantaneous. Putting down roots in Fate might seem simple, but it’s only a matter of time before Juniper’s complicated past catches up to her, and brings with it a whole tangled mess of trouble.

  * * *

  First of all, do not panic. All is not lost when you break down by the side of the road, especially if you break down anywhere near the town of Fate. Who might you meet first? Will it be a grumpy tow truck driver? A bored sheriff with too much time on his hands? A bar man whose clumsy meet-cute ends with spilled beer all over your knitting project? Never fear, because high-heat, insta-love, small-town romances and happily ever afters await you! Come for the cherry pie, and stay to shake hands with the mayor (the only truly good boy in town.) Enjoy!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More by Abby Knox

  Chapter One

  Juniper

  * * *

  Someone driving my dead husband’s Cadillac has been following me across several state lines. My fingerprints may now be permanently imprinted in the steering wheel.

  But this morning, I feel a little better. Hopped up on more caffeine pills than a cross-country trucker, I drove all night on two-lane roads through cornfield country. The whole time, I was never quite sure if these state highways were a safer option than the interstates. But the decision paid off. Checking my rearview mirror, I see no sign of the black Cadillac with a flashy orange flame job on the hood. Whoever is tailing me wasn’t prepared for an all-nighter.

  Never underestimate the will of a woman who’s suddenly free of her no-good, cheating, wife-bullying husband. I watched Roy’s lifeless body hit the dirt. Seconds later, I was stuffing Roy’s loaded pistol in my second-hand purse and driving as fast as my little Civic would go.

  Let his idiot brother bury him. I could stay and wait for the life insurance to shake out but on the other hand? I don’t want it. From dust we rise, and to dust we shall return. And I’m shaking all that dust from Roy and that Nebraska town off of me.

  It’s fitting that the man chasing me down is driving my dead husband’s rebuilt Caddy. That car was the only thing Roy ever truly loved.

  I cross the Ohio River at dawn and recheck my mirror. All clear. I can breathe. Maybe I can even eat something.

  I eye the billboards along the road for someplace to stretch my legs and fill my empty belly.

  “Historic Fate, exit 2 miles.”

  “See the Amazing Curiosity Spot of Fate.”

  “Ruby’s Diner: Home of the World’s Best Cherry Pie.”

  Ruby’s sounds like my kind of place. Proud of myself for making good time, I decide I’ll take that exit and order the biggest omelet known to mankind.

  Ain’t it just the way life goes, then, that the “check engine” light flashes. At the same time, the car begins rattling, and then knocking, and then sputtering.

  “You couldn’t wait to break down until I was in civilization, could you?” I ask.

  She answers me with a resentful hiss. And here we are, stuck on the side of the highway. I look around me and sigh. Nothing but unfamiliar hills in front of me, prairie behind me. Current status? Stranded on the edge of somewhere I’ve never been, between cornfield country and Appalachia.

  Popping the hood, I look over the inner workings to identify the issue. I’ve gleaned enough car knowledge from Roy that I could diagnose the problem, provided it’s an easy fix. Installing a battery, adjusting air pressure, changing a flat tire? I can handle all of that. Even change the oil in a pinch. Yet, she reveals no secrets to me. Checking the road, I go back to grab my phone off the passenger seat to search for a nearby mechanic.

  I dial the first number to pop up on my screen: Rex’s Wrecks and Service.

  The phone rings once, twice, three times. No answer. Somebody, please pick up.

  I leave the hood propped open and walk east along the shoulder toward the exit for Fate, redialing.

  I quickly realize the walk to the exit is going to be a hot one. I double back to grab my water bottle, praying that I won’t get too sunburned before finding help.

  As soon as I turn around, I realize that a sunburn is the least of my worries. The painful knots return to my stomach as I spy the last thing I want to see in the entire world. Roy’s black Cadillac has caught up to me.

  Then again, maybe not. The car is still far enough away that my eyes could be playing tricks on me.

  But why take that chance? I redial as I nab my water bottle. The black car closes in, and I realize I’m exposed. Do I run, hoping to flag down another motorist? Or do I stand here and prepare to point a loaded revolver at a human being?

  I glance over my shoulder at another billboard: “Find your Fate: One more mile!”

  The black car is now less than a quarter-mile away and slowing down. My heart pounds in my throat.

  Time to make a choice. I reach my hand into my bag and touch the cool metal of the .38.

  At the same time, my ears prick at a new noise: a third vehicle has entered the scene, its tires slowly grinding over the grit of the highway’s shoulder behind me. A Good Samaritan, maybe?

  A slam of a truck door. Heavy boots on gravel. Roy made those same noises on our driveway every night when he came home drunk and pissed about life. I remind myself: It’s not Roy coming up behind you. Roy’s worm food.

  So, what’s it gonna be, Juniper? Point the gun, or surrender to the unknown?

  My choice is gonna be…both.

  Chapter Two

  Rex

  * * *

  This emergency city council meeting is pointless. Does our town treasurer and matriarch, Ernestine Jenkins, not realize I have a business to run?

  Our beloved blue-haired Ernestine requested this meeting to address the matter of our town’s marketing fund. Fate no longer has the revenue to maintain multiple billboards, so we need to decide what stays and what goes. So, of course, we’re back where we always end up: discussing her personal contribution to the economy of Fate.

  “The problem with this town is that nobody is curious about the Curiosity Spot,” Ernestine says as Ruby tops up her coffee mug. “It’s this generation. They have the Google making decisions for them. And don’t even get me sta
rted on that lady in their phones, telling them what the Spot actually is.”

  My mind does a brief bout of gymnastics until I realize she’s talking about Siri, or Alexa, or some other artificial intelligence that answers verbal questions in a woman’s voice.

  “People just don’t bother to stop in Fate anymore because of technology,” she concludes, blowing out a heavy sigh and searching the depths of her coffee for an answer.

  “They ain’t stoppin’ because the name sounds sexual,” counters Danny Bryce, our secretary and keeper of our meeting rules of order. He pushes up his glasses and looks at me for backup while Ernestine blusters. Two other members of our esteemed assembly snort.

  At a nearby table, two farmers I vaguely recognize make jokes under their breath. “Trouble is, it taint nothing but a terrible name,” says one.

  “I heard a rumor it’s kinda hard to find,” mutters the other farmer.

  As mayor by default, I am obligated to shut down any outside comments. “Save it for a public hearing, gentlemen,” I grumble over my shoulder.

  Too late. Ernestine’s hackles are up. “It does not sound sexual! That’s another thing wrong with this generation. Everybody’s got their minds in the gutter. That doesn’t even make sense.”

  Never mind the fact that the two farmer comedians are in their 60s, but whatever.

  Personally, I could not care less which billboard stays and which one goes. “Just pick one, so I can go back to work,” I grumble.

  I’m not built to lead; I hate meetings, and I hate email. I want to fix cars and watch the sunset on my back porch with my dog. Maybe set up a dating profile on the internet. I’m not terrible in the looks department, though I know my personality could use some tinkering. Even if I did meet someone nice online, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to move here. Fate? Not exactly teeming with job opportunities or amenities.

  “Well, hold on a minute.” Oh god. There’s no end in sight to this discussion as soon as our at-large councilperson Becky Flutter weighs in. “Have you thought about changing the name, Ernestine?”

  The older woman scoffs, “Change it to what!?” The Curiosity Spot has been in Ernestine’s family for a hundred years. Suggesting a name change, or a change to a damn thing about it or about anything in this town, will get folks like Ernestine mad as wet hens.

  Becky immediately backs down after being barked at by Ernestine. “Well, then let’s make a pro-con list,” the younger council person offers.

  Aw shit. Here we go. Ruby catches me scrubbing my face in frustration, smirks, and walks away. “Have fun,” she mouths, headed back to the kitchen to put some distance between herself and these kooks.

  Now, I love all these kooks. I grew up with them. I graduated high school with Becky Flutter, and I play pickup basketball with Danny Bryce every weekend. And dog bless them all for electing Flash — a golden retriever — as mayor by a landslide of write-in votes. Although Flash does great with shaking hands and kissing babies, he can neither call nor adjourn meetings. So, his more tedious tasks—like interrupting my workday to watch a group of adults panic en masse—fall to me.

  But sometimes…sometimes I wish there was someone on the outside who could tell me what to do to help my tiny town.

  With a population of five hundred, we’ve got 499 opinions about how to draw more tourists to spend some money in Fate. The only person without ideas is Flash. His thoughts center mainly around which neighbors give the best treats.

  Like the voice of God, Sheriff Mooney drowns out every voice in the room when he radios me from his patrol.

  “Marquette, you copy?”

  I scramble for the button. “Copy. What you got for me, Mooney?”

  “Stranded motorist. Northbound on the state highway.”

  I’m halfway out the door when Danny calls after me, “You need to call for a vote to adjourn, first. Also, we haven’t talked about my idea for the Guinness Book of World Records!”

  A stickler for procedure, Danny hates it when I up and leave these pointless meetings, but I smile and wave goodbye. I don’t want to listen to another cockamamie idea. Won’t be the first time I get his undies in a bunch, won’t be the last.

  Chapter Three

  Juniper

  * * *

  Whoever is driving Roy’s Cadillac has a sick sense of humor.

  I aim the .38. I ain’t gonna fire it unless I have to, but this jackass needs to know he doesn’t scare me.

  Even though I’m so scared I don’t remember my own name.

  I’m also so focused I barely hear the stranger’s shout as he comes up behind me. “Whoa! What’s happening?”

  As the car with the familiar tacky orange flame job rolls by, the driver slows and rolls down the window. I inhale, cock the gun, and wait. Time moves like molasses. And then, I hear it. The music blaring from those custom speakers

  is my wedding song. He may not have a weapon, but this character knows how to fuck with me.

  The Caddy’s tires squeal once it passes us by as the driver floors it down the highway. I de-cock the revolver when the car disappears on the horizon. I got a good look at the driver, and he bears a striking resemblance to a dead man.

  “Ma’am?”

  I assess the stranger with the truck. His oil-stained shirt and beaten leather work gloves make me jerk backward on instinct. Without thinking, I point the gun at the man, my hands shaking. My mind must be playing tricks on me because now I see Roy everywhere.

  The gloved hands raise in surrender, but his expression is calm as he closes in on me.

  And then? The gloves come off. One large, rough hand reaches out and covers mine as I grip the gun’s handle. The skin-on-skin contact wakes up every hair follicle on my body. My senses kick into overdrive as he backs me against my car and grips both my wrists in one hand. I resist, and the stranger quickly pins my wrists against the dead Civic’s roof. The passenger door handle digs into my lower back, and I grunt in frustration.

  This stranger’s body surrounds me, and my nostrils fill with the scent of motor oil. I squirm against him, and every movement heightens my body’s awareness.

  I writhe under him, gritting my teeth. “Let me go.”

  He backs up slightly, but I’m still trapped. His breath on my neck sends waves of arousal across my skin, and I don’t know if it’s the fearful kind of arousal or the fun kind. Either way, I kick out blindly, my knee acting on its own. He jerks sideways, my knee missing his groin. The stranger’s torso traps me against the car; he aims to keep me here until I have no fight left. Bad news for him; I got plenty more. Especially if he thinks he’s gonna get any relief for that steel pole in his jeans that’s wedged against my pelvic bone.

  In the heat of the moment, words tumble out of me that make no sense. “I ain’t going back there! You can’t keep me there against my will.”

  His eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Lady, I don’t know who you think I am, but I ain’t him.”

  The man’s close, deep voice and brown eyes wake me out of my momentary stupor. This isn’t Roy. This man came to help me, and I aimed my gun at him.

  What am I doing? I relax my body, loosening my grip on the gun. We both hear it clank against the Honda’s roof, and he lets me up.

  I swallow, my throat so dry it hurts, and say, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Cautiously, he eyes me as he hands me back Roy’s gun. “Likewise.”

  “I wouldn’t have shot you.”

  We gaze at each other for a few seconds, and he speaks again. “Go on and get in my truck; I’ll give you a ride.”

  My adrenaline still pumping, I lick the salty sweat off my lips. This is not the time or place to gather innuendo. I’m confusing fear for arousal. The more I try to paint over the image of this big fella giving me that kind of ride, the more I see it. I could climb up those dusty jeans and …

  Pull yourself together, Juniper Rollins. No sense jumping from one mess into another one. You don’t even know if he’s safe.
>
  “Ma’am?” His wrinkled brow tells me exactly what I seem like to him. I’m an Ikea chair short of a few screws; I could fall apart at any moment. That’s a strong possibility.

  “Yeah. Truck. Thanks.”

  Monosyllables are about all I can muster.

  He turns away, but I catch him looking—a quick up and down glance over me.

  Maybe he’s checking for injuries or making sure I’m not going to draw my gun again. But I don’t think so. No, I know that look. For the first time in a long time, I don’t mind it at all.

  The second he opens the passenger door, the head of a huge furry dog rises from the passenger seat, taking me in with a pair of eyes just as soulful as our driver’s.

  “Well, hello!” The angelic canine face calms my anxiety about ten notches, just as the tow truck driver grabs me around the waist from behind. I let out a small yip, not expecting hands lifting me off my feet.

  If this were a date, I’d tell him I don’t need someone to help me climb in. I suspect none of that matters to him, though; He buckles my seat belt and slams the door before I can open my mouth.

  I have no choice in the matter, so I might as well relax. There’s nothing like a great big chilled-out dog plopping his head in my lap to unspool what remains of my tension.

  Chapter Four

  Rex

  * * *

  “You Rex?” the Honda owner asks when I park behind the service garage.

  “Yup. You got a name?”