Why did I want to touch her?
The thought hit him like a jolt, unbidden and disconcerting. His mind replayed the way she'd jumped back, the brief, startled flicker in her eyes. He hadn't meant to get so close, hadn't even realized he was moving too close until it happened.
He wanted to ignore her relationship with "Sam" but in the morning, when he saw her with a smile, when he ate that delicious breakfast, that nagging feeling returned. The whole day, he hoped to find a chance to ask her.
Why was he so focused on her life? He had no clue. There was something about her. Something that pulled at him in ways he wasn't sure he understood.
JD rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at her retreating figure as she reached the door. She hadn't looked back. Maybe that was for the best. Whatever had just passed between them, it was better left unsaid.
Still, the faintest hint of her scent lingered in the air—something warm and earthy, like the hay-sweetened breeze of the farm at dusk. It clung to him, impossible to ignore, and for reasons he couldn't quite grasp, it left him both restless and anchored.
She might not look familiar. He didn't know many true redheads, but there surely was something about her.
He swallowed hard, his hands shoved into his pockets as he quickened his pace to follow her. Whatever it was—the allure that shrouded her—it didn't matter. It couldn't.
At least, that's what he told himself.
Dinner had been satisfying, leaving JD curious about the house. His gaze fell on a small nook by the stairs—cozy but unassuming. Joanne was still in the kitchen, washing dishes, so he wandered over, only to freeze when he saw the massive rottweiler sprawled in the shadows.
The rottweiler rose slowly, shaking itself as if to make its size even more apparent. JD's pulse quickened, but he held his ground. He knew this dance well. His grandfather had taught him enough about dogs—hunting companions bred to test boundaries. Showing weakness was never an option.
"Sit," JD said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of command.
The dog tilted its head, unmoving, its stance defiant. It took a single step forward, muscles taut as though daring him to flinch. JD's heart thudded in his chest, but he leaned into his instincts.
He stepped forward with purpose, closing the distance, his tone dropping into a low, controlled growl. "Sit."
The dog paused, ears flicking. For a tense moment, they were locked in a silent battle of wills. Then, with a soft whimper, the rottweiler relented, lowering itself back to the floor.
A triumphant smile spread across JD's face. "Good boy," he said, reaching down to pat the dog's broad head. The rottweiler wagged its tail, a slow, measured rhythm, as if conceding its approval.
From the kitchen doorway, Joanne watched with quiet admiration. Not many could handle Fluffy like that. Most were either too afraid or too forceful, but JD handled it with a quiet confidence that left her in awe. JD really was something.
"There isn't much there... Just old books and stuff," Joanne said as she stepped into the nook.
She patted Fluffy, her loyal protector, who gave her a glance before settling back down as if leaving the intruder's fate in her hands.
JD smiled faintly and began examining the space. There were curiosities—a high-quality violin, clearly one a professional might use, and books with signed copies by famous authors. One signature stood out, unmistakably authentic, as it belonged to an author his grandfather had known well, someone notorious for signing only for friends.
A thought struck him, connecting the dots. His grandfather had mentioned that she was his friend's granddaughter—could this woman be that woman? He hoped against hope that she was not.
"Oh, that," her voice broke into his thoughts, sweet and melodious. But doubt lingered in his mind, and he stiffened.
"You're not the first paying guest this house has seen," she continued, eyes glinting with humor. "My grandfather used to rent this place out. Artists, writers, all kinds of people stayed here..." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
JD turned to face her, letting out the breath he didn't know was holding out of relief. She is not her.
"...even those on the FBI's most wanted list."
JD's brows shot up. "No way! Get out of here!"
Joanne's mischievous smile widened, filling the air with a light, playful energy. "I'm not kidding. This place is isolated, low crime rate, and barely any cops around. Don't believe me? I have proof."
She rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a photograph, handing it to JD with a teasing glint in her eye.
He took it, squinting skeptically, but his expression changed as he stared at it. His finger pointed at the fireplace, then back to the photo. "This… this is that serial killer! How?"
Joanne shrugged, casually nonchalant. "He only stayed a couple of weeks. To be fair, no one knew he was a serial killer back then. He was active, sure, but not around here. Papaw sensed something off about him and sent him packing."
"Sent him packing?" JD echoed, disbelief etched into his features. This was a brutal killer they were talking about. What kind of person was her grandfather to face someone like that and live to tell the tale?
Joanne shrugged again, her tone breezy but tinged with pride. "Papaw was... I don't know how to explain…" she shrugged. He had a way of reading people and still would take off the shirt off his back to help others. Sometimes she had wondered if he was a secret spy masquerading as an alcoholic farmer. Though the debts he racked up say otherwise.
JD stared at her, speechless for a moment. Joanne was a mystery, one he hadn't expected to find in this quiet town. Shaking his head, he tossed the photo back into the drawer, not wanting to hold onto it any longer.
"So," she asked, tilting her head with curious eyes. "What brought you here, JD? To this little farming town?"