Conceal, Protect - By Carol Ericson Page 0,3

with Ms. Noelle Dupree.

Chapter Two

Noelle cranked on the old truck and gave it some gas this time. It sputtered and died—again. She pounded the steering wheel, as if that could help.

A tap on the window almost sent her through the roof of the car. She jerked her head to the side and met the tawny eyes of the long, lean cowboy she’d spotted in the grocery store. She’d noticed him cruising the aisles but hadn’t gotten the full effect of his gorgeousness.

She powered down the window. “It won’t turn over.”

“I noticed.” He tipped his head toward the hood of the car and a lock of golden-brown hair slipped from beneath his cowboy hat over one eye. “Do you want me to have a look?”

She studied his strong face and the easy smile that relieved it of too much seriousness. He didn’t look like a serial killer. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind a bit.” He parked his grocery cart next to the lamppost and ambled toward the front of her car. He tried the hood and then made a clicking motion with his fingers.

Idiot. She hadn’t released the hood. She reached beneath the steering column and yanked on the release lever. The hood popped, and the man thrust it up with a creak.

She could see his hands moving among the innards of her truck, but not the rest of him. Maybe he was making the situation worse so she’d break down and be at his mercy.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep, cleansing breath of the cold, clear Colorado air. That might have happened in D.C. where strangers stalked you and broke into your apartment and where roommates disappeared without a trace and nobody seemed to care, but she’d relocated, temporarily at least, to laid-back Colorado. Those kinds of things didn’t happen here...did they?

He slammed the hood, and she flinched. “Give it a try now.”

She turned the ignition and the truck growled to life. Good-looking and handy. She poked her head out the window. “Thanks. How’d you do that?”

“You had a loose fuel clip.” He wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans. “I tightened it up, but you should have a mechanic check it out so it doesn’t happen again. You might need a new fuel pump.”

“Thanks again.” She chewed her lip. Should she offer him money? Invite him out for coffee? She’d promised herself a fresh start and that meant being open to new relationships instead of hiding in a hole.

He smacked the roof of the car, and she flinched again. “No problem, but get it checked out. Looks like it might snow, and you don’t want to be stranded on the road.”

She shivered in her jacket. “That’s for sure.”

The man retrieved his grocery cart and wheeled away with the wave of his hand and a long stride.

She’d missed her opportunity to thank him properly, but maybe he was in town for the skiing and she’d see him again. She could buy him coffee then—even if he had a wife or girlfriend with him because, honestly, that man couldn’t possibly be available.

She allowed herself a small smile as she navigated through the parking lot. It had been a long time since she’d wondered about a man’s marital status. Dr. Eliason would see it as progress.

The old truck rumbled along the road out of Buck Ridge, along with other vehicles heading away from the ski resort and back to condos and cabins for the night. She hadn’t been back to the old homestead in several years, and the activity around the ski resort had surprised her—in a good way.

She’d worried about the loneliness of retreating to the empty ranch house. Her father had died years ago, and Mom, frail and increasingly plagued by her obsessive-compulsive disorder, had moved in with Aunt Kathy down in Scottsdale.

And her brother, Ted? No telling where he’d been holing up for the past few years.

So the ranch had fallen to her. There’d been a time when she and Alex had planned to live at the ranch and paint and sculpt and sell their stuff to tourists.

Tears blurred her vision, and she wiped the back of her hand across her nose. Even if some thief hadn’t murdered her husband, Noelle knew they would’ve never made it to their golden years together.

That had made Alex’s death even harder to deal with—the guilt.

The truck hiccuped a few times on the way back to the ranch, but the cowboy had done a good job.

She passed the entrance