Chapter 5

Killian Savage

I stand in front of Tori Townsend's home, grasping both backpack straps on my shoulders and giving them a good squeeze. It looks a lot like my old house before I sold it and left without a backward glance. Before , when everything was normal. As normal as my life outwardly appeared anyway.

Her house is one story. The dark siding is a stark contrast to the white trim, and the flowers chosen for the flowerbeds are something someone I once knew would have planted. It doesn't have a porch, only steps that lead to the front door.

The grass is neatly trimmed, and as far as I can tell, there isn't a weed in sight, which tells me she either has it cared for or she has a green thumb. My bet is the former. I looked her up on my walk over here. She's a businesswoman, and I doubt she has time to mow and weed.

The front yard is a decent size. The house sits closer to the crumbling sidewalk to give room for the space in the back. A path leads from the gravel driveway to the front door, and a little birdbath sits directly under a large bay window that has the curtains open.

I never had a birdbath at my house, but it's a nice touch, especially if you have the time to watch the creatures come and go.

On either side of the window, almost growing across the space, are two neatly trimmed fur trees.

I glance around and realize that this is the nicest house on the block. It doesn't scream expense, but it sure shows that at least the outside was renovated, whether that be by her or the previous owner.

Curious about the inside and the woman who lives here, I cross the lawn, step into the rock garden, and move a fur's branches out of the way. I cup my hand around my eyes and get a good look inside.

Through the window, I see the living room. It holds newer furniture, and the walls look like they've been painted recently, but past the living room is the kitchen. Unlike the outside of the house, the kitchen was untouched; plain and light yellow cabinets and dark green counters. The stove looks new but inexpensive, and a black tea kettle is sitting on top of it.

The kettle reminds me of the same person I try hard not to think about, and I back away from the window like my mind backs away from the memory.

I step out of the rocks and head to the driveway in search of this B&B. At the end of the driveway is a small house. It's not large enough to have bedrooms. If I had to guess, everything is in one room.

The siding matches the house, but it has no rock garden and no vegetation. Just like the house, the curtains are open, so I stride to it and study the inside. I breathe out through my nose when I see that my suspicions are correct. The bed, the kitchen, and the small living space are all in one room. The only door in the place is that which leads to the bathroom.

It's better than most places I've slept since I left New York. The room reveals that it was decorated with a woman's touch, too – floral printed pictures and mountain paintings. The bed has a cheap black comforter, but there are many pillows in a variety of sizes to choose from.

I hear a car driving down the damp street, so I turn and rest my back against the B&B's outer wall. Seconds later, a light blue Chevelle pulls onto the driveway. The tires crunch against the gravel as it slowly pulls up. I frown because that is definitely not a car I thought the woman on the phone would drive.

The roar of the engine cuts off as she parks beside the house. A glare on the windshield prevents me from seeing what she looks like until she opens the door and lifts herself out of it.

I blink as I'm again reminded of that very person, and for a moment, all words get stuck in my throat. The woman walking in my direction has short blonde hair and slight facial features that accentuate her round blue eyes. She's not tall, and the dress she's wearing would probably drag on the ground if she wasn't holding it up. Her hips sway confidently, thick hips that I have trouble taking my eyes away from.

"Are you Killian?" she asks. Her tone is tired, and it's enough for me to return my gaze to hers.

I clear my throat from the clog that's formed there and push off the wall. "Yeah," is my only answer.

She stops in front of me, releases her dress, and props her hands on her hips. "I'm Tori. Welcome to Fairview. "

"Thanks," I mumble. A little louder, I add, "Interesting choice of a car. Is it your husband's?"

She bristles, bunching her shoulders close to her ears. I must have hit a nerve. "Not married and not my car. I got into an accident last night," she pauses to swallow thickly. "Borrowed this hunk of junk from a friend."

I remain still because I remember reading about that accident. It never said who it involved, but someone died. It has to be the same accident because, in this small town, I doubt there are many, and on the same day at that.

It's on the tip of my tongue, the desire to ask her about it, but I somehow manage to refrain.

She stands there for a moment, studying me like everyone else does. But unlike most people, instead of fear, I see curiosity. She studies the tattoos on my hands and then the backpack on my shoulders. "Is that all you brought?"

"I have everything I need."

"In one backpack?"

I give one curt nod.

Her eyebrows raise into her forehead, and she lets out a breath. "Okay then. There can't be many clothes in there, so if you need a washing machine, just let me know. The only one is in the main house."

I remain silent and flex my jaw a little. I hadn't planned on asking her for anything. It's against my nature to ask for help.

She cocks her head to the side. "Why are you here anyway? You don't seem the type to hike or fish."

"I'm not."

"Then why are you in Fairview?"

My shrug is my immediate answer.

She leans forward on the balls of her feet. "I need a little more information, Killian. You'll be living behind me."

"I'm just passing through."

"Okay," she says, drawing out the word. "There's no car here. Did you walk?"

"Some."

"From?"

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. "New York."

She curses in a hissing sort of way. "Why the hell Fairview?"

I drop my hand back to my side. "Like I said, I'm just passing through. Do you ask these questions to everyone who rents from you?"

She holds up a finger. "First of all, my bed and breakfast isn't exactly a busy place. People prefer to stay in the cabins. And secondly, I'm a single woman, and you don't look like you're very friendly. It wouldn't be smart to not ask questions."

My lips twitch to the side because I can see her point. She's a beautiful woman, and the more I stand in front of her, the more interesting she becomes. Her facial expressions are out in the open, unhidden and raw, and the power and confidence she exudes are unmatched by most women. I find that it challenges my own, and I don't know whether I like that or not, but it's definitely intriguing.

Her arms cross over her chest, and she rolls her head to stretch her neck out. "I'll need your ID."

"Why?" I demand.

"Because you'll be renting from me." She rolls her eyes as if the answer should be obvious. "If you skip out on payment, I can have you hunted down. No ID, no place to stay."

I clench my jaw again, release my backpack from my shoulders, and dig around in the front pocket. Once I have my wallet grasped in my palm, I drop the backpack to the ground, open the flap, and dig out my ID. I pass it to her without a word.

She reads the name. "Killian Savage. That doesn't sound too friendly either."

"Maybe I'm not a friendly guy."

"If you tell me about yourself, I can be the judge of that." A ghost of a smile plays on her lips, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"I'm just passing through," I say again, hoping she gets the hint. While I may have the desire to learn more about her, she doesn't need to know about me. No one needs to know about me, what I've done, and the kind of man that I am. It's nothing to be proud of.

"Right," she whispers, narrowing her eyes. "And how long do you plan to stay?"

"A week, maybe two."

"That's a long time for someone who is just passing through."

I shrug again. It's been a long journey, and I need the sleep before I wear out my body, before I continue my search for the man who doesn't seem to exist. But she doesn't need to know all that. All she needs to know is that I'm a drifter, a wanderer, and we'll leave it at that.

"Okay," she grumbles a little when I say nothing in return. She passes me a single key from the depths of her palm and adds, "I'll scan your ID and give it back to you. I swear to god, Killian, if you give me any trouble…"

"I'm just passing through," I murmur again.

She shakes her head. "Well, I hope you find Fairview to your liking. If you need anything, just call or knock on my door."

"Thanks," I all but whisper.

As she backs away toward her house, I turn to the door and slide the key into the hole. Pausing, I glance over my shoulder and watch her disappear into the main house. Something tells me that not giving her any information about me will only stir the need to find out more. All I can hope is that I'm dead wrong about that.