The Prodigal Comes Home

A bracing March wind pinched Zoey’s cheeks as she bailed awkwardly out of the driver’s seat and started down the road, fatigue adding weight to her limbs.

For the past few hours, she’d been telling herself that she’d made the right decision. Now—only a few minutes from her destination—she was having second thoughts.

Zoey’s gaze locked on the sign again.

What was that old saying?

You can’t go home again?

But Mirror Lake had never been home. Not really. It just happened to be the town where her grandparents had retired. The place her parents had dumped her off because they didn’t know how to deal with a full-blown case of teenage rebellion.

And even though Zoey had only lived in Mirror Lake two short years—which must have seemed more like a lifetime to her sixty-five-year-old grandparents—she had definitely made her mark.

A black one…

“Are you lost?”

Zoey whirled around at the sound of a voice behind her. A low, masculine rumble that had her questioning her impulsive decision to stop on a quiet stretch of road sandwiched between two imposing walls of towering white pine.

With not a house in sight.

She hadn’t expected to see anyone. Not this early in the morning. And especially not a man, who’d materialized seemingly out of nowhere.

Zoey caught her lower lip between her teeth as she considered the six-foot-tall obstacle that now stood between her and the safety of the Jeep. Chiseled features, tousled dark-blond hair. The lean but muscular frame of someone who probably earned his living outdoors.

Under ordinary circumstances, someone of his size shouldn’t have been able to sneak up and catch her unaware—but then again, nothing about the last twenty-four hours had been ordinary. Zoey had spent most of the night navigating miles of national forest, where white-tailed deer far outnumbered the population of the towns she’d driven through.

The guy didn’t look like a criminal. But how was a woman supposed to know who she could and couldn’t trust these days? And if Zoey was completely honest, she knew her track record in that department hadn’t always been the best.

He shifted his stance, a subtle movement that positioned him closer to the vehicle.

Had the action been deliberate?

Zoey suppressed a shiver and rolled her hands up in the hem of the oversized, hand-knit sweater that had been a gift from her grandmother many Christmases ago.

The man noticed the gesture and his eyebrows dipped together in a frown. “Are you lost?” he repeated.

In a different situation, the question might have made Zoey smile. “It depends on who you ask.”

The frown deepened. He obviously didn’t understand her wry sense of humor. “Is something wrong with your car?”

“No.” At least, Zoey silently amended, nothing that could be fixed on the side of the road. She cast a fond look at the eggplant-purple Jeep, decorated with its contrasting pattern of rust, intricate as a henna tattoo. It had outlived its warranty by at least a few thousand miles and yet somehow managed to get her from Point A to B. That was good enough for her. “I’m fine. My car is fine, too.”

Zoey inched forward, silently gauging the distance between them and the vehicle.

He was closer.

“That’s good to know.” The corners of the man’s lips kicked up into a smile and, stranger or not, Zoey could feel her heart doing an impromptu tap dance in her chest. Which only proved she could use a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. “I was out for a run and saw your car parked by the side of the road. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

A good Samaritan.

Now Zoey noticed a detail she’d missed the first time. When you were staring at his face. He wore a standard runner’s uniform. Black sweatpants, a fleece-lined sweatshirt with a faded college logo across the front and tennis shoes.

“I appreciate your concern.” However misplaced. “But I just needed to get out and…stretch my legs for a minute.”

Stretch her legs. Gather her courage. Postpone the inevitable.

All one and the same.

“Stretch your legs.” The thread of doubt in the husky voice made Zoey wince.

Right. Most people would have probably chosen to do that at a rest area or gas station. A place with heat.

“That’s right.” Zoey lifted her chin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She took another step closer to the Jeep.

So did he.

Zoey’s breath hitched in her throat, but all he did was reach out to open the car door for her. And then went still.

Obviously much more observant than she was, he’d immediately spotted the mound of clothing, which happened to be the entire contents of Zoey’s closet, along with an eclectic jumble of her earthly possessions heaped onto the backseat. All evidence of the haste in which she’d left the night before.

To make matters worse, Zoey’s stomach decided to remind her—quite loudly—that it had been more than twelve hours since she’d eaten. She could have grabbed a snack at some point along the way, but she decided that nothing in the deli case of a gas station would peacefully coexist with the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach.

A blush added another layer of color to her already-pink cheeks as the man’s gaze cut back to her. His eyes, a warm palette of green and brown that brought back memories of summer walks through the woods, searched hers. Looking for…something.

Afraid of what he might find there, Zoey looked away.

“There’s a cafe in town. It’s called the Grapevine,” he said after a moment. “Could I buy you a cup of coffee? Maybe some breakfast?”

Disappointment arrowed through her. She should have known better. “Does that line usually work?”

“No…” He caught himself. “I mean, no, it isn’t a line. It’s an…offer.” His gaze dropped to her hands, still balled up in the bright cocoon of her sweater, before flickering over the mountain of clothing once again. “I’m not even inviting myself along. It would be my treat.”

Zoey frowned a little.

He was offering to pay for her breakfast? That didn’t make any sense…

Yes, it did.

He thought she was down on her luck, like a stray kitten who needed food and shelter from the cold.

Zoey stifled a groan as she tried to see herself through his eyes. She hadn’t bothered to change clothes after her evening performance at the dinner theater where she worked, but he wouldn’t know that what she wore was a costume. All he would see were paisley-patterned tights peeking through the slashed knees of her faded jeans. Pink canvas tennis shoes, meant for summer instead of snow. A misshapen patchwork sweater that had definitely seen better days.

And Zoey wasn’t even going to think about what her hair looked like.

Mortified, she slipped past him and dove into the driver’s seat. “No thanks, but I appreciate the offer. Really.”

He stepped back as Zoey pulled the door shut and turned the key in the ignition, hoping the temperamental engine would start. It did, after a brief but grating shudder of protest.