Page 11 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)

CLAIRE

Since the night I lost Cody, I learned how one moment could change everything.

If someone had told me The Revenants would find me tomorrow, I would have believed it.

If someone had warned me the NYPD would catch up with me, that I’d be behind bars by morning, I wouldn’t have questioned it.

Those were the realities I had come to know—a constant thread of upheavals, the feeling of always looking over my shoulder. I knew what to expect.

But Elia?

He was something—or someone—I hadn’t prepared myself to believe.

I’d always been one to take stock of the things I could trust: instincts, survival, the sharp edge of reality.

But emotions? Losing control? That was the wild beyond the fences.

Yes, Mother Nature had forced me to stay with him.

Yet it was another kind of force that made me feel something I wasn’t sure I wanted to acknowledge—giddy, smitten, and caught somewhere between disbelief and surrender.

How does a woman decide what to believe? In the company of a man standing six-foot-two and broad-shouldered like a figure carved out of myth, it’s easy to fall into fantasy.

Elia was no Batman—Cody had always held that title for me, and he always would. But the way Elia made me feel…that was something different, something more unsettling.

I’d crossed paths with enough gorgeous men in my life, all helping me out in their own ways. Still, none of them— none —had made me feel the kind of safety I’d felt with Elia. Not when I was awake, and certainly not in my sleep.

When the nightmares gripped me, dragging me back to memories I’d rather leave buried, his touch had been steady, grounding.

Even in the murky fog of fear, he felt real, solid, as tangible as his bare chest beneath my hands.

Sweet mercy, nothing could’ve faked the warmth of his taut skin.

I wanted to hold on, to let my fingers cling to him, but out of a caution I couldn’t shake, I let him go—or maybe even pushed him away.

Safety was a tricky thing, though. You couldn’t fabricate it just because there was a swarm of restless sparks in your belly. That gut feeling of security? That had been genuine, more true than anything I’d ever known.

And maybe that was what made this so hard to accept. In a life where I’ve had to question everything, where I couldn’t afford to let my guard down, this— he —felt true. And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t know whether to lean into that truth or run from it.

I kept driving around, taking in the sights. So this was Buffaloberry Hill. Despite the remnants of last night’s storm—the occasional puddle and broken branches scattered along the road—the town had a quiet, timeless beauty.

Elia’s farm, The Lazy Moose, sat just beyond the town’s edge, where ranches stretched for miles.

The fields were sprinkled with wildflowers, their colors popping under the clear sky.

Hills rolled in the distance, soft and inviting, while farms dotted the outskirts like friendly neighbors waving hello.

I followed the winding road into the heart of town, turning onto what looked like the main avenue. The buildings grew closer together, their facades lined with flower boxes, though last night’s storm had scattered petals across the sidewalks like confetti after a celebration.

A small gas station came into view, the one Elia had mentioned. There was no way I could’ve made it here in that storm. The thought of him giving up his bed for me, feeding me, and fixing my car stirred a faint tickle in my heart.

At the first stoplight, a warehouse-style building stood prominently. A hardware store. While most places were closed, either for Sunday or because of the storm, this one was busy. No surprise. Rough weather always left a mess to fix.

Past the next intersection, the scenery shifted.

Buildings with wood siding and aged brick gave the town a nostalgic charm, like something out of the Old West but touched with homey warmth.

A bakery, a diner, a convenience shop, each with hand-painted signs beneath wide awnings that stretched over the sidewalk.

I parked and wandered toward a shop that caught my eye—a harvest store, its windows glowing with soft light. Inside, handmade crafts and rows of preserves filled the shelves, and two women chatted near the counter. As I stepped inside, the scent of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon wrapped around me.

The customer, a woman with windblown hair and a rain-spotted jacket, shook her head as she spoke to the shop owner behind the counter. “The branch came flying at the window. Luckily, it’s just a crack.”

“Never underestimate a crack, Jude,” the shop owner replied, her voice rich with the wisdom of someone who’d seen more than a few storms. “Let me get Jonathan to take a look at it.”

“Oh, no, no. Don’t bother him,” Jude said, waving off the idea.

“It’s no trouble,” the older woman insisted, her motherly smile making it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Then she glanced past her customer and spotted me. “Well, good morning, stranger,” she greeted warmly.

I smiled back as Jude turned to leave, giving me a polite nod.

“I’ll have Jonathan swing by this afternoon,” the shop owner called after her.

Jude sighed but didn’t argue, the kind of surrender that came when you knew your neighbors would look out for you whether you liked it or not.

Then, the shop owner turned her full attention to me. “That storm sure did a number last night, didn’t it? I thought the wind was gonna carry my roof clean off.”

Her easy hospitality made me appreciate the town even more, like she was its unofficial ambassador, making sure no one ever felt like a stranger for long.

“It was a rough one, for sure.” I glanced around the shop, my eyes falling on a pack of biscuits and a few bottles of water. “I’ll take these,” I said, placing them on the counter.

The lady’s eyes twinkled as she reached for a jar from the shelf behind her. “And how about some of our famous Buffaloberry jam? It’s our town signature.” She winked. “Buffaloberry puts the ‘buffalo’ in berry, and I, well, put ‘berry’ in berry!” She laughed, a hearty, contagious sound.

I hesitated for a moment, wondering about Elia’s own jam that he had claimed was a “must-try.” Somehow, I liked the idea of tasting something from his hands. But then again, this seemed to be a town specialty. “Sure, I’ll take a jar,” I said, adding it to my growing collection of goods.

“Good choice! And here’s some freshly baked huckleberry bread, still warm.” She slid a loaf wrapped in parchment across the counter. “It’ll go perfectly with that jam.”

I paid for everything and thanked her, my bag now filled with the comforting load of small-town kindness.

I turned back to her, my curiosity piqued by the beauty of the town. “Are there any walking trails around here?” I asked. “I’d love to explore a bit.”

Mama Berry’s face lit up at the question.

“Oh, honey, you’ve come to the right place for that!

We’ve got some of the prettiest trails you’ll ever see.

If you follow the road out past the old church, you’ll find the Buffaloberry Ridge trail.

It’s an easy walk, mostly flat, but the views…

” She clasped her hands together and looked to the ceiling as if thanking the heavens.

“You can see the whole valley from up there. It’s perfect for an afternoon stroll. ”

“That sounds beautiful,” I said, already picturing it.

“And if you’re feeling a bit more adventurous, there’s the Raven Bluff trail. It’s a bit more of a climb, but the reward at the top is worth every step. You’ll be able to see the river snaking through the hills. There’s a spot at the peak where a lot of folks like to stop and just sit. Reflect.”

“Wow. That sounds incredible,” I said, intrigued by the idea of losing myself in the landscape, if only for a little while.

“Mm-hmm. Just be careful after a storm like last night,” she added with a cautionary glance. “Some of the trails might still be muddy, and those bluffs can get slippery. Best to bring a good pair of boots if you’re heading that way.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, my thoughts already drifting to the idea of exploring those trails, maybe with Elia.

Damn! Why couldn’t I leave that man alone?

Mama Berry smiled as I stepped away from the counter, heading for the door. “Enjoy your time here in Buffaloberry Hill, honey. You’ll find this place has a way of making you want to stick around.”

As I left the shop, something tugged deep inside, close to the soul, or something like it. Maybe she was right.

I drove toward Buffaloberry Ridge trail. Just a mile before the trailhead, a quaint cottage caught my eye. It was tucked between a cluster of willows, their long, delicate branches swaying in the breeze. The sign out front read: The Willow . For rent.

Wired with an itch that I couldn’t scratch, I pulled over.

I stepped out of the car and wandered to the back of the cottage.

The view opened up into a stunning panorama.

Beyond the ridge, rolling hills dipped and stretched far into the horizon, but it was the vibrant patchwork of wild meadows that held my gaze.

The colors—yellows, blues, purples—reminded me of an illustration from a childhood book.

The Enchanted Forest . Cody used to read it to me, his voice full of magic as we imagined venturing through endless woods, chasing after mysteries and hidden treasures.

That same sense of wonder wrapped itself around me now, as though I had stumbled upon something magical and untouched.

I stood there, all five senses filled with nostalgia. But then, I suddenly sensed a presence. I spun around, scanning the area, but the yard was still.

“Hello?” My voice cut through the silence.

Nothing.

Maybe it was just an animal or my imagination.

I sauntered back to the front of the cottage. My gaze drifted to the For Rent sign as I felt a nudge beneath my ribs, urging me to dial the number—just to inquire. Maybe…maybe I should stay.

Then, the faint rustle of wheels caught my ear. A boy on a bicycle had paused on the street, his curious eyes on the cottage.

“Hey,” I called out, offering a smile. “Do you live around here?”

He gave me a quick grin, shy but sweet, then bolted off like a startled deer.

Poor kid. I probably scared him. Half-dazed yet wired like a zombie on a sugar high, I wouldn’t blame him for running the other way.

But honestly, that boy was cute. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen.

My gaze settled back on The Willow, and I took in the surroundings, spinning slowly to remind myself of their beauty. Friendly faces were easy to come by, but the ones that truly stirred your heart? They were rare, no matter how far you roamed.

The idea of staying was tempting. But it terrified me. I’d spent my life learning not to get attached. Not to places, things…or people.

Elia had given me safety for the night, but I knew better than to believe that anyone could offer me real safety from the ghosts that followed me.

If I asked, I knew he’d offer me a place to stay, maybe even let me work around the farm.

His eyes—steady, sharp, but tempered in a way that unnerved me—hinted at it.

He’d probably prepare another room for me if I asked.

But I couldn’t bring my chaos to his door.

I couldn’t make him pay the price Rick Ashbourne already had.

As always, there was one last stop—if this town had one.

After some searching, I spotted a small, bare-bones animal shelter. If I had my bearings right, it sat opposite The Lazy Moose on the north end of town. Beyond it, the “Leaving Buffaloberry” sign confirmed I was at the edge.

I pushed open the creaky door. The smell hit me first—a mix of disinfectant battling the damp, earthy scent of fur and hay but never quite winning.

Wire cages lined the front, and their occupants, mostly cats, watched with half-lidded eyes, barely interested.

In the back, a few dogs barked in steady intervals, like clockwork.

The front desk was empty. Before anyone could notice, I slipped a stack of bills into the donation box—it almost didn’t fit. This had become part of my routine, just like every visit since leaving Bobo, the husky.

And then I drove on to the next town and the next. No destination. Just running. Always running.