Knox’s eyes darted toward the door, an uncharacteristic grimace stretched across his face, just as a blast of heat hit Hazel in the back. Like someone opened the door on a 450 degree oven and couldn’t decide whether or not to pull out the pie. She interrupted her story, which made the trucker she was talking to look very relieved, and spun around on her stool, following Knox’s eyes, as he roared.
“Close the door, already! My swamp cooler isn’t big enough to take on Main Street, too!”
A woman behind fancy dark sunglasses was standing in the open doorway, slowly looking around like she knew she was in the right place, but it was all wrong.
Knox’s face twisted as his voice rose two octaves. “Please?!”
Looking like she belonged on a Hollywood red carpet, the woman finally closed the door and stepped all the way inside, pausing dramatically, shoulders as straight as a saguaro cactus, chin high. Hazel stopped breathing as the newcomer shoved her sunglasses up onto the top of her head and flipped her lusciously long, jet black hair over her shoulder.
L.U.S.C.I.O.U.S. Having a delicious taste or smell. Richly luxurious. Sexually attractive. LUSCIOUS.
Reciting dictionary definitions to herself usually helped Hazel focus. This time it wasn’t working. Her eyes widened to the size of grandma’s china saucers and she glanced over at Knox to see if he saw what she was seeing.
With a shaky smile, he reached over and patted her hand, a shade paler than he was just seconds before. “Whoa there, old friend. I don’t think she’s your type.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Hazel hissed. Her gaydar was ding, ding, dinging. She gave his hand a squeeze and then patted him back. “You don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to knowing the difference.” She was referring of course to his very short marriage to Lace. “But she is definitely out of my league.”
Hazel had never seen anything - or anyone - like this woman before. Not in real life, anyway. A tight royal blue dress hugged every curve. Long legs the color of wild brown tepary beans. And, that attitude. Seriously? Like she owned the ground she walked on.
Hazel licked her lips, her mouth slowly forming the shape of an O. As in Oh. My. God. She was pretty sure she didn’t like anything about this woman but her body wasn’t getting the memo. Her heart thumped against her breastbone and heat rose in her cheeks. A warm tingling sensation crawled slowly from her thighs down to her toes, then shot back up, lighting her middle on fire.
“Knox...” Her voice was raspy. And, although she was talking to him, her eyes never left the terrifying stranger in the doorway. “...get me another glass of water, would you please? It’s freaking hot in here.”
Knox pulled the top of his Banter & Brew apron up over his face to wipe the sweat from his brow. “It most certainly is.” Always the optimist, he was still grinning but without a single funny thing to say.
There weren’t many patrons left inside the coffee shop but those who lingered were mesmerized. Every eye was on the stranger as she surveyed the room like a hawk, slowly, silently circling a field of prey. She grazed past each one and skimmed right over Knox until her eyes finally and what felt like inevitably pinged Hazel.
Hazel swallowed hard. Pinned to the stool, she couldn’t move. But she should have. She should have gotten up right then and there and gone running in the opposite direction. As fast and far away as possible. Every red flag was waving, every warning bell blared, the microwave beeped wildly and all the smoke detectors were screaming. This stranger wasn’t just a spring shower or even a summer monsoon. She was a once-in-century hurricane plowing up through Baja and across California to hammer the thirsty Arizona desert with flash flooding and winds that snatched you up into its irresistible, swirling vortex and wouldn’t let you go. She was trouble.
T.R.O.U.B.L.E. Disturbance. Disorder. Turbulence. Tumult. TROUBLE.
The exact opposite of what Owen Station’s most responsible, routine-loving librarian needed.
