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Stripped in front of a cowboy.

And now, I was loitering in the hallway of an old inn like I was auditioning for emotionally unstable, hot if you squint.

I muttered to myself, “Did you forget your hooch is closed?”

Closed.

CLOSED.

Boarded up. Condemned. No new applicants allowed.

Not even the ones with jawlines sculpted by some minor god of rural thirst.

Not even the ones who smelled like oranges and danger and tossed out a smart girl in that gravel-and-honey voice that probably got women pregnant by proximity.

I suddenly worried that the longer I was here, the worse my instincts would get.

Right now, I needed to find my car, get back on the road, and drive west until Blackwood was just a speck in the rearview.

Leaving Sterling Hayes far behind me.

I’d already seen how badly that story could end.

CHAPTER 5

SIENNA

The lobby of the Blackwood Inn smelled like someone had gone ten rounds with a can of air freshener and lost. Which probably had something to do with the massive ceramic bowl on a side table, filled with what I hoped were decorative soaps and not someone’s idea of mints.

And there were doilies.

Actual doilies.

The whole lobby was a strange mash-up of “grandma chic” and taxidermy. There was a moose head mounted above the front windows, a floral love seat under a needlepoint quote that read Life Is Short, Eat the Pie, and an antique-looking grandfather clock in the corner that ticked too slowly to be keeping time correctly.

Standing behind the check-in desk, beaming at me like I was a celebrity and she was my number one fan, was a middle-aged woman dressed head-to-toe in lemon yellow. It was the exact same shade as the ceiling in my room, with the exact same pattern of daisies as the wallpaper. I didn’t believe in coincidences. This had to be the owner of the inn.

She had frizzy red hair teased into a cloud around her head, glasses that magnified her eyes like twin fishbowls, and bright pink lipstick that had no interest in staying inside the lines on her pale skin.

“Oh my stars,” she gasped, slapping both hands on the desk. “You’re awake.”

I blinked. “Hi?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to come down! I heard all about what happened. You poor little dove!” She rounded the desk and grabbed both my hands in hers. “I’m Hattie. Hattie Bloom. Owner, operator, front desk staff, breakfast hostess, and your personal concierge.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to keep up. “Hi.”

She smiled brightly. “You’re even cuter than I expected. Your forehead bandage doesn’t take away from anything! I told Babs, I said, ‘Any girl who crashes into Big Hank and survives must be pretty and tenacious,’ and I was right.”

I wouldn’t say tenacious accurately described me, but I was willing to lean into it for this…interesting woman who seemed like she’d had three cups of coffee and been possessed by the spirit of an overworked zoo animal. She was back at the coffeemaker already pouring another.

“I’m Sienna,” I offered. “Sienna Blake.”

“Oh, honey, we know. Ryder found your driver’s license—he’s the sheriff here, he had to file a report. Everyone heard the crash, though, we were all full of questions. And when we realized you were just passing through? Oh, the group chat went wild.”

I bit back a scream. The sheriff was telling everyone about me? There had to be a law against that. “Group chat?” I managed.

“You’ll be added soon if you stay here long enough. Now—are you dizzy? Nauseous? Delirious? You look slightly delirious.”