Page 2 of Fortune’s Control (Fortune’s Creek #1)

If you need to flee for your life, wear proper footwear.

My feet throbbed.

I grinned at the weathered sign. Fuzzy moss tinged the gray wood’s edges, lending it a homey feel. The two-way street curved to the right, between pines, palm trees, and old oaks, whose thick limbs created a canopy overhanging the street.

The town hall greeted me first, and further ahead, a gas station and an auto repair shop. Perfect. I could arrange a tow truck before twilight turned to plain old night.

The repair shop’s grease-smudged sign informed me it would reopen at eight the next morning. Towing my car wasn’t an option, but surely the gas station kept a spare can behind the counter I could borrow for a small fee.

The sign dangling from one of its two pumps dashed that hope. Cash Only.

“That’s impossible. Rude.” I opened my purse to rummage through its pockets, hoping for spare change or even a dollar bill. “Twenty cents.”

“Do you need help?”

I spun and gulped at the deep timbre in the man’s voice. “What?”

“You look like you need help.”

Where would I even begin? “They don’t take credit cards. ”

“Willard doesn’t believe in them.”

The man spun his hat around, allowing tufts of deep brown hair to show through. He stood well over six feet tall, with a broad chest and thick arms that strained the faded blue cotton shirt. The gray twilight obscured the details in his eyes, but they were dark and fixed on me.

“That makes no sense. How does someone not believe in them?”

“No, he realizes they exist. He doesn’t believe in using them. Willard’s never met a conspiracy theory he doesn’t enjoy.”

While fascinating, it didn’t solve my dilemma. “Well, thank you for explaining. It appears I need a bank.”

He bowed his head, bringing himself in a little closer.

He didn’t sport a beard, but hadn’t shaved that morning either.

There was a tiny moon-shaped scar above his right eye, probably from a childhood injury.

It, along with his square jaw and the hard stomach hiding under his shirt, caused my first swell of desire in a long time.

It brought an odd comfort, as if his presence weakened that horrible night’s hold over me.

Shaking away any daydreams before they could form, I closed my purse and placed its strap back on my shoulder.

“It opens tomorrow morning as well. One block over,” he said. My would-be rescuer hesitated, torn between offering more and leaving me to my problems. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

I needed more than he imagined, but none of it was a random stranger’s problem. “Thank you, but no.”

“Then welcome to Fortune’s Creek.” He brought the brim of his hat back around and left.

How did he know I was from somewhere else? Chuckling, I scanned the small town and realized how. A strip of grass separated the street in front of me. A live oak shaded two matching park benches. A fire station on one side and shops on the other formed an oasis in the town square.

Since my car was stuck until the morning, lodging was the next problem to solve. First, those benches called, reminding me that my feet deserved a rest.

I walked, managing a whole dozen steps, when my purse strap caught on a tree branch, ripping out the stitching and sending the contents flying into the street. I blinked and set my purse on the ground.

“It’s fine. You can get another. It’s a purse.” I grabbed the lipstick and powder compact first. “There’s a purse in every store. You can get another.” I stuck my wallet and peppermint tin back in the purse next.

The receipts covering the ground were a little embarrassing. I grabbed those before they could blow away. Where was my phone?

“Cell phone, you did not walk away.” I considered further. “I understand if you tried.” My recent phone calls were not enjoyable.

“Is this yours?” my stranger asked. He handed over my phone, tucked in its glittering pink case. “I was up the block and saw it fall.”

My cheeks burned at my sexy, would-be rescuer noticing me. “Thank you for finding it.”

He studied me. “You must be here for the antiques weekend. I’m Shane, by the way.”

What antiques weekend?

“Lilah. It’s short for Delilah, but only my mother calls me that. Is there an antiques weekend?”

“Regularly, with some worse than others.” His friendly expression faded. “You’re not here to go antiquing, are you?”

I shook my head .

He wavered, unsure whether to label me a damsel in distress or an indecisive tourist. How many women did he meet who were both? Still, my problems were not his, and I wouldn’t burden a stranger.

“I have one small request. Could you point me toward the nearest hotel?”

His face softened again. Shane licked his lips and took a quick breath. “The one in town is full, but you’ll find several options in Gainesville to pick from.”

I gave him a smile brimming with false bravado. “Well, that’s not far, is it? Thank you again, Shane.” A twenty-minute drive might as well be twenty years. I wouldn’t reach Gainesville with an empty gas tank.

*****

I plopped onto a nearby bench and put my head between my knees. There was no hotel, my car was a four-mile walk, and I was hungry.

“Brilliant, Lilah. Pretty pictures online don’t make this town the answer to your problems.” It solved my most important one: Wilson Skane couldn’t find me here.

I wiped my face and took several calming breaths. It would soon be dark, and I needed shelter before that happened. Once, I could brush off a night spent outdoors or trek back to my car without worry.

Now, his face towered over me when I slept.

“Come on, Lilah, you’ve got this. You’re strong.” Liar. I didn’t feel courageous at the moment. Idealistic me pictured driving into town and checking into a quaint hotel with kitschy furniture. Instead, I ignored the gas gauge and didn’t bother making a reservation. Two regretful decisions.

“Running away was a smart decision. No one knows I’m here.” No one except Shane and Emma.

Emma. I promised to call her. Like phones everywhere, mine fell to the bottom of my purse, buried under its other contents. I tapped the screen, and my finger slid over the shattered glass. It didn’t turn on. I shook it and attempted an emergency reboot with no luck.

I covered my mouth to hold back a frustrated laugh. My arrival in Fortune’s Creek didn’t feel fortunate.

Two options remained: spend the night in an abandoned shed or hike back to my car.

The hike won. I sat there, willing my legs to pull me up and start moving. The sun had long since disappeared over the horizon, and its last glowing twinges would soon fade, changing the sky from a dusky purple to a denim blue.

Streetlights clicked on, holding me in a pale yellow glow. I glanced around, seeing no one. There was only me and the night sky.

Panic hit as I took several shallow breaths. I wasn’t hiking back to my car, not that night or anytime soon. I needed to get inside. Moths flew toward the streetlights, attracted to the security they offered. I was jealous.

My legs cooperated, and I stood, looking behind me at the wall of shops. Most were dark, while an illuminated sign advertised one. Gator Tale Bar and Grill . Perfect.

*****

Quiet conversation, dark wood, and leather greeted me.

A stuffed alligator hung from the far wall.

Couples occupied three booths along the back wall, each more interested in themselves than in me.

Two women shared a high-top and a bottle of wine.

It was the table in the middle that grabbed my attention.

My would-be rescuer, Shane, sat with three other men. I stopped short and allowed myself to stare one more time. He found me twice, and now it was my turn.

He gripped a brown bottle, his thumb stroking its side.

Shane leaned forward, and the man on his right laughed.

Sensing my rude stare, he looked up, and our eyes met.

I swallowed, telling myself to move since I still stood on the black mat by the entrance, risking a fall if the front door were to open.

He raised his bottle toward me, and his lips approached something akin to a smile. I returned it, and my legs came to life. I sat in the middle of the empty bar and turned my head to check on Shane again.

A server took his order, and our moment ended.

I slumped forward and let the tension drain from my body.

Food first, and then a plan. It’s possible that a bed-and-breakfast was nearby, or I could arrange an Uber ride to Gainesville.

I could even borrow a phone to call Emma and ask her to pick me up, except she was hours away and wouldn’t arrive until the middle of the night.

The waitress who took Shane’s order approached, pulling a pen from behind her ear. “Are you ready to order?”

I didn’t have a menu yet. “Anything, I’m not picky. A salad, if you have it, or a chicken sandwich if you don’t.”

“How about both?”

I almost forgot. “Do you take credit cards? Please say you do, or I might burst into tears right now.”

“You went to Willards, didn’t you?” She shook her head.

Probably in her forties, the laugh lines around her eyes softened her judgmental expression.

“He never met a conspiracy he didn’t like.

Either way, it doesn’t matter because your meal is covered.

Whatever you want, it’s on the house. Anything to drink with it? ”

“Diet soda. Any kind. Thank you so much.”

A random restaurant offering a free meal? Unlikely. I glanced over my shoulder one more time to mouth a thank you and received a gentle nod.

I ate slowly, letting time pass and my panic grow. Places in a small town didn’t stay open for twenty-four hours, and I’d have to go back outside.

Her face appeared as blood fell, spreading on her shirt and forming an ugly crimson stain.

Slow breaths. In and out. In and out.

The evening grew late. Shane’s conversation with his friends gave the impression of old friendships and shared memories. They each laughed so much I could tell one from the other without knowing their names or seeing their faces.

I glanced back for a last look at my would-be rescuer. His calm expression sharpened when the man next to him spoke. He tensed, leaned back in his wooden chair, and our eyes met again.