Free Obsidian by Teagan Oliver Page A

truck, settling it behind the cab.
    Shelby followed along behind him, silently cursing herself. It was just an offer of help, nothing more. She reached for the door handle, but Jamie's hand had already closed over the latch. He pulled open the truck's door for her, ushering her in and closing it behind her. All of this courtesy could go to her head.
    Jamie crossed around to his side of the truck and got in, slamming the door behind him. The truck was old, but it looked reliable. The cab was filled with a collection of papers, trap heads and rubber gloves.
    “Sorry about the mess. I don’t get much time to clean up the old truck.”
    He rolled down the window and settled his arm on the door as though it was the most common thing in the world.
    “Don’t worry. I’ll survive. Besides it isn’t every day I get to have a pretty lady chauffeur me around.”
    Heat braced her cheeks as he flashed a heart-stopping grin her way. It may have been a long time since he’d had a chauffeur, but it was even longer since she’d gotten a compliment.
    The trip was made in relative silence. The only sound was the static conversation of the fishermen on the dash-mounted radio. The dirt road to the point was a maze of ruts, covered at times by the canopy of trees that clustered next to the road. Shelby maneuvered the truck around the majority of the holes that were big enough to engulf the truck.
    “Your friend lives out here alone? It’s rather remote, isn’t it?” He braced himself for another bump.
    “She likes it that way. I should warn you before we get there that Marianne is a rather unique lady. She’s an artist.”
    She navigated the truck around another pothole. “She’s quite successful, but you’d never know it to talk to her. She prefers to live out here alone rather than be around a lot of people.”
    She pulled the truck into a driveway hidden among a bank of beach roses.
    “Have you known her a long time?”
    “Since I was a little girl. After my mom died I’d get lonely and she’d let me come and watch her paint.”
    Shelby stopped the truck at the gate and Jamie jumped out to swing it open before climbing back into the truck.
    The gravel road gave way to a paved driveway that twisted around until the house came into view.
    Late summer flowers bloomed among the masses of white, purple and pink hydrangea bushes lining the driveway. A green lawn dotted with bright blossoms swept downward toward a weathered gray cape that was perched on the ledges overlooking the water.
    “Here we are,” she said as she pulled the truck up next to an aging Volvo and cut the ignition.
     
    Jamie jumped out and pulled the box out of the back of the truck, following along behind her as she walked toward the house.
    Over the top of the box, he watched the sway of Shelby’s hips as her booted feet scuffed along the walkway. She was wearing those faded jeans again, the ones that hugged to her long, slim legs. She was wearing a pink polo shirt with the word Chandler stitched in blue on it and the fabric rode up a little as she walked.
    She had a very nice walk. Shelby Teague was a woman who walked with confidence, easily eating up the distance to the house and giving him a great chance to observe her. It wasn’t a wiggle, more of an educated sway. There was nothing girlish about her. There were no fancy clothes, no designer shoes, and yet, he couldn’t help noticing that she was a very beautiful woman.
    Which was exactly the reason why he was having a hard time remembering that Shelby was off limits to him. She wasn’t his type. He’d carefully cultivated a preference for women who loved to have a good time, but had no illusions when it came to commitment.
    No, Shelby Teague was a staying kind of woman. She had proven herself a remarkable , self-confident and determined woman who could handle anything and do it well.
    But damn, she really was beautiful. Too bad she wasn’t his type.
    Shelby knocked on the door.
    “I’m working.