Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Wood Hollow.
Five minutes later, I’d purchased a one-way ticket to Vermont.
Why not? If I hated it, I’d get on the next flight home. I literally had nowhere else to be and nothing left to lose.
CHAPTER 2
COOPER
The wind whipped down the street, sending snow flurries spinning in mini tornadoes. Ice had formed overnight on windshields, mailboxes, and sidewalks. No doubt the roads would be treacherous all day. Thankfully, my commute was short.
I trudged to my truck, pulling my beanie low over my ears and fishing my keys from my pocket along with my cell. I slid behind the wheel, turned on the engine, and defrosted the windows as I ran through my schedule at the mill.
We had a huge order to process for Fallbrook. With any luck, we could deliver the treated timber by the end of the week…if conditions improved. I squinted through the circular defrosted patches of glass. Shit, you’d never know that yesterday had been sunny without a trace of snow. It was really coming down now, and it was supposed to get worse.
I wondered if the roads would close. I wondered if Sarah had checked the weather report before she took the kids to school. I wondered if I should call her.
Nah, don’t do it. She’s a good mom. She knows what to do.
I tossed my cell onto the console and grabbed the ice scraper, ready as I’d ever be to brave the elements. Arctic gusts blasted me as I got to work peeling melting ice from the windshield. I didn’t have to get it all…just the thickest bits.
Satisfied with the results, I smacked the scraper against the front tire and was about to climb into the truck when the squeal of spinning tires on ice sliced through the quiet morning. That didn’t sound good.
The copse of tall pines made a natural boundary between properties, but since no one had ever lived in the house next door, I figured I should investigate.
I turned off the truck’s engine and picked a cautious path along the border of my driveway and a strip of snow covering dormant hydrangea bushes. I skidded on ice a couple of times and finally reached the clearing through the trees where a white Lexus churned its wheels in a solid foot of snow. What the hell was this guy doing?
I glanced at my watch with a sigh, annoyed by the inconvenience yet too curious to leave this idiot to his own devices. Not an ideal way to meet the new neighbor, I grumbled to myself, trudging to the disabled car and knocking on the window.
The driver opened it halfway and dislodged a thin sheet of ice that teetered, then tipped inside the vehicle.
“Fucking fuckety fuck,” he growled, closing the window before I could get a good look at him.
I pursed my lips in amusement and stepped aside to give him room to get out. It took a minute of fumbling with the seat belt and the control panel—long enough to guesstimate that my neighbor didn’t have much experience driving in the snow.
I remembered hearing that the owner was a football player. And the Lexus parked in front of a newly constructed home that had never been occupied indicated that he had fuck-you money in the bank. Only Pinecrest folks drove luxury vehicles in the Four Forest area, but even those assholes were smart enough to go with their fancy SUVs in this weather.
Maybe he’d retired early. Must be nice. Probably my age or a little older. Probably had a wife, two or three kids, and was out here on a reconnaissance mission to check out his investments. Probably had a membership to an exclusive golf course too…and a paunch.
I could see through the frosted glass that he had short brown hair. That was it, though. My neighbor was a mystery.
The door swung open, and a designer boot crunched in the snow. I took a beat to commend my intuitive prowess. Decades worth of reading thrillers and watching Law and Order reruns had paid off.
But…not quite.
Okay, not at all.
This guy was about six four, lean but muscular, with a square chiseled jaw and stunning blue eyes. He looked like an athlete. No paunch whatsoever. And he was younger than I was—midthirties, I guessed.
I had a feeling I was still right about the West Coast part, though.
“Hi there, I’m Cooper. I live next door. I heard your car struggling and thought I’d stop by to introduce myself and offer some help…if you need it.” I pointed at the tires firmly imbedded in the snow. “And you do.”
“Yeah…I do.” He sighed, blowing out a stream of frustrated air as he pivoted, his hand outstretched. “Silas. Nice to meet you.”
The handshake was brief but sort of intense. Silas’s grip was firm and rough, like a logger’s. He was too slick-looking to be one of us—too fancy. But he definitely wasn’t a desk jockey.