Soon, Burke was climbing in behind the wheel, that strawberry scent hitting him full force as he shut the door.
The distant beat of a rap song kicked on as he started the car. He was quick to reach up and turn it down.
“You can turn it back up if you want,” she said. “I like that song.”
She did? “You do?”
Her face scrunched into one of those duh expressions. “Who doesn’t?”
An odd dose of heat stirred in his belly. Who was this chick?
Burke cranked it back up, lowered his sunglasses, and squared a look at the pretty stranger in his car.
“Where to?”
Chapter 4
Holy holy…
Justine stared into the hypnotizing eyes of the man at her side. With his sunglasses lowered just so, those blue pools of wonder aimed right on her, she momentarily lost her breath. She’d encountered plenty of pretty rich boys in nice cars and tailored suits. Enough that they’d all started to look the same.
But he wasn’t like the others. In fact, the only thing typical about this guy was his clothes and his car. He filled out the driver’s side with ease, his physique more like a mountain man’s than a businessman’s. His face had a rugged quality too. A bold, rather angular jaw with promising hints of a five o’clock shadow. Even his thick, dark hair defied the typical length; the tips hung long enough to graze the corner of his eye.
Wait, he’d asked her something, hadn’t he? “What was that?”
His brow furrowed. “Which way should I go?”
She saw something else that set him apart from the other men passing through town—something in the deep blue of his eyes. A familiarity almost, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Focus, Justine. She pointed straight ahead. “Just go in the direction I was going.”
“Right,” he said, a tinge of chagrin on his face.
“We’ll head to my grandfather’s place. He’s got somewhere we can bury her.”
The man kept his gaze trained on her for a blink. “Okay,” he said. “My name’s Burke, by the way.” Then, instead of sliding the glasses back into place, he tore them off and rested them above the dashboard.
Warmth flooded her heart at the sound of his voice as it echoed in the small cab—rich, low, and smoky. The sort they used for recording lumberjack voiceovers.
Burke, huh? It suited him. A burly sounding name for a broad-shouldered, nicely muscled man with a deep-tenured voice. Too bad he was a city guy. They were all the same—hyper focused on money, time, and the way one equaled the other. Heaven forbid they hold still long enough to enjoy the things money couldn’t buy.
She forced herself to uncurl her fingers from the box’s edge to shake his hand. “Burke,” she said, “I’m Justine.”
He took one hand off the wheel. His warm, rather muscled grip locked perfectly into place with the solid shake.
“It’s nice to meet you, Justine.”
Flutters stirred in her tummy at the sound of her name in that deep tenor.
“You too.” She replaced her grip around the box’s edge and sighed. Get ahold of yourself, Justine. This was not like her. This was so not like her. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d swooned over a man that wasn’t on the big screen. And this guy, by her side as he might be, was as unavailable as any movie star; she’d bet money on it.
A quick glance at the poor creature in the box brought her back to solid ground, even if it was in the form of a pristine BMW with tinted windows. Poor cat. Focus on the poor cat and not the masculine scent of his seriously heavenly cologne. The vision of its lifeless form pulled at the wretched sadness she felt every time she came upon a dead or injured pet on the roadside.
She wondered if it was another farmhouse cat or someone’s house pet. There was no tag, so she most likely belonged to a local farmer. One of dozens kept only for keeping the mice away. Which made its death even more tragic in a way. A living being that’s never been loved or cherished meeting an early grave. At least Justine would give it a proper burial, and send it love in her heart as well.
I’m sorry your life ended early, she said mindfully. You are noticed. You are seen. You matter. She imagined the cat did a very good job at keeping the mice away on whichever farm she lived. Perhaps there were children on the farm, or a gentle widower. Someone who patted her head and gave her bowl of milk in exchange for the mice she caught.
The idea put peace in her heart. I hope you were noticed. I hope you were loved.
She glanced up to see they were nearing Gramps’ place. “It’s a couple miles up the road. The house on the right.”
Burke nodded. “I assume you live here in Piney Falls as well?”
“Yeah. Just down the street from my granddad’s.”
“And what do you do here, for a living?” He shrugged. “Such a small town. I’m just curious.”
“Well, I don’t milk goats for a living if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He shot her a sheepish grin that said she wasn’t far off the mark. “Okay…”
Justine gave into a satisfied smile. “I work at the city office.”
“Let me guess. You’re the mayor.”
“Yep.”
Burke shot her a surprised look. “You are?”
Justine laughed. “No. I just do desk work, go through mail, follow up on city ordinances, that type of thing.”
“When you say mail, does that include email too? Or do you guys not have any of those fancy computers out here?”
She shot him a glare. “I’m not dignifying that with an answer.”
“I’m only teasing. It does seem like it’d be a…” He drifted off there as a crease formed along his brow. Be what? She wanted to know how he meant to finish that sentence, but it seemed he was preoccupied with something.
One slight glance and Justine realized exactly what had caught his attention. Yards ahead, at the roadside portion of Gramps’ property, the pet graveyard sat beneath three tall pines. Rows and rows of small white crosses marked grave after grave in the mounded dirt.
“What’s going on with all these—what are they—graves?”
A wave of heat hit Justine’s face. “Yeah,” she said softly. “It’s a busy spot here. See?” She pointed to the intersecting streets ahead. “Two high-speed interstates merge just up the road. A lot of small animals end up like this poor little kitty right here.”
Burke slowed to a stop at the roadside, his handsome face still pinched in thought.
A rare wave of embarrassment pushed through her as she considered the scene. She’d barely shed the image of local milkmaid; how would she get out of looking like the town’s kooky gravedigger? She glanced down at the cat in the box. I’m not crazy, she wanted to say. My grandpa and I just like to give them a proper burial.
During the short drive there, she’d sensed a bit of playfulness in him. Flirtation, even. She’d wanted to ask where he was from and what he did. But now…now she just wanted to escape.
“Thank you,” she blurted, “for the ride. I can take it from here.” She glanced over in time to see his expression fall flat. Already, his hand was at his seatbelt. His thumb poised over the lever.