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I’d ever seen him before. I pushed all my crazy thoughts off as the product of a long, emotional day and my first whole day away from home.
    It took me a second to notice the hand he’d lowered to me. I placed my palm on his. It was strong, warm and callused as he closed his fingers around mine. He held my hand as I climbed back over the railing.
    It had been shady down in the ravine, but the light on the highway was fading fast. The dusk sky was filling with the velvet gray of the coming night.
    His motorcycle was parked a few feet down along the railing. He looked up and down the highway. “How did you get here?”
    “I walked from the last bus stop.” My voice sounded shaky and small standing in the majestic mountain setting and in front of this striking man.
    His dark brows creased together. “You walked? What’s your name, darlin’?”
    “Tashlyn. And I suppose I should thank you for getting back my guitar and getting me out of that ravine safely.”
    “My brother wouldn’t have hurt you. He just likes to act before he thinks.” He looked down at the duffle bag at my feet. “Where are you heading?”
    “Blackthorn Ridge.”
    His scar twitched as he tightened his jaw. “Why the hell are you heading there?” His tone had hardened.
    “I’m looking for something.” I wasn’t about to start telling my story to a complete stranger, especially one who looked as if he could break my heart just as easily as he could reach in and rip it from my chest.
    His expression grew grim. “You should get back on the bus and head straight back to wherever the hell you came from.”
    I stiffened my shoulders, trying hard not to let his harsh words upset me. “I don’t see how that is your business.”
    Again, he stared at me a long moment before speaking. “It’ll be dark soon, and you’ve got two miles ahead of you. Want a ride?”
    I looked at the bike and the cold, hard gaze of the man in front of me.
    “No, thank you. I prefer to walk.”
    He nodded and headed back to his bike.
    “Thank you again, Mr.—”
    The fading light cast a wild gold glow in his eyes. “Name’s Wolfe. Jem Wolfe.” He threw his long leg over the seat of the motorcycle. It rumbled beneath him as he leaned his massive shoulders forward and sped off.

Chapter 4
    Jem
    The mouth-watering aroma of grilled onions drifted through the broken window in the kitchen. One of the hazards of living right next door to a busy truck stop diner was the constant trail of hunger-producing smells floating through the house. And, since a home-cooked meal was completely foreign to me, I usually ate half my meals next door. Milly, the owner, was one of the few people who didn’t sneer and look the other way when I walked into her business. She had learned to cook in the marines, and she dealt with ornery truck drivers all day so she had a high level of tolerance for bad elements like me.
    The light in the small fridge was off. Not a good sign. I reached in and my fingers wrapped around a beer. It was piss warm. I shoved it back into the worthless refrigerator. Not drinking wasn’t an option tonight. Especially after the fucked up end to the work day was followed by the unexpected encounter with the impossibly sweet confection standing on the side of the road. Hell, impossibly sweet was a fucking understatement. She hardly belonged on this planet let alone in this shitty, dirt-hole of a town.
    I walked out the door and headed across the weed patch to the front house. Almost every piece of property in town had been built with two on a lot, and almost every house was a dilapidated, crumbling pile of stucco and wood. Our place, or the place that my dad had squatted on long enough to take over as his own, was one of the worst.
    After I’d come back from my three years on the road looking for a place to belong, any place other than Blackthorn, I’d moved into the back house. There was no fucking way I could stay under the same roof as my dad. Even if his