Page 2 of Her Protector on Route 14 (Love Along Route 14 #6)

I tell myself to focus. This is a job. It’s always been just a job.

But she is a distraction.

The moment I saw her, all sun-kissed skin and that bright, unguarded smile, something short-circuited in my brain. That kind of warmth—sweet, open, genuine—is rare out here. Too rare. And exactly the kind of thing someone could take advantage of if they pulled off on the wrong shoulder.

I should correct her—remind her to be more cautious, more guarded out here in the middle of nowhere. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to be the one who dims that light, that sparkle in her eyes that somehow makes this whole sunburned highway feel less lonely.

Holly is sexy—no denying that. Her toned frame, her tied-up shirt, those curves that would’ve caught my attention even if I hadn’t been trying not to look.

But it’s not just her body. It’s something else. Something under my skin. Something dangerous.

Because I’ve driven this stretch a hundred times and never once felt what I’m feeling now.

And I haven’t even heard her full story yet.

I glance over at her and nearly curse out loud.

She’s bent over the passenger seat of her car, giving me a full view of her pert, round ass and those toned, gorgeous thighs—and now my brain is very much not focused on the job. I just met this woman. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. But I am .

Lust? That’s fine. Natural. Even imagining the feel of her hips pressed back against me, kissing along that soft, sun-warmed neck until I can get more of that fresh cookies scent she wears like a dare… Yeah, okay. A quick fantasy is tolerable. As long as it stays in my head.

She starts to stand, and I react without thinking—sliding my hand under the top of the door just in time to keep her from smacking her head. My knuckles take the hit instead.

I grunt, the dull throb pulsing through my fingers. Her eyes flash to mine, wide with surprise—and something else. She blushes.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I promise I’m not usually so… frazzled. I’m totally capable. Or I wouldn’t be taking this trip on my own.”

I nod once. Not because I doubt her. But because I do believe her.

And because I don’t trust myself to speak while my mind’s still stuck on how easily I could press her back into that seat and find out if she tastes as sweet as she smells.

She nibbles her full bottom lip and I want to soothe her worry with a kiss.

I don’t know what it is about her. I want to pull her close, wrap myself around her, let her know exactly how safe she is with me.

I want her to keep looking at me with that curiosity and softness like she’s trying to figure out how to get closer to me.

Yet there’s nothing scheming or manipulative about her.

She adjusts her backpack over her shoulder and grabs a duffle bag and clears her throat while pushing some escaped strands of her dark hair from her face.

Beautiful. Impossible to ignore. Like the softness of the sky at sunrise—something you don’t expect to stop you in your tracks, but it does.

It’s not just her looks. It’s the way she talks, open and eager, like silence doesn’t scare her. Like she’s not trying to fill the space, just share it. No come-ons, no awkward flirtation, no frustration at how quiet I am. It’s disarming. She’s disarming.

That has to be why my heart’s pounding when she reaches for my hand—small fingers brushing mine, her brows furrowed with concern as she looks at my knuckles and murmurs another apology.

It shouldn’t affect me like this. But it does.

That’s why a flicker of pride stirs in my gut when she climbs into my truck without hesitation—like she trusts me to handle things, to take care of her.

It’s not affection . Can’t be. That would be irrational. I’ve only just met her. I’m still in control, and control means staying logical—no matter how flushed my skin feels or how strong the urge is to follow her, offer her water, and make sure she’s comfortable.

It’s just… her. The easy way she carries herself. The softness in her voice. That calm, sunny presence that sneaks past my defenses before I can brace myself. She’s got a way of pulling focus—making it hard to remember what I’m supposed to be doing.

It doesn’t. Twenty minutes later, it pulls in right on time. They hook everything up with practiced ease and drive off after I hand them the keys.

With nothing left to keep my hands busy or my thoughts distracted, I turn back to my truck—where she’s waiting. And suddenly, the quiet feels a lot louder.

I pull myself into the driver seat. I expected her perfume to fill the entire cab until it was overwhelming, but it’s not, it lingers in the air like a tease that makes impossible to ignore her.

My mouth waters and I’m tempted to lean over and.

.. Stop Tanner, you can’t act as a horny teenager! I remind myself harshly.

“We’ll follow the tow truck to the nearest garage,” I say. “Unless you’d rather ride with him.”

“No, this is great. Thank you, Tanner, really. I appreciate this,” she says.

“It’s my job,” I say, not sure if I’m reminding myself or her.

She reaches over and gently touches my hand. When my gaze drops to her hand, she draws back and clears her throat. “Sorry. You can tell me when I overstep. I’ve been spending so much time on the road that I may be forgetting the basics of social interactions.”

Holly laughs at herself and rubs her thighs. I take a slow breath. She’s talkative, but oddly, I don’t mind it. I clear my throat, trying to rebuild my defenses so I don’t let whatever attraction I feel bloom into more.

I nearly scoff at myself. It’s going to take more than my usual defenses to shove her out of my mind and to shake her effortless warmth from my system. I’m in control and that’s how things are going to stay.

“So photography brought you to Route 14?” I ask after we’ve driven about four minutes in silence.

“Yes. I wanted to chart the beauty of a cross country trip. I didn’t start in Bluebell Point, I started a little further North in Florida, almost right on the state line to Georgia.

I know that there are some great stops like Cusp Hollow, Georgia, and Rustic Plains, but I wanted to stop a few more places.

Tennessee is so beautiful and the little side roads, the hidden towns and attractions, the look outs . .. I’m rambling aren’t I?”

“I don’t mind,” I say honestly.

She grins, the little dimple in her cheek showing again. She leans closer to me. “Saddleback was beautiful, but I’m excited to see it all. I haven’t heard much about Heartstone.”

“Then you’re in luck, that’s likely where we’re headed.”

“That far?” She asks, eyes opening wide. “Oh, Tanner. There’s kindness and then there’s me owing you.”

Turning, I blink at her. “That’s where the best mechanic is.”

“Is this really what Rangers do?”

“I’m one of ten Patrolling Rangers for Route 14. We go up and route the route. There’s always one per state and a floater. We have a few regular stops at federal accommodations,” I answer as simply as I can.

Holly shifts in her seat, her arm brushing mine. She leans in, giving me her full attention and I find myself paying more attention to her than the road. She fills all my senses even when I’m not looking at her.

“What about families? Holidays? Don’t you get time off to enjoy homelife?” she presses.

“I can’t speak for all the guys, but I don’t have family. I’d rather be a bit of a nomad and see more,” I answer.

“Basically a cowboy,” she quips.

I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth lifts.

“I get it, though. How can you really decide where to live unless you see everything the Country offers? Florida and Tennessee are shockingly different. I’m sure each section of road has different beauty to offer.”

I nod once. “How’d you get into photography?”

She lights up instantly, like I just handed her the perfect question. She tells me about her grandmother—the one who photographed everything—and how, the first time she was handed a camera, it felt like being knighted.

She fills the ride with stories, all warmth and animation, and I realize this is how she shares herself—not through silence or stillness, but through details and laughter.

I listen like I’m hearing a favorite book being read aloud.

Her voice is steady, soothing—better than anything the radio could offer—and the longer she talks, the more I want her to keep going.

By the time we turn off the highway and roll into Heartstone, there’s a heaviness in my chest I didn’t expect.

I’m going to miss that dimpled smile. The way she smells like fresh cookies. The sound of her voice filling the quiet like it belongs there.

And the ache that thought leaves behind?

Yeah. That surprises me the most.