No Ordinary Home

Food.

Every time her stomach cramped, all of those years of taking her blessings for granted haunted her.

Things hurt so badly now that she wondered if her internal organs were starting to eat each other. How did starvation work? What did it do to the body that made it hurt so much?

The scent of charbroiled burgers drifted out of the diner’s vents, so strong she gulped it.

She kept pace with the man who said he would feed her, but hobbled because her ankle still throbbed.

There were so many things Gracie should be worried about right now. Was the guy really a cop? Had he been lying about not arresting her? About wanting to feed her? Why would a guy she’d stolen from want to help her?

Ahead of her, he walked with a long, confident stride, his shoulders broad and square.

What would he expect in return? She’d fallen so low lately she’d actually stolen food two days ago and a wallet five minutes ago, but that was as far as her crime spree would take her. Did he want her body in exchange for food? She wouldn’t do that.

Despite the questions, the one word that overrode all of them—food—won out.

She chased the tall, handsome stranger around to the front of the building. Tall, handsome stranger sounded like something out of a palm-reading session or a romance novel. Ha. As if there truly were happy endings in real life. She knew better.

What did he want in return?

If this guy wanted to feed her, fine and good, but she would owe him what she chose to owe him. She would polish his shoes, do his laundry if he gave her the chance, or wash his car, but he would take nothing from her other than what she chose to give. She was long past the point of letting people take advantage of her.

But what if he wouldn’t feed her if she didn’t give in to his demands? Where would she be then?

Her head hurt—from the hunger, but also from the endless uncertainty. It was time to stop running. In two days, she would.

Only two more days to go.

In two days, she would say goodbye to the road forever. No more running.

So close.

She stepped into the diner, desperate for the comfort of a full belly. Her lizard brain just wanted the food this stranger offered. Her developed brain would have to worry about consequences—and how to deal with them—later.

The smells overwhelmed her, of hot fat, bacon, eggs frying. Toast. They’d burned a slice or two. Even if burnt to charcoal, she would eat it. With or without butter. Or jam. Oh, jam. How long had it been?

Another scent teased her. The man beside her smelled clean, more than clean, as though the soap he used was part of him, oozing from his pores like the purest thing on earth.

She hadn’t showered in weeks. A month, even? At the last gas station, she’d washed her underarms using cold water, a cheap paper towel as rough as sandpaper and industrial hand soap. Her armpits had burned afterward. They still itched.

Grease and dust coated her hair. What could she do about that? When you were hungry, shampoo was a hell of a lot less important than food. And conditioner? A luxury. She hadn’t used it in a couple of years.

She hadn’t really cared until this man with his disheveled blond hair, clear blue eyes and broad shoulders made her want to comb her hair. Maybe put on a little lipstick.

She’d given up on all of that six years ago. Cripes. Had she really been on the road that long? Only two more days until the end of her journey. Another couple of days and her money problems would end. For too many years, she’d been running from. Now, she was finally traveling to.

Inside the diner, the stranger talked to another man and Gracie’s instincts for self-preservation kicked in. Did this guy think she’d be good for an afternoon three-way?

She might be homeless, she might have fallen lower than she’d ever been in her twenty-nine years, but she was not, never had been and never would be a prostitute. Not even for food.

She stomped out of the diner.

A second later, a hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her about. For a big man, he sure could move quietly.

“I thought you were hungry. Why are you running off?”

“I saw you talking to your friend. Did you think I’d sleep with you both in exchange for a meal? I’m not a whore.”

He reared back. She’d offended him. “I didn’t think you were. I was just going to feed you. What kind of guy do you take me for? I’m a cop.”

“Cops aren’t always lily-white.”

“Neither are homeless women who hang around truck stops and steal wallets.”

Shame flared in her chest, hot and unwelcome. She used to have a conscience, before life and desperation had taken over. She shouldn’t have touched this man’s wallet, or stolen those date squares two days ago. Gran would be disappointed in her. “I told you I’ve never done it before. This was the first time.”

“I think you’re telling the truth and that’s the only reason you aren’t already sitting in the back of a police cruiser.” He hooked his thumbs into his back pockets. “Figured you just needed a good meal. That’s all I’m offering.”

Gracie wanted to believe him, not because she trusted anyone anymore, or because she had any naive belief in the innate goodness of humanity—a lot had been burned out of her by experience—but because if she didn’t eat soon, she was going to pass out.

“And the other guy with you?”

“He’s a good man.” He didn’t need to add too. She could see in his face he was probably exactly who and what he said he was.

“Let’s pretend we trust each other for the hour it’ll take for lunch.” He watched her steadily, like a poster boy for good health.

Shaggy, dark blond hair framed a face carved by a hard, but loving hand. Sharp, intelligent and wholesome with a generous side of sexy. GQ could put him on its cover and women would swoon. Blue eyes drooped down at the outer corners in a languid parody of sensuality, but the awareness in their depths was anything but lazy.

He differed from the people she saw on the road—too many truckers with potbellies from hours spent sitting behind a steering wheel, or the obesity of housewives and kids who watched too much TV or spent too much time at computers.

But this guy? He exercised a lot.

“Let’s start over.” He stuck out his right hand. “Austin Trumball.”

She didn’t want to touch him, because she knew she was unworthy of him. If she hadn’t stolen his wallet, he would never have given her the time of day, not only because she was down and out, but because she had chosen to be that way, a position most didn’t understand. If he knew that, he’d boot her to the curb.

The choice had been hers and she had long ago accepted it as the right one. Lately, though, as she’d grown so thin her ribs were prominent, she’d had her doubts.

Now here was this man offering not only food, but also decency. Accept, she ordered her pride. Take his free meal and then move on.

Keep a wary eye, but trust him long enough to eat.

She shook his hand. “Gracie Travers.” Why was it that after so long on the road, she still stumbled when she said Travers? She should be used to it by now.

His warm fingers wrapped around hers, hard and assured. She hadn’t been warm in years, not even in the middle of summer. Not even on a beautiful July day as hot as this one.

He shook once, all business, then let go of her hand. She felt the loss of his heat.