“’Fraid not,” he said. “This is it.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You mean I can’t reach the house?”
“Not tonight. Someone will have to repair the bridge before you can cross, especially driving this beast.” He tapped the side of the heavy truck.
She looked crestfallen. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but...no.” She was obviously disappointed, but there was no way he could change reality.
She picked up her phone, then tossed it back in the seat and cursed under her breath.
Her little girl’s eyes widened. “Did you say a swear word, Mommy?”
“I said ‘shoot,’” she grumbled.
“No, you didn’t,” her boy insisted.
Gavin tried not to smile at the exchange. “What’s wrong?”
“The battery on my phone is dead. I haven’t been able to charge it. The cigarette lighter in this truck doesn’t work. Neither does the air-conditioning, probably why they gave me such a good deal.”
They’d been without air-conditioning on a day like this? That had to be another reason they appeared slightly frayed at the edges. “If you need to make a call, you can use mine.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket and put in the passcode before offering it to her. “Is someone planning to meet you and help you unload?”
She waved off his phone. “No, it’s only me and the kids. I wasn’t planning to make a call. I was going to look for a motel. But maybe you know of one I should try.”
“The Mission Inn is nice and reasonable.”
“Is it far? How do I get there?”
“Wait! We’re not staying?” her son broke in. “You said we were home. That we’d be able to get out!”
“I have to go potty,” her daughter added in a whine.
“I wasn’t expecting to run into a washed-out bridge, okay? Let me... Let me figure out where we can spend the night. It shouldn’t take much longer,” she told them, sounding exhausted.
Gavin wiped the scratch on his arm again. “Look, why don’t you come in for a few minutes? I’ve got some soda—or juice if you prefer—for the kids. They can go to the bathroom and have a drink while we use my laptop to book you a room.”
Her son opened the door as if he’d only been waiting for the invitation, but she grabbed hold of his arm. “Stay right where you are.”
With a groan, he obeyed. “Why? He said we could have a soda.”
She turned back to Gavin. “Thanks for the offer. I appreciate it. But we’ll just... We’ll be on our way.”
How? he wondered. Turning that truck around wouldn’t be easy, not on this narrow road. She couldn’t use his driveway, not with such a tall van. The electrical wires were strung too low. She’d have to back up all the way to where she made the turn to begin with. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Because I don’t mind.” He lifted his hands to show that he was harmless. “I realize we’re strangers at the moment, but I am your new neighbor, so we’ll be getting acquainted soon.”
When she hesitated, he got the impression she wanted to trust him but didn’t dare.
“Backing down this road will be tricky,” he added. “Especially in the dark. I mean...maybe you drive semis for a living and are especially good at that sort of thing, but—”
“No,” she broke in with enough exasperation to reveal what he’d already suspected: it’d been a challenge just to get them all to California without an incident. “I had to sell my car to avoid making this any more difficult by trying to tow it behind me.”
“Then why risk wrecking into a fence or a ditch? I’d wait for morning, unless you’re determined to go tonight. I’ll get a flashlight and try to guide you out, if that’s the case.”
She rested her forehead on the large steering wheel.
“I really want a soda, Mommy,” her little girl said. “And I have to go potty!”
“Come on,” Gavin coaxed. “Once we find you a room, I’ll drive you to town. You can leave the van here until morning, when you can get someone out to help you cross.”
“Do you know of someone who could do that?” she asked.
He gazed toward the creek in question even though he couldn’t see it for the dark and the trees. “I’m pretty good at temporary fixes. I’m sure, with the proper supplies, I could create something that will work.” Tomorrow would be Saturday, after all, so he didn’t have to go to New Horizons. He didn’t have set plans until evening, when he had a gig in Santa Barbara.
“How much will it cost?”
“Nothing for my labor. I don’t mind helping out. So...whatever the lumber and other supplies will be. You’ll need to get an actual building contractor for the permanent structure, though.”
She sighed.
He dipped his head to get her to look at him again. “I’m Gavin Turner, by the way.”
“I’m Savanna. This is Branson and Alia.”
She didn’t offer a last name, but he didn’t press her. “Happy to meet you. I’ve lived here for fifteen years and have never hurt a soul. You have no reason to be afraid of me.” He didn’t mention what he’d done before that. Some things were better left unsaid.
“I’m not sure you’d tell me if you were an ax murderer, but...okay,” she said, and her kids scrambled out before she could change her mind.
* * *
Savanna watched Gavin carefully. He wasn’t overly large or imposing. Maybe five-eleven to six feet tall, he had broad shoulders and big hands but a thin frame and wore his dark hair in a man bun with a closely trimmed beard and mustache. To her, he looked like an artist or a musician—or maybe just a vegetarian (not that she’d known many of those in Nephi). Gordon had hated men who looked like Gavin, had made fun of their “hippie lifestyle,” especially if they had tattoos, and Gavin had plenty of those. Ink covered one whole arm—a big saxophone, a guitar and musical notes as well as the detailed face of some singer.
Savanna knew if the man she’d married could be dangerous, anyone could. But Gavin’s face was so delicately sculpted, and he had such kind eyes—big and brown with a thick fringe of lashes—that it was difficult to be afraid of him. Even if he hadn’t given her the impression that he was a pacifist, his gentle manner would’ve put her at ease. He’d been teasing the kids since they came in. The way he interacted with them reminded her of her father, which made her think she was being paranoid to be so cautious of him.
Evil people weren’t funny, were they?
Not in her experience. Gordon had never had much of a sense of humor...
“Sprite—or Pepsi?” Gavin turned his attention to her after he finally let Alia wrangle her soda out of his grasp.
Savanna shook her head. “Neither, thanks.” Her stomach had been churning all day. It was anxiety and not true illness, but she didn’t see any point in exacerbating the problem by drinking loads of sugar and carbon dioxide.
“What about a beer?”
“No.”
“Some water, then?”
“That’d be nice.”
He poured a glass from a chilled pitcher in the fridge. When he brought it over, she couldn’t help thinking—once again—about how quickly Gordon would’ve judged her new neighbor based solely on his