“He’s not a jerk. He looked after me while I was sick. He fixed the lock on my back door. Three days ago, I got home from town and found that my woodshed was magically full, and he even stacked some logs on my porch. Yesterday, Gary came over and serviced my generator. He said Atticus had sent him and that he’d already paid for it. He’s a good guy, Charlotte.”
She’d thought about going over to thank him, but had chickened out. She wasn’t sure why he’d done those nice things for her. Perhaps she should bake him some more muffins.
Charlotte gave her a skeptical look. “Yes, those things all sound nice, but how much do you even know about him? What does he do for a living?”
Lucie shrugged. “I’m not sure, but Rocky knows him so he can’t be a bad person.”
“I’m worried about you. Are you eating properly? Sleeping?”
“I’m fine.”
Charlotte frowned. “Aren’t you taking this harder than you should? He’s just your neighbor. Sure, it would be nice to get on with him, but it’s not as though you like him or anything.”
She cringed.
“Oh, Lucie, don’t tell me you have a crush on Sir Grouch-a-lot.”
“Maybe just a bit,” she admitted. “Also, I’m pretty sure I told him about that nickname.” She’d remembered a lot more of their conversations once her head cleared.
“Crap.”
She made a face. “Can you blame him for avoiding me? Not only did I break something he obviously cherished, but I also told him I was a Little and called him Daddy.”
“Hey, don’t feel so bad. Boyfriend number five wanted me to call him Daddy in bed. The sex was hot as fuck.”
“It’s not exactly the same, Charlotte.”
“I know.”
Was he a Daddy Dom? What were the odds that a gorgeous, sexy Daddy Dom would move next door and want absolutely nothing to do with her?
Fate, or whoever, was undoubtedly having a laugh at her expense. Why her? She was kind. She always helped someone when they asked her. She donated any spare cash she had. Which wasn’t much.
In a past life, she’d obviously done something wrong.
“Come stay with me,” Charlotte said impulsively.
She smiled at her friend. “I miss you so much.”
“Yeah, which means you should come to visit.”
“Are you sending over your broomstick?” she teased.
“Bitch, for you, I’ll send the flying carpet.”
Lucie giggled. It was the first time she could remember laughing all week. “I’m fine, Char. I’ll be all right.”
“Of course you will. You’re Lucie. You’re always all right. I’ve never seen you go more than an hour without smiling.”
Sometimes, it was tiring always being cheerful, though. Always trying to see the bright side. But she forced a smile on her face for Charlotte. She had enough going on, and Lucie didn’t want to worry her.
“Hey, I best go,” Lucie told her. “The forecast said a snowstorm is coming and I have to get this stuff down to Steph.”
“All right, be careful. Don’t get side-tracked. Straight into town, then back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She gave her a mock-salute and Charlotte stuck out her tongue at her.
This time, her smile was genuine.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She was an idiot.
She was the world’s biggest idiot.
Lucie gripped Queenie’s steering wheel as she made her way through the snowstorm. Why hadn’t she stayed in town? Why had she left it so late to come back? She should have taken Jess’s offer of a bed.
But like an idiot, she’d refused. Because she didn’t have a way of letting Atticus know she wasn’t coming home.
Like he’d even notice.
If only she’d left town after dropping off the jewelry to Steph.
If only she hadn’t seen Jess in the grocery store and offered to look after her kids so she could shop in peace.
If only she hadn’t stayed for a cup of coffee and a chat.
If only . . . if only . . .
Well, none of that was going to get her home safe. Only she and Queenie could do that. She was nearly there. She could make it. Even though she was wearing several layers of clothes, her teeth chattered from the chill coming up through the large hole in the footwell. She could barely see where she was going due to the snow coming down. But she knew she was probably only a mile away.
Just as she turned a corner, something came racing out of the trees, making her scream. She turned Queenie’s steering wheel sharply to the left, not putting on the brakes, knowing that was the wrong thing to do. The heavy truck turned and slid, smashing straight into a tree. She jolted forward, the seat belt cutting into her chest, stealing her breath. Her body knocked against the door, her head smashing into the glass.
She sat there for a moment, feeling dazed and confused. She attempted to put Queenie into reverse, but the tires couldn’t find traction.
Shit.
Shaking, she turned Queenie off, figuring she wasn’t going anywhere for a while. It wasn’t like the heater worked, anyway. Then she attempted to undo her seatbelt. It took her a few tries before she managed to undo it.
Her head thumped, and it felt like her entire body had been rolled around in a tumble-dryer.
Not pleasant.
She reached up with her hand to touch her forehead. She pulled it back, looking at the blood on the fingertips of her gloves.
Crap.
She couldn’t stay here. She’d freeze to death. Not that things would be much better outside the truck, but maybe she could make it home on foot.
Wasn’t like she had much choice.
Where the fuck was she?
Atticus paced back and forth in the small kitchen of his cabin.
How fucking irresponsible was it of her to be out in this storm? What about Princess Pickles? Did she care nothing about her cat?
He’d seen her leave earlier that day in that rust-bucket truck of hers and he’d had to suppress the urge to drive after her. She had no right going anywhere in that truck, let alone driving it in a fucking snowstorm.
When he got hold of her . . . he let out a deep breath.
Not your girl. Not your business.
Striding into the living room, he glanced over at the photo of himself and Gemma on their wedding day. It was sitting in the new frame that Lucie had left on his porch. The wooden frame was decorated with felt daisies. Each flower had a jewel in the center. Daisies were Gemma’s favorite. She was holding a bunch in their wedding photo.
He’d done nothing but think about her over this past week, in between moping, drinking his way through a couple of bottles of whiskey, and having dreams about Gemma.
Dreams where she told him to grasp hold of happiness and never let it go. To live his life for the two of them.
Was it just wishful thinking on his behalf? Or was it Gemma trying to tell him something?
With a sigh, he pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. It was impossible that he loved this girl. Hell, he hadn’t even kissed her.
Yet, he felt something towards her. He was protective of her. He worried over her. He wanted to take care of her.
He wanted to be a Daddy to her Little.
To put her over his knee and spank the hell out of her for putting herself at risk. For risking what belonged to him.