Chapter 6: Robyn

My first day working at the diner flies by. Jenny is super laid back, which is great. My last boss was a super micromanager, and that gets old real quick. I think Jenny will be a good boss. She doesn’t hover, but instead lets me figure things out on my own, which works for me. I’ve waited tables since I was old enough to work, so I don’t need hand-holding.

One of the perks of the job is that we get free meals, which is fantastic because I don’t have a lot of money for groceries. I figure I can eat both breakfast and lunch at the diner. That just leaves me needing something later for dinner. I think I can afford a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread.

The diner’s clientele is made up of half locals and half tourists, and the two groups are easy to tell apart. The locals say hi to Jenny and the servers when they come in. They don’t bother waiting to be seated, but instead head straight for their favorite tables.

The locals know everyone working here by name, and vice versa. And most of them are dressed in blue jeans and plaid shirts. The tourists, on the other hand, stick out like sore thumbs; they’re usually the ones wearing expensive brand-name outdoor clothing and fancy hiking boots.

Toward the end of the lunchtime rush hour, a really good-looking guy walks in, dressed like a cowboy with boots, hat, and all. He takes one of the booths by the front windows, leans back in his seat, and waves me over. “Over here, darlin’.”

Immediately, my hackles go up.

Cara, the other server working today—a petite, curvy blonde with a nose ring—rolls her eyes as she walks past me. “Tommy Hoffman thinks he’s God’s gift to women, but he’s loaded and he tips well.”

I’m all for good tips, so I walk over to his table.

Before I can even get a word out, he asks, “What’s your name, sugar?”

“It’s definitely not sugar,” I say, unable to help myself. I don’t subscribe to the notion that customers are always right.

He grins at me, a cocky son-of-a-bitch because he’s damn good-looking, and he knows it—thick blond hair that flops over his forehead, blue eyes, a tan complexion that comes from doing a lot of outdoor work. He’s built like a linebacker, with not an ounce of flab on him. Of course he’s wearing a plaid shirt—apparently, it’s part of the dress code around here.

I give him a well-practiced smile. “My name is Robyn, and I’ll be serving you today. Can I—”

“Robin? You mean, like robin redbreast?” He smirks as his gaze drops to my chest and lingers there, as if can see right through my T-shirt.

Like I’ve never heard that one before. “Actually, no. Not like the bird. It’s spelled with a y .”

His gaze travels back up to meet mine. “Too bad. I kind of liked the idea.” And then he winks at me, which is totally cringey.

I force myself to maintain a polite smile. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” I ask in the sweetest voice I can manage. After all, if he’s a good tipper, I don’t want to alienate him if I don’t have to.

“I’ll take the double-burger platter with onion rings, extra bacon and pickles, and a Coke.”

I’m still smiling. “Yes, sir. Coming right up.” And then I walk away to go place his order at the counter.

Jenny slips up beside me. “Is he giving you a hard time? Tommy can be a bit much sometimes.”

“He’s a bit creepy. He called me Robin Redbreast, like that’s funny.”

Jenny winces. “Sorry. Let me take his table. He won’t mouth off to me because he likes to eat here. And, I’m good friends with the sheriff.” She winks. “That comes in handy, believe me. If anyone gives you a hard time, just drop Chris’s name. Folks around here have a lot of respect for him.”

I’m relieved that I don’t have to talk to the cowboy anymore. The rest of my afternoon passes without incident, and before long, it’s three o’clock.

Jenny taps me on the shoulder. “Your shift is over, hon. You can change and get ready to go.” She pats my back. “You did a good job today, Robyn. I’m lucky to have you.”

“Thanks.” I give her a smile—a genuine one. I had a good day. I even forgot all about Ricky and his drug dealer friends for a while.

Jenny nods toward the door. “Looks like your ride is here.”

When I turn to look, I see Micah standing just inside the entry, next to a newspaper rack. He’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest. He looks… serious. Preoccupied. When he smiles at me, my chest flutters.

I point toward the hallway that leads to the employee lounge and pluck at my T-shirt, indicating that I need to go change.

He nods.

I head back to the employee lounge and walk into the women’s locker room. I open my locker and grab my phone so I can check my messages. I’m not surprised to see more texts from Ricky. It’s just more of the same, asking me where I am, demanding I come back.

I hang up my apron and change back into my own top. I take a moment to pee, because I haven’t had time all day, and wash my hands.

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. My hair held up pretty well. A few strands fell loose, but it’s not bad. I’ll braid it tomorrow. I contemplate brushing my hair and maybe putting on some lip gloss, but I don’t want to look like I’m trying . For all I know, Micah has a girlfriend. Or, maybe even a wife. I know next to nothing about his personal life.

I wonder if I should maybe buy some make-up. I usually don’t bother. My lashes are long, framing my eyes and making them pop. My cheeks are dusted with freckles—the bane of my existence—so I look like I already have blush on. I figure what’s the point in adding more to my face? It seems complete enough.

When I head back to Micah, I stop short in my tracks. He’s not alone. He’s standing with a stunning woman with a long braid of straight black hair—just like Micah’s. Her skin is the same shade as his—a light copper. Her eyes are so dark they appear black. She’s wearing blue jeans, a red plaid flannel shirt, and well-worn leather hiking boots.

So, this is his sister. She’s obviously quite a bit older than Micah.

Ruth turns to look at me, and for a long moment, we make eye contact, practically staring at each other.

Micah pushes away from the wall and motions me over.

Ruth studies me as I approach. At the last minute, her expression softens, and she smiles. “Robyn.” Her voice is lovely, soft and sultry. “I’m Ruth, Micah’s sister.” She offers me her hand, and we shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry to hear about your car, but luckily you’re in good hands. Micah will get you back on the road in no time.”

Nodding, I return her smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“I own the tavern next door,” she says. “Feel free to stop by for a drink—that is, if you’re twenty-one.” She looks unsure. “You are twenty-one, right?”

“Twenty-three, actually.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she says as she flashes her brother a look. “Please come by soon.”

Ruth leaves, and Micah holds the door for me. I step out onto the sidewalk just as Ruth disappears into the business next door. I glance up at the sign over the door. RUTH’S TAVERN .

“I ordered your transmission,” Micah says as he walks to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door for me. “It should be here in a couple of days.”

Standing next to him, I’m reminded once again of how tall he is. I’m not used to guys looming over me. I’m also not used to guys opening doors for me. “I can open my own door, you know. You don’t have to wait on me.”

He nods. “Got it.” And then he walks around to the driver’s door and climbs in.

We head back to the shop, pull into the parking lot, and park in front of the office. When I open my door, I hear the sound of power tools coming from inside the garage bays.

I spot my car, which is now parked outside the building. “Wait. Something’s different.”

“Yeah, I put new all-weather tires on your car. The old ones were shot.”

I pivot to face him, my heart thudding in my chest. “Micah! I don’t have money for new tires.”

He leans close, practically in my face. “Too bad,” he says. “There’s no point in rebuilding your transmission if you’re going to drive around on threadbare tires. Those tires were an accident waiting to happen. Please don’t worry about it. I gave them to you at cost.” He opens his door. “You must be tired after being on your feet all day. Why don’t you rest for a while in my cabin? When I get done working, I’ll make us some dinner.” He motions for me to follow him.

To my surprise, I readily follow Micah around the side of the shop. I’ve known him for barely a day, and yet I trust him. My finely-tuned danger senses are quiet.

We walk past a patio with a picnic table, chairs, and a grill. Beyond that is a lawn, and in the distance I spot a small log cabin nestled in the trees. I have to admit it looks charming, like something out of an old western movie.

We step up onto a small, covered porch. Micah unlocks the door and motions for me to enter.

I take two steps inside and stop in my tracks. “Micah, this is gorgeous.” I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. His cabin looks like something you’d see on Pinterest.

There’s a huge bed straight ahead, cozy looking with lots of pillows stacked against a wooden headboard. There’s a wooden bench at the foot of the bed, with an assortment of shoes and boots lined up neatly underneath. Across from the bed is a long sofa with throw pillows and a blanket tossed across the back. To the left of the bed there’s a wardrobe in the corner, a window on the left-hand wall, and a brick hearth with a woodstove set inside. The floors are wood and covered with a variety of rugs in warm neutral colors.

To the right is a small but functional kitchen and a table with four chairs. There are two doors along the back wall. I suspect one of them leads to a bathroom. The other one might lead to a laundry room or a pantry.

“This is really nice,” I say as I take it all in.

He chuckles. “I can’t really take credit for it. Jenny picked out the furniture and arranged everything. She’s good with stuff like that.”

Jenny decorated his cabin?

Then it dawns on me, I’m such an idiot. They’re together. Of course they are. A guy this attractive would surely have a partner. My stomach drops. “I didn’t realize you two were together.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “Together? Who? Jenny and me? No.” He shakes his head and laughs. “We’ve known each other since third grade. She’s like a sister to me. No, she offered to help me redecorate because when she first saw it, it looked like an Army barracks. Honest.”

“Oh, sorry. I just assumed.” I’m tempted to ask him if he does have a girlfriend, but that would be nosy. I hardly know the guy, so his private life is none of my business.

“Well, what do you think?” he asks. “About the cabin, I mean. I’d like for you to consider staying here with me instead of in my office. You can take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

The cabin is tempting beyond words, but I don’t want to disrupt his private space. “It’s beautiful, but I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’m fine sleeping in your office.”

“I’d feel better knowing you were here in the cabin, close by in case there’s a problem. Especially after what I found on your car today.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When I had your car up on the lift to change the tires, I found a tracking device attached to the undercarriage.”

“A what!” I heard him, but I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around it.

“Someone’s tracking your movements. And whoever it is knows where you are.”

A chill races down my spine. “Oh, my God.” My knees go weak, and I have to sit on his sofa.

“Is there someone who might do this?”

Is there someone? Yes. My mind races as I put two and two together. Ricky, or more likely his dealer, knows where I am. They know. I suddenly feel sick.

“I thought maybe you were hiding something,” he says gently. “Now I’m sure of it.”

As I look him in the eye, my throat tightens. “I—I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about at the beginning?”

I feel the blood drain from my face at the thought that someone could come here looking for me.

Micah sits on the bench at the foot of the bed and faces me. “Tell me, Robyn. Who’s tracking you and why? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“You can’t help me. No one can.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says, very matter of fact.