Before the Rain (2 page)

Zoe hung up. Her shoulders tensed, and she gripped the wheel so tight her fingers turned white.

No one knew her better than her sister. She was the only person Zoe ever confided in, who knew she pushed men away before they could reach her heart and dish out pain. Damage-control addiction, as her sister referred to it. Though even she didn’t know the full truth.

Never mind the past. Zoe needed to focus on enjoying a relaxing break with no one for miles around.

Bliss.

She turned her phone off and continued down the road but at a snail’s pace. Too frustrated with her sister and the awkward bends, she failed to notice the scenery let alone enjoy it.

“Exit left, continue for half a mile. Your destination is on the right,” the drone female voice of her GPS informed her.

“Excellent.” She sucked the last drop of coffee she’d gotten from the gas station several miles back, and threw the empty to the floor on the passenger side. The paper cup tumbled and settled in the garbage she’d collected after a burger takeout. How’d her car get so messy so quickly? Oh, yeah, a Mini. No room. Her litterbug ways didn’t help.

Shoot. Coffee stained her heather-gray yoga pants.

She’d glanced down for a second.

One darn second!

A mud-splattered once-white pickup truck came right at her, the driver, a hairy hulk, waving for her to move out of his way.

There was no room for her to shift to anywhere else.

No. Room. At. All.

Yet he kept coming at her, moving his mouth at frantic speed as he spouted his frustrations. She counted her blessings, glad his insults were inaudible from inside her car or else she’d have needed to wash out her ears. His scruffy hair and beard, large arms, and thick brows distracted from his glare of displeasure.

He spat some garbled nonsense, Welsh she guessed, through the open window.

She shrugged.

“Move out the way,” he yelled so loud she heard him through her closed window, his accent strong and his tone ferocious, and continued driving straight at her.

She sucked in a breath and tightened her grip around the wheel, bracing for impact.

He scooted to the side and slid beside her, four inches separating them. He halted before their mirrors met. Any closer, and they’d have smashed together.

The pickup driver shook his head.

How in tarnation would she escape this pickle?

“Slowly move forward,” he ordered. “Very slowly.”

Like she’d do such a thing; she was in a rental for goodness sake.

“Move it, love,” he said, adding bite to his last word.

She shook her head in answer and swore under her breath at his condescending tone. Love, indeed.
Tsk.

“Should I call the police?”

The police? Oh, heck no. Not while she was in a rental and in a foreign country. She could reason with him. Nah, he didn’t seem like the reasoning type. The only way to beat a buffoon was to treat him like a coyote and make noise. Lots of noise. And appear big and brave.

She straightened her posture and slammed on the horn.

And again.

The driver rammed his middle finger into the air at her.

That’s it
. She wound down her window and hollered, “Dumbass.”

“Me dumb? It’s a one-way road.” He revved his truck and glowered. “And guess who’s the one driving the wrong way, Miss America.”

“Oh, really?” Heat rose to her cheeks, and her shoulders tensed.

“Yes, love, you are,” he replied.

Wait. There was no way she’d been directed the wrong way. She double-checked the small screen that had led her from London to the back of nowhere.
Yup. On track
.

“My GPS thinks otherwise.”

“GPS isn’t your best guide out here.” He pulled on his thick beard and hummed. “Only one thing to do in this case, and that’s to push my mirror in and hope my driving skills are better than yours.”

He twisted the arm of his side mirror with ease until it folded in. “This happens more often than it should. Lucky for you I rigged my mirror to bend in, or I’d’ve called the police. If I were you, I’d turn your car around.”

He shook his head then edged his truck forward.

Sucking in a breath, she hoped he’d make it without denting the Mini.

His stare set on her car, he eased past her then returned his mirror to its right position before speeding off around the bend.

Slumped in relief, she let out a gasp. Then doubt trickled in. Was she going the right way? She double-checked her mapping device. To be sure, she reprogrammed her destination into the darn thing.

She watched for the turn off for
Ffermydd Cododd
, which her sister had translated for her when they were back in Georgia planning this trip.
Rose Farm
.

Her destination should be less than half a mile away.

She drove on with her sight glued straight ahead, praying no more vehicles came along.

“You have arrived at your destination,” the GPS announced.

She was smack in the middle of the countryside with nothing for miles except grass and more grass. The stupid thing had lied.

Maybe the asshat was right and she had driven miles in the wrong direction on a one-way road. Oh, my goodness.

She peered out at the scenery; nothing there except fields and a dirt road leading to nowhere.

“Recalculating route. Turn around when possible. U-turn ahead,” the robotic voice chimed.

Zoe hit the reset button, but the device was totally non-responsive. Zigzags shot across the screen, and it powered down.

“Darn it.”

Zoe pulled into one of the parking spaces off the road and searched for a map in the glove compartment.

A horn sounded behind her.

She twisted and glanced out her back mirror, praying it wasn’t the pickup truck Welshman.

It was him. Of course, because that was her luck all over.

“Ugh, hoped I’d never see him again,” she grated, her shoulders tightening even more. The asshat with the muddy truck not worth a shit thrummed down the road and pulled up next to her.

She sank in her seat and hoped he’d go away.

There were two options: Ignore him, hope he goes away and that she magically finds Rose Farm. Or suck it up and ask for help.

Before she decided on asking for directions, he had swung open his door and climbed down.

“You lost, love?” He tapped on her window. “Hey, Miss America, I asked if you were lost.”

“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head, keeping her focus straight ahead and not daring to glance his way.

“Love, open your window. Perhaps I can help.”

She paused before winding her window down a little, but not enough for him to stick his hand in. Slowly turning to face him, she said, “Sir, I’m looking for….” She paused before even trying to announce the name of the farm. Instead, she decided to go with the English option. “Rose Farm.”

He leaned against her car and smirked, his intense dark eyes gleaming. He peered from behind his mop of dark hair, his stare fierce. “What business do you have at Rose?”

It must have been the fresh country air sparking her long-neglected desires back to life, because his rawness turned her on. Or perhaps it was the growl in his accent. A fleeting idea to invite him to her backseat hit like a bolt of lightening. But would they fit? Maybe if she straddled him. Darn it, not even a full day in Wales and she had already broken her sabbatical rule of no swooning over men. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly swooning, but she was thinking up positions to make sex in a public place in a tiny car doable. Kind of counted as the same thing, didn’t it?

“Your business at Rose Farm, love?”

Zoe pressed the power switch on the GPS over and over, determined not to stare at him. Though no matter how hard she tried, her gaze drifted to meet his. She stuttered, “Erm, never mind. I’m sure I can get this thing working again.”

“I told you that ‘thing’ won’t help you out here.” He huffed and checked his watch.

“Am I keeping you?”
People still wear watches?

“Yes, so let’s get you on your way. You best take Bramble Road.” He pointed down the dirt road.

“That leads nowhere. Do I look dumb to you?”

“Well, you’re stupid enough to drive the wrong way down a one-way road.”

How rude. And how completely and utterly sex on legs. What the heck was it with this stranger who had her panties in a knot?

“Yeah.” She dipped her gaze but realized she’d settled her sight line on his package straining his faded jeans, and she snapped her attention back to his face. “I’m totally lost. Could you be a little more helpful?”

He snickered and shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing on her. “I can do helpful when I want to.”

“And do you want to be?”

He raised a shoulder in a sort of half-shrug. “Not particularly inspired right now. How about you ask me nicely?”

Really? Ugh. All she had found attractive about him just dived out the window. “Fine. Would you please direct me to Rose Farm?” she asked with a forced smile.

“Beyond those trees, you’ll find Rose Cottage and Rose Farm. Just half a mile down there.”

To thank the man grated on her nerves, but as her mom had brought her up to be polite she did as required. “Thank you, sir.”

“Sir?” He shook his head. “Get on your way now. Hate to see you get on Betty’s bad side, and you will if you mess with her allotted time for baking. She has a set schedule and hates anyone who throws it off. You need the first two-story house as you pull in. Red door. Black Jeep in the driveway. Can’t miss it, Miss America.”

“Betty?”

“You’re renting out Rose Cottage for the summer, right? If so, you’ll need to see Betty Mostyn to get the keys. And as it goes, she doesn’t take kindly to being called dumb or an ass so be nice.”

“Ms. Mostyn? Yes, that’s who I need. I need Betty.”

“You need Betty?” He shot her a studious glance then diverted his line of sight to the trash on the floor and raised a brow. “She’s a clean freak. Besides, I believe she’s already dating someone.”

Heat raced to Zoe’s cheeks. She wasn’t sure what embarrassed her more, the double entendre or the mess in her car.

“I’m just messing with you.” He patted the roof. “Ask Betty for a road map when you catch up with her. I can’t be wasting time dancing on the roads with you again.”

He climbed back in his truck. She admired his tight, fitted jeans, faded where the material hugged his rounded ass and thick thighs, and she couldn’t help but crane her neck to get a better view.

Welcome to Wales, Zoe.

Stones crunched beneath the wheels as Zoe eased the Mini over the gravel toward a cluster of red brick buildings sitting isolated amid rolling hills. A few metal-roofed barns stood to the side. Rose Farm, she hoped. Well, she dared not to think about the other possibilities since she was now miles from civilization. She’d seen the horror movies—house in the middle of nowhere, lost tourist, and crazy people out to…she shuddered.

“Best not let the imagination runaway with you, Zoe,” she murmured, thinking up ways to defend herself just in case.

Normally, she kept a pistol in her purse, but customs didn’t allow such a thing. She didn’t even have pepper spray.

Maybe spritzing travel-sized perfume in a villain’s eyes would sting enough to allow for a speedy escape? Perfume was her only available defense, that and her ability to kick darn high. She’d make do.

She parked at the gate of the large house, got out, stretched, and sucked in a long breath. The dewy air fragrant with cut grass and floral hints refreshed her after the long journey and eased her tensed muscles a little. She took another breath, and something else in the air caught her senses and made her choke. Something sweet but not so pleasant—cow poop.

She waved a hand across her face to rid the smell from her nostrils.

That reminded her.
Perfume.

She dragged the tiny spray bottle of eau de toilette out of her purse and doused herself in the floral hues to refresh from the eau-de-day-of-travel stink. She then tucked the bottle into the pocket of her light hoodie so she’d be able to grab her secret weapon if the Welshman had led her down the path to a lunatic.

A sign hung above the main entrance to the building, but the glare from the sun reflected across the black plaque and obscured the words. She hoped it said Rose Farm.

The hinges of the metal gates creaked as she pushed her way into the garden of the farmhouse, which boasted a red door. Pink roses climbed the corners and twisted around sash windows where cream net curtains hung. And a black Jeep was parked in front of the detached two-car garage.

She made her way up the drive.

A-ha.
The sign above the door confirmed the address.
Ffermydd Cododd
. Rose Farm.

The grounds were immaculate down to the perfectly paved pathway lined with a bright purple and yellow border of pansies and lavender.

A dog whizzed by her feet, tail wagging, and splattered mud over her coffee-stained designer yoga pants before racing behind the house.

She rubbed at the mess but her efforts made it worse and ground the mud deeper into the material. Yes, she’d littered. Yes, she’d spilled stuff. And, yes, she wore casual clothes. But they were expensive and the “not trying to look good” style wasn’t cheap to keep up with. Jobless, she might not be able to afford to splurge on outfits for a long while. Oops.

“Okay, breathe, Zoe. Coffee and mud washes out. It isn’t the end of the world.”

Several sheep gathered at the property fence separating the farm’s garden from the neighboring field. They bleated and shuffled toward her, and mashed up against the chicken-wire fence. Lucy had told her about these sheep. How they appeared at the oddest moments, as if following her at all times. “Stalked” was the word her sister had used. At the time Zoe had thought the tale an exaggeration. Now she believed it.

They watched her every step, their beady eyes glued on her as she inched toward the property. Gave her the creeps. But then so did the prospect of knocking on a stranger’s door in the middle of nowhere.

Before she rang the doorbell, a short, stocky woman wearing curlers and a flour-dusted apron stepped out in brown slippers. “Can I help you?”