Page 1 of A Lonely Road (Spruce Hill #2)

Chapter One

Nora

“ Y ou can do it, Baby.”

My murmured encouragement was compounded by stroking the furry steering wheel cover, like maybe affection alone might keep the car moving.

“We’re almost there, just hold on one more minute. You can do it.”

Unfortunately, Baby disagreed with that assertion.

The car stalled just as we reached the address on my rental agreement.

I’d had to get a jump from a family of six in a cargo van at a rest stop in Ohio, determined to avoid calling roadside assistance if I could help it, but I made it to Spruce Hill, New York, without further incident.

Until now.

Ten more feet would've put us at the driveway, but at least I was close enough to the curb to pretend I’d meant to park on the street. I sighed as I stroked the steering wheel again. This car was my one constant, my prized possession—my only real friend.

What a sad commentary on my life.

Shaking off that gloomy reality, I took the key out of the ignition, not that it mattered after Baby had given up the ghost, and looked toward my new home.

The main house was white with red brick accents, green shutters, and careful landscaping, but the garage apartment about fifty feet behind it was my ultimate destination.

It would’ve been nice to park right at the bottom of the stairs leading up to my new home, but there wasn’t much to unload from the car.

Only a handful of houses lined the little dead end street.

My landlord had left for a six month sabbatical in Florida just that morning, hiding the key for my rental under a potted plant by the door of the apartment.

When I mailed back the signed lease from my last place in Columbus, Mr. Jenkins had sworn up and down that Spruce Hill was the perfect place for me to start fresh.

Best of all, it was quiet. Blessedly, wondrously quiet.

It certainly seemed perfect, this small town nestled along the shore of Lake Ontario in the middle of New York State.

The views of the lake after I left the highway soothed my travel-weary soul, and the stretch of town I’d driven through to get to the rental was adorable, in a bustling-but-off-the-beaten-path type of way .

Spruce Hill was tucked away from the surrounding cities, bordered by the lake, farmland, and forest, but not so far from civilization that I couldn’t grab a pizza or hit up a coffee shop in under ten minutes.

Scanning the mostly deserted street—it was the middle of a weekday, after all—I caught sight of someone in the neighboring driveway, a tall man in faded jeans and a white t-shirt.

He was half hidden under the hood of a red, late model pickup truck.

It was impossible to guess at his age, though he looked trim and fit in the way of someone used to working with his hands.

My father had a similar build, so I knew this neighbor could be anywhere from sixteen to sixty.

Uncertainty warred with logic for a moment before I shook myself out of it. I couldn’t sit there at the curb all day long. This town was tiny, and for however long I stayed here, it would be perfectly adequate.

Maybe not home, not if my years of searching and failing to find a place like that were any indication, but safe enough for a while so I could put it to the test.

I puffed my cheeks as I stepped out of the car, pulled my suitcase from the back seat, and slung the messenger bag holding my laptop and work notes over one shoulder.

By the time I was halfway up the driveway, a rare sort of optimism bubbled inside me.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the smell of freshly cut grass hung in the air like the sweetest perfume .

God, I loved summer. I’d spent too much time losing myself in the anonymity of big cities lately and had forgotten all about the beauty of a little suburban town.

Just as I reached the stairs, the man next door straightened and I stumbled to a halt, nearly tripping over my own feet. Definitely not my father’s age, but a lean, beautiful man in his prime with cropped caramel curls and an easy smile that crept across his face when he spotted me.

Though he studied me with interest, it seemed perfectly benign and neighborly. There was nothing creepy or sinister about him, so why was my heart pounding so hard?

The man wiped his hands on a greasy rag and said, “Howdy, neighbor.”

I merely raised a startled brow at the drawled greeting and his smile widened. His voice was smooth and deep, his blue eyes sparkling with good humor. Had my love life really been so pitiful that a smile like that could tempt me so hard? I actually had to stop myself from leaning toward him.

Get a grip, Nora.

“Sorry, my granddad used to greet all our neighbors like that. I figured I’d give it a try.” A dimple appeared in his cheek. “After that unenthusiastic reception, I promise I won’t do it again.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I replied, then bit my lip when I realized I was teasing a stranger.

He grinned. “You must be Mr. Jenkins’ new tenant. I’m Jake Lincoln. Welcome to Spruce Hill.”

Clearing my throat, I said, “Yes. Thanks. I’m Nora Cassidy. ”

He nodded like I was a perfectly normal new neighbor instead of a bundle of nerves and neuroses. Maybe I could manage small town life, after all. Then Jake held out his hand and, after a brief hesitation, I reached out to shake it.

“Well, Nora Cassidy, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Jenkins asked me to keep an eye out for you, so if you need anything, just give a holler.”

With a tight smile, I pulled my hand back. His skin was rough but warm, his grip strong and sure. I reminded myself that part of avoiding undue attention in this town was fitting in, and fitting in meant not making a spectacle of myself over a silly handshake.

Even if my new landlord had implied to this handsome stranger that I was some helpless damsel who needed looking after.

My jaw clenched, and I had to force the muscles to relax.

“I hope you like the apartment,” he said, his tone friendly and casual.

“Mr. Jenkins had me renovate the place about a year back as a graduation gift for his grandson, but the kid ended up moving out to California with his girlfriend. It’s been vacant all along.

Seemed like a waste of such a great space, all that light coming in. ”

“I haven’t been inside yet,” I replied, shifting the bag on my shoulder as my face heated. Real smooth, Cassidy.

“Right, of course.” Jake glanced from me to the car. “Do you need help unloading? You can pull into the driveway, Mr. Jenkins won’t mind. ”

“No, no,” I protested with a forced smile. “I’ve got it. There isn’t much. Nice meeting you, though.”

Before I turned away, I saw his golden brows draw down.

Maybe he thought his vow to look out for the little lady next door would be broken if he didn’t help me haul my crap inside.

He said nothing, however, just moved back a few steps so his feet were on his own driveway by the time I glanced down from the landing.

I nabbed the key from beneath some kind of potted fern—hopefully fake, because I had yet to meet a plant I couldn’t kill simply by trying to keep it alive—just outside the door and heaved myself inside. With a loud exhalation, I leaned back against the door and looked at my new home.

The furnished apartment was far more spacious than I’d imagined, airy and well-appointed, with plenty of windows to let in light all through the day.

Even though the kitchen was small by most people’s standards, it was a definite step up from the places I’d lived in before, with glossy countertops and shiny new appliances.

Everything looked fresh and bright, like it had simply been waiting for me all along.

Jake the Neighbor had clearly done an amazing job on renovations.

Cute and capable, I thought as I surveyed my surroundings.

The walls were a pale gray, the windows sporting sheer linen curtains that shimmered in the sun.

I set my laptop bag on the low coffee table and wheeled my suitcase into the bedroom, which was moderately sized and done up in impersonal but attractive decor all in shades of mint and baby blue.

On one wall hung a large, slightly abstract painting of a lighthouse in darker tones of the same colors.

Leaving the suitcase by the closet—which had enough room for ten times more clothing than I possessed—I wandered back through the living room, letting the quiet settle me.

Before leaving to fetch the single cardboard box of foreign language dictionaries and translation guides that I’d left in the trunk, I peeked through the curtains covering the glass portion of the door.

Jake was still there, back under the hood of his truck, and I steeled myself with a deep breath before opening the door.

The staircase leading down one side of the garage was sturdy and freshly painted, each solid step beneath my feet providing me with another ounce of confidence.

Jake’s curly head lifted as I reached the driveway. “What’s the verdict? You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” I replied without thinking, then my face heated. “I mean, it’s very well done. Much nicer than I imagined. You’re right, it does get great light. I wasn’t expecting that.”

His friendly smile widened at my rambling praise, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m just glad someone is finally around to appreciate it.

My sister is a realtor, so I called her in for most of the decorating.

She loves that stuff, wanted to turn it into a private little oasis. ”

“It’s all lovely, thank you. Both of you.” I took a single step toward my car and his dimple deepened.

“And you don’t have to worry about anyone popping by unexpectedly,” he went on, like he hadn’t noticed my eagerness to flee even though I was dead sure he had.

“Oh. Okay.” Nora Cassidy, what the hell is wrong with you?