Page 23 of Quarter Miles (Runaway 3)

the strong, capable woman in charge of an award-winning Montana resort.

Cash cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“You can’t pity that girl, because she’s me. And without her, I wouldn’t be sitting across from you right now.”

“I don’t pity you, Kat.” His expression gentled and he blew out a deep breath. “I don’t like to think of you living like that. Begging for money. It hurts.”

And that was why loving Cash Greer was so damn easy. My pain was his pain. Part of the reason I didn’t want him to know my story was because then it would hurt us both.

“I didn’t have to beg for long,” I said. “I had been sitting there for about three hours, hot and embarrassed and miserable, when Karson came over and introduced himself. He gave me twenty dollars and offered me a place to stay.”

The kid living in the junkyard had given me more than money. He’d given me hope.

“Wait.” Cash’s face hardened. “Did he proposition you? Because you talk like Karson is this good guy but—”

“No.” I laughed, realizing how it must have sounded. “Nothing like that. If it was any other person than Karson, I would have run away screaming. But he is a good guy. He sat down beside me. Told me that he’d run away from home and where he was living. And he told me about Gemma and Londyn.”

“He could have been lying,” Cash said.

“But he wasn’t. I went with him to the junkyard that day to scope it out.” I’d walked with Karson across town to the junkyard, curious and desperate. I’d returned home determined. The plan I’d concocted that day hadn’t exactly turned out as I’d expected, but eventually, I’d found my way back. To Karson. To Gemma. To Londyn. To the start of a new life.

“Here you go.” The waitress arrived at the edge of our table, carrying two overloaded platters. She slid them in front of us, refilled our waters, then left us alone with our food.

Dinner halted our conversation as we tore into the meal. I, for one, was grateful for the reprieve. We ate mostly in silence, devouring the meal, and paid the check—Cash insisted because I’d driven all day. He never let me pay for a meal out, always finding an excuse to treat me—cleaning the house, washing his towels. He wouldn’t let me pay at a restaurant but didn’t argue about splitting the grocery bill. Men made no sense.

But after a decade of arguing, with not only him but all the Greer men, who refused to let a woman cover the dinner bill, I’d admitted defeat. I believed in gender equality and empowering women, but I also recognized it was something Cash needed. It was his way to show gratitude.

“Thanks for dinner,” I said as we climbed into the Cadillac.

“Welcome. Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“Ha,” I deadpanned. “Did I have a choice?”

“Nope.” He grinned, reached across the cab and flicked the tip of my nose.

I swatted him away, smiling as we drove across the street to the motel.

The rooms at the Imperial Inn were all outward facing. The building was L shaped, with an office at one end that smelled like fresh coffee and vanilla air freshener. After the clerk handed over the keys to two neighboring rooms, Cash and I reparked the Cadillac closer to where we’d be staying and he hauled my suitcase inside.

“This is nice,” I said, tossing my purse on the fluffy, floral bedspread. The room was modest but clean. It wasn’t the Greer Resort, but nothing was.

“Do me a favor,” Cash said, setting my leather suitcase beside the closet. “Don’t open the door unless it’s me. I’ve never liked places where the doors open to the outside.”

“No problem.” I’d seen enough horror movies and thrillers to fear the knock on the motel room door after dark. My lock would remain deadbolted until sunrise. “What time do you want to leave in the morning?”

“Seven?”

“Okay.” I nodded. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” He crossed the room and bent low, wrapping me in a hug.

I slid my hands around his waist, burrowing into his strong shoulder and taking one long heartbeat to savor his strength. To soak up his spicy cologne and heady, masculine scent. I dragged it through my nose, holding it in.

His arms drew me closer.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending for a split second this was real. That this embrace was more than a friend wishing another friend good night. Then before I was ready, he was gone.

The heat from his chest disappeared, replaced by the cool night air, as he took a too-long step away.