credence. Call it fate, kismet, or the guiding hand of God, but if a man had faith in a higher power—and Zach did—then he had to take the energy of Eternity Springs into account when making decisions about the people who found their way here.
Not everyone received the benefit of what he and Cam Murphy had dubbed the Eternity Springs “woo-woo.” Some visitors and citizens were simply sorry SOBs who would need to breathe the valley air for a hundred years or have a mountain of angel dust fall on them for their stone hearts to melt. Having the job he did, Zach tended to meet those folks more than most.
That train of thought led him to the town’s newest resident. Where did Savannah Moore fit into the scheme of things? Was her heart black, or was it simply in need of healing? Had she found her way to this valley by accident, or had she had a push from fate or kismet or the hand of God? What was the woman’s story?
Why did she get beneath his skin like no other woman he could remember?
Was it hormones, or was it … angel dust?
With these questions uppermost in his mind, Zachwasn’t at all surprised when he negotiated a bend in the road and spied a car pulled off to one side.
Savannah Sophia Moore’s old, worn-out Taurus.
Angel dust? “Well, hell.”
Savannah was so frustrated that she wanted to scream. Was it not enough that having a gasket replaced at Eternity Springs Auto and Sports Center just this morning had blown her budget to smithereens? Or that the owner had told her that her Taurus was on its last legs? That he’d said her car had a condition they called the “black death”? The black death! He’d told her to Google it, and she had. It wasn’t good.
She needed a new car. After pouring all her savings into starting up her business, she couldn’t afford one.
And now she had a damned flat tire, and who knew the state of her spare? Savannah had a well-earned aversion to looking into trunks, so she didn’t use hers unless she had no choice.
She gave into the urge, kicked the flat tire, and let out a yell that would have made her Rebel ancestors proud.
Sighing heavily, she studied the road. After bailing her car out of the shop, she’d driven down to South Fork to check out a potential packaging supplier. She’d dawdled on the way back, playing tourist and stopping at all the scenic overlooks. The beauty of the mountain vistas simply took her breath away and provided a welcome respite from all the worries and concerns churning through her mind.
What was she going to do about her car?
Had she made the right decision in going upscale with her packaging?
When was Barney Fife going to pull the rug out from under her?
Thinking about Zach Turner caused her to kick the tire again, and then do it once more for good measure.
“Okay, Moore, you have three choices,” she muttered to herself. “Call the Auto and Sports Center and have them send someone out to fix this, wait around for a good Samaritan to stop and help, or figure out how to do it yourself.”
Since she didn’t have the money to have the auto shop fix it, that option wasn’t her best bet. The last time she’d let a good Samaritan near her car, she’d ended up in prison, so that didn’t appeal much either. “All right, then. You can do this yourself. It doesn’t matter that you’ve never changed a tire before. You are an intelligent woman. You can figure it out.”
If she could get up the nerve to open her trunk, that was.
“Oh, stop it. The black death is under the hood, not in the trunk.” She hit the trunk release, marched around to the back of her car, and ignored the instinctive tremble in her hand as she opened the compartment. Empty. She released a sigh. “Of course it’s empty, idiot.”
She stared into the trunk at the donut tire, and her teeth tugged at her lower lip. Years ago, her father had shown her how to do this. “Okay, Dad. I hope you’ll be watching over my shoulder now.”
She paused, halfway
Not everyone received the benefit of what he and Cam Murphy had dubbed the Eternity Springs “woo-woo.” Some visitors and citizens were simply sorry SOBs who would need to breathe the valley air for a hundred years or have a mountain of angel dust fall on them for their stone hearts to melt. Having the job he did, Zach tended to meet those folks more than most.
That train of thought led him to the town’s newest resident. Where did Savannah Moore fit into the scheme of things? Was her heart black, or was it simply in need of healing? Had she found her way to this valley by accident, or had she had a push from fate or kismet or the hand of God? What was the woman’s story?
Why did she get beneath his skin like no other woman he could remember?
Was it hormones, or was it … angel dust?
With these questions uppermost in his mind, Zachwasn’t at all surprised when he negotiated a bend in the road and spied a car pulled off to one side.
Savannah Sophia Moore’s old, worn-out Taurus.
Angel dust? “Well, hell.”
Savannah was so frustrated that she wanted to scream. Was it not enough that having a gasket replaced at Eternity Springs Auto and Sports Center just this morning had blown her budget to smithereens? Or that the owner had told her that her Taurus was on its last legs? That he’d said her car had a condition they called the “black death”? The black death! He’d told her to Google it, and she had. It wasn’t good.
She needed a new car. After pouring all her savings into starting up her business, she couldn’t afford one.
And now she had a damned flat tire, and who knew the state of her spare? Savannah had a well-earned aversion to looking into trunks, so she didn’t use hers unless she had no choice.
She gave into the urge, kicked the flat tire, and let out a yell that would have made her Rebel ancestors proud.
Sighing heavily, she studied the road. After bailing her car out of the shop, she’d driven down to South Fork to check out a potential packaging supplier. She’d dawdled on the way back, playing tourist and stopping at all the scenic overlooks. The beauty of the mountain vistas simply took her breath away and provided a welcome respite from all the worries and concerns churning through her mind.
What was she going to do about her car?
Had she made the right decision in going upscale with her packaging?
When was Barney Fife going to pull the rug out from under her?
Thinking about Zach Turner caused her to kick the tire again, and then do it once more for good measure.
“Okay, Moore, you have three choices,” she muttered to herself. “Call the Auto and Sports Center and have them send someone out to fix this, wait around for a good Samaritan to stop and help, or figure out how to do it yourself.”
Since she didn’t have the money to have the auto shop fix it, that option wasn’t her best bet. The last time she’d let a good Samaritan near her car, she’d ended up in prison, so that didn’t appeal much either. “All right, then. You can do this yourself. It doesn’t matter that you’ve never changed a tire before. You are an intelligent woman. You can figure it out.”
If she could get up the nerve to open her trunk, that was.
“Oh, stop it. The black death is under the hood, not in the trunk.” She hit the trunk release, marched around to the back of her car, and ignored the instinctive tremble in her hand as she opened the compartment. Empty. She released a sigh. “Of course it’s empty, idiot.”
She stared into the trunk at the donut tire, and her teeth tugged at her lower lip. Years ago, her father had shown her how to do this. “Okay, Dad. I hope you’ll be watching over my shoulder now.”
She paused, halfway
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