Discovering You

Stepping between them, India touched Rod’s arm to get his attention before he could spout off and get himself arrested. “Should we go to the hospital?”

He shook his head, suggesting it’d been a ridiculous idea to begin with.

“Can’t hurt to get checked out,” Chief Bennett said, attempting to persuade him.

“No way,” Rod told him. “I’m going to bed.”

“Suit yourself.” With a sigh, Bennett adjusted his heavy belt and trudged over to his car.

All the excitement was over. India raised the hem of her dress to keep it from dragging on the ground as she returned to the car. She was halfway there before she realized Rod wasn’t following her—and glanced back to see why.

“I can’t even begin to guess where you’ve been tonight,” he said, “but that dress...” Letting his words fade, he ended with a whistle.

“Thank you.” She felt her face heat and wished she didn’t find his appreciation so gratifying. He was definitely not the type of man she needed. She needed Charlie, but Charlie was gone and he wasn’t coming back. The vacuum created by his death, as well as the reason behind it, had left her feeling...abysmal. It was terrible to be so lost and lonely that a stranger’s attention felt like a lifeline.

“What happened here really wasn’t my fault,” he called out. “I hope you believe that.”

“Of course,” she responded, and yet she’d heard Chief Bennett say he was always in trouble. That confirmed her first impression of him, didn’t it? He still wasn’t coming toward her, so she crossed her arms and looked back at him. “Are you ready to go home?”

Finally, he started walking. “I’m ready, but...maybe we could clarify a few things along the way.”

“Like...?”

“That ring on your finger,” he said and threw her a sexy grin.

India felt a corresponding shiver of desire, which scared her. No! she told herself. Not this guy. She couldn’t screw up again.

2 (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)

Rod had never particularly liked red hair. He usually had a preference for blondes. But India’s hair, which fell long and straight to her shoulders, was between a bright orange and a dark mahogany, and somehow it worked with her pale skin and almost translucent blue eyes. She was different, unique, delicate in appearance.

The more he looked at her, the more he liked what he saw. But based on what he’d gathered from their conversation since she’d started to drive, she was still in love with her dead husband. She teared up when she talked about him, and yet she wouldn’t say how he died. When Rod asked, she told him she didn’t want to “go into that.” Then she fiddled with her wedding ring the rest of the way to town. The only thing he could get out of her was that it’d been eleven months since the “tragedy” that’d taken Charlie.

“When will your daughter be back?” he asked, hoping she’d be more comfortable if he changed the subject.

“After the Fourth of July,” she replied.

He shifted to ease the terrible ache in his leg. “That gives you three weeks on your own.”

“Yes, too long for me, but I plan to make good use of that time.” She turned toward the river, where they both lived.

“Doing what?”

“Using that potter’s wheel you helped me carry into the house.”

“You do ceramics for a living?”

“Hope to,” she said. “To be honest, I haven’t made much money on it in the past, but I’ve never seriously pursued my art. I plan to open my own studio one day.”

The smile that curved her lips when she said that—as if it had always been her dream—lit her whole face.

“Here in Whiskey Creek?”

“Yes.”

“Not out of your house...”

“No. I’m picturing a cute little shop downtown. But first I have to build up my inventory.”

He was glad she didn’t expect folks to find her place along the river. He didn’t think she could be successful there, not tucked away as they were. “Don’t you have stuff already? I mean, haven’t you been doing it for a while?”

“Since high school, but not with a business in mind. What I created before belongs to a different era in my life. Now that I’m starting over, rebuilding, I’d like to take my work in a new direction.”

Her husband must’ve left her well-off, Rod decided. She’d essentially told him that what she planned to do wouldn’t cover her bills—and he knew she’d paid quite a bit for her house. Although it’d once been a cheap rental, some investors had purchased it and renovated with the intent of reselling. They did a lot of work and put some key upgrades into it, so it’d been pricey by the time they were done.

Of course, Rod would’ve been able to tell by her clothes—or that rock of a wedding ring—that she wasn’t hurting for money, even if he hadn’t known how much she’d paid for the house, or noticed the expensive furniture the movers carried in when the van arrived a few hours after he and his brothers had helped set up her potter’s wheel. “So you’ll work from home every day?”

“For the next year or so, until I can determine if I have any chance at succeeding.”

“You can make it,” he said. “There’re quite a few artisans in Gold Country. There’s a glassworks place not far away, in Sutter Creek, if you haven’t seen it.”

“I have. It’s wonderful.” She stopped at the four-way, the last turn before the route home took them along the river. “What about you? What do you do?” she asked. “From the way the paramedics were talking, I wondered if you’re a professional fighter.”

“No,” he said with a chuckle. “My oldest brother, Dylan, used to do MMA. Made good money at it, too. But he didn’t want the rest of us to get involved in it. He needed us to work in the family business, which started doing well after he took over.”

“From...”

“My father.” Rod didn’t state the reason or say anything about the circumstances. He knew how his history would sound to someone who wasn’t familiar with it, especially someone who came from a better class of people—and India’s clothes, her interest in art, even her language, suggested she came from a better class of people.

She tucked her silky-looking hair behind her ear. “What kind of business?”

“We own the auto body shop.”

“And you work there?”

He could smell her perfume. That, too, seemed to hint at money. “I do. Probably always will. But that’s okay. There isn’t anything I’d rather be doing. Maybe you’ve seen it. Amos Auto Body. It’s a couple of blocks off Sutter Street.”

She shook her head. “Don’t think I have.”

“I’ve been fixing smashed cars, trucks and motorcycles pretty much all my life.”

“Given the state of your bike, that experience should be useful,” she said wryly.

He opened and closed his right hand, which was beginning to swell. “I rebuilt it the first time. I can do it again.”

“It was insured, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah.”