Page 22 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Mafia Princess

“You aren’t going to ask who’s calling?”

“No.”

“You want to know.”

“I want to know whether you need help. That isn’t the same question.”

She lowered her eyes to the screen. “I don’t know what I need yet.”

“You don’t have to decide in the truck.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone, then loosened.

Promise Ridge came into view around the next bend. The town wasn’t much more than a main road, low buildings, and a scattering of houses against the slope, but after the cabin it probably seemed crowded.

The general store sat near the center, its broad front windows reflecting the late-morning sun. A post-office sign hung beside the door. Two pickup trucks and an older sedan occupied the gravel lot.

I parked near the side of the building.

Talia reached for the handle.

“Wait.”

Her shoulders stiffened.

I got out, walked around the hood, and opened her door.

She lifted her chin. “You could’ve said you were opening it.”

“You could’ve waited two seconds.”

“You gave me a command.”

“I asked you to wait.”

“You used one word.”

“That was all I had time for before you stepped into gravel in those shoes.”

She glanced down at the drop, then accepted my hand again.

“That was reasonable,” she said as her feet reached the ground.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to enjoy it.”

“I’m not enjoying the argument.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying something.”

I let go of her hand.

The bell over the store door rang when I opened it. Cool air carried the smell of cardboard, floor cleaner, and the dusty sweetness of produce. Grocery shelves filled most of the room. A rack of summer clothes stood near one wall, with work boots and basic shoes displayed beneath it.

Mabel looked up from behind the counter, blue hair piled high above her reading glasses.

Her gaze moved from me to Talia, paused on the stilettos, and returned to my face.