Sworn to Protect - Kimberly Readnour

Chapter One

Nate

It seems my therapist was right after all. I am crazy.

Okay, so the doctor didn’t use that exact word to describe me, but my psychoanalysis meter registers at out-of-my-freaking-mind. What other explanation would there be for trucking my ass across the country to help a woman who doesn’t know me from Adam, and after she finds out who I am, she won’t want anything to do with me? If those actions don’t scream insanity, I don’t know what would.

I drive along the lonely stretch of highway. California’s mid-afternoon rays beam through the massive F250’s windshield and manage to worsen the already unpleasant trip. Window tinting would come in handy about now. Anything to reduce this heat.

Frustration sets in. I flip the visor down and glance at the GPS. Two hours left before reaching my destination—Sunnyville, California. Getting there can’t come soon enough. Not that I care about the town, but a lukewarm shower and a decent bed have my name written all over them. It’s been a long three days preceded by a longer three months.

I adjust the air conditioner vents for the umpteenth time, but semi-cool air greets me. Great. No wonder I’m baking in this heat. Sunnyville better have a good mechanic shop. I don’t want to be stuck in that town any longer than necessary.

My stomach rolls.

We all know it won’t be my truck’s faulty air-conditioning confining me to a town I don’t know anything about. Not in the least. These chains aren’t the tangible kind, but they’re every bit as constricting—emotional bondage at its finest.

Unable to withstand the heat any longer, I unbuckle the seat belt and tug my shirt over my head, questioning again why the hell I’m even here.

Deep down, I know.

The reason—fulfilling last wishes while wiping my slate clean—echoes like a haunted curse in my head.

But, no matter how hard I scrub my hands, those red stains refuse to disappear. The etching of my sins forever tarnishing my soul. My mistakes. My poor judgment.

I wipe the damp shirt across my brow and don’t replace the seat belt. Why bother? No one cares either way. I could crash through the windshield, and not one family member would mourn. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of my life summarized by a few depressing thoughts. I’m destined to be alone, and that’s how I prefer it.

I continue driving, begrudging myself of the beautiful mountainous backdrop, and stewing over another mistake. The somber mood hangs with me until the GPS registers one hour remaining. I blow out a breath and stretch my neck. The lengthy road trip weighs on me.

“Whoa, what do we have here?” I cancel the cruise control at the sight of a vehicle parked along the highway and flick my gaze to the rearview mirror. With nothing behind me except the open road, I pump the brakes and pull over to the roadside, fully appreciating the woman bent over, inspecting her tire. Her ass sticking straight up is a thing of beauty. I let out a curse and chastise myself. The last thing I should do is ogle a female in distress. Jesus, what is wrong with me? I feel like a teenage boy discovering his perverted uncle’s stash of Hustler magazines for the first time. I usually have more restraint than this. I blame this long-ass haul coupled with too many offers I’ve turned down lately.

AKA, it’s been too long.

As the truck comes to a halt, the woman in question lifts and spins too fast. That fine ass of hers lands on the ground. Her oomph carries through the cab, and I climb out of the truck quicker than a recruit trying to impress a sergeant during the first rounds of physical fitness testing.

“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The lady jerks her head up and shakes it back and forth as her hands make the stop motion. I freeze in my tracks. My intent isn’t to scare her, but she clearly needs help.

“I don’t need help,” she says as if reading my mind. “I’ve called the towing company. They should be here any second.”

My gaze flicks to the highway, noting the vast open space—nothing but miles of asphalt in sight. The low hum of her car’s engine competes with the motor of my truck. Yeah, that towing company won’t be here anytime soon. I take another step, but all forward progression stops when I shift my focus back on her. Hell, I think I stop breathing.

Holy shit.

Long auburn curls