As he returned with a towel to dry off her rain-soaked body, she set down her waterproof pack and surveyed the RV. "Nice ride," she commented, mentally approving of the style and décor he'd utilized to make the motor home feel like...well, home. She suddenly realized that he was staring at her, and she flushed hotly, realizing that she must look like a drowned rat after being out in that rainstorm. Quickly grabbing the towel and trying to dry her curls, she avoided his gaze.
Of all the interesting people she'd met through hitchhiking across the country, her intuition told her that this man would be the most intriguing. When he'd pulled over to the side of the road and emerged from the RV, she'd felt her heart suddenly start to beat a little faster. Tall, with dark brown hair and an athletic build, she could see even in the dark, rainy night that he was a good-looking older man. Now that she was inside the RV, she could see that his eyes were a startling, clear blue that entranced her. 'And he's a cop,' she said to herself, 'I mean, come on, what girl doesn't fantasize about a police officer?'
Of course, he probably thought she was a foolish, immature little girl who'd gotten herself in trouble and now had to hitchhike back to Mommy and Daddy because she'd spent all her money.
When her red curls were bright and fiery again, rather than dark and coppery, she knew her hair was sufficiently dry. She took off her trusty poncho. It had been a gift from her best friend, Shanna, to celebrate the beginning of her cross-country hitchhiking trip. "Probably the most valuable thing you'll take with you," Shanna had said confidently, and of course she had been right.
Jack had taken off his jacket (in the light of the RV, she could now see the emblem of his police department on it, though she couldn't make out the city name), and she subtly admired his body – casual in jeans and a black polo shirt, but somehow so sexy at the same time. 'Calm down, girl,' she thought, 'he must be twice your age.'
"Can I get you something to eat or drink?" he offered, opening the door of the fridge.
"If you have any wine, I could use a little to relax after this night," she said. He gave her a quick, surprised glance, then turned to the fridge. "I have White Zinfandel, if that's alright."
She had caught his glance, and knew what it meant. "I am of age, officer," she said, a little defensively, feeling her face flush again.
He looked over, startled. "Oh, of course...I'm sure you are," he said.
Still blushing, she said, "I know I look fresh out of high school, officer, but I'm 23."
He held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry if I offended you. You do look very young, but that's a good thing for a woman, isn't it?"
She took a breath, telling herself not to get defensive with him. Why was she getting defensive? What did she care what he thought? "I'm sorry, I just... it can get annoying to constantly be treated like you're not even old enough to vote. It's something I'm still not used to, but it's my thing, not yours. Sorry." She had lowered her eyes to apologize, and only looked up when he stepped in front of her, a glass of wine in hand.
"No worries," he said softly, handing her the wine. When his blue eyes locked with hers, she felt her heartbeat quicken again, and she looked away hastily.
"Should we get on the road?" she asked nervously.
He smiled. "As soon as you tell me your name."
"Oh! It's Caitlin...I'm sorry, I didn't realize I hadn't introduced myself."
He chuckled and extended his hand, shaking hers firmly. "You really must stop apologizing. And I, as you know from my driver's license, am Jack. You can call me Jack...not officer."
'My God, can I ever stop blushing?' she thought, furious at herself. 'Why am I acting like a shy schoolgirl? What is it about him...?'
He had headed to the front of the RV, settling into the driver's seat after removing his gun from the back of his jeans. She stared at the gun with wide eyes. She hadn't truly believed him when he'd told her he was armed. He put the gun in the glove compartment, then glanced back at her.
