Page 14 of Thunder's Reckoning
Maybe it was the way the woman stood—rigid, protectin’—like a lioness ready to tear someone apart with her bare hands even though she looked like she hadn’t closed her eyes in days.
Maybe it was the kids.
Yeah. Two of ‘em. Little girl clingin’ to her side, and a boy a few years older standin’ between her and the road like he thought he could take on a damn semi. The boy’s chin was up, but I caught the way his hands kept flexin’, like he was used to fightin’ off things too big for him.
I rolled to a stop behind ‘em, mutterin’ under my breath as I threw the truck in park and grabbed my flashlight from the dash.
“Hell,” I grumbled. “Better not be some setup.”
Gravel popped under my boots as I stepped out, the weight of my cut shiftin’ on my shoulders. The woman turned slow, breeze catchin’ her hair, dark, long, wild, like she hadn’t had time to tame it, and her eyes found mine.
And just like that, my whole night changed.
She was beautiful. Not the polished kind. No paint on her face, no tight clothes or fake smile. Just… real. A plain sundress that looked right on her. Guarded, wary, but there wasn’t a damn thing weak in her.
Her face was soft but sharp where it counted—high cheekbones, full lips pressed like she’d been bitin’ ‘em all day. Eyes big and watchful, catchin’ the low light so I couldn’t tell if they were gold or light brown, but I knew they were takin’ in every move I made. Not just watchin’, catalogin’.
She didn’t speak. Neither did I.
I walked to the front of the car, leaned over the engine. Radiator hose was shot, battery light was on, and the engine had given up the ghost. She wasn’t goin’ anywhere tonight.
“You got somebody comin’?” I asked, keepin’ my eyes on the busted mess.
Nothin’.
I straightened, turned. Her hand was restin’ gentle but firm on the girl’s head, shieldin’ her. The girl kept her eyes locked on the gravel like she’d been told not to look at strangers. The boy stepped up again, eyes cuttin’ at me like he’d already decided I wasn’t safe. That’s when I caught sight of the bags in the backseat, one gaped open, teddy bear wedged between a pillow and a box of cereal. On top of the bag, a shirt that still had a store tag hangin’ from it. They’d left fast.
She wasn’t just broke down.
She was runnin’.
“No,” she finally said, voice soft but carryin’ shadows.
I nodded slow, chewin’ the inside of my cheek. “You trustin’ anybody at all tonight?”
Her gaze didn’t flinch. “Depends on who’s asking.”
“Name’s Zeke Thorne,” I told her plain. “Run a place not far from here. You and the kids don’t need to be standin’ out herewith no heat, no help. Ain’t askin’ questions, just offerin’ a way off this road.”
She hesitated. The boy leaned in, whispered somethin’ I couldn’t catch. Whatever it was made her eyes narrow like she was weighin’ the last chip she had to bet.
“Why would you help a stranger?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Don’t usually. But I ain’t leavin’ two kids on the side of the road. Ain’t in me.”
She still didn’t move. Chin tipped up stubborn.
“You can ride up front with me,” I said. “Kids’ll be in the back where you can keep your eyes on ‘em. I’ll drive slow. You say stop, I stop. You want out, I pull over. Simple as that.”
Her throat worked, like she was swallowin’ down every reason she had not to trust me. Then—
“Okay.”
One word. That’s all I needed.
I swung open the passenger door. She got the kids in first, and I saw her hand tremble for the first time.
Whoever she was, whatever she was runnin’ from, it scared her bad.
