Grace pulls open the door forcefully, walking inside like she owns the place.

What a queen, I think.

I can't help but always admire the tiny, short women who act so incredibly tough.

"Jason!" She yells louder than what is probably necessary, and I hear a loud crash, and multiple curses come from a room in the back.

I take a moment to look around the convenience store; it's small, but it has a variety of tightly-packed things ranging from coffee mugs and chocolate to deer calls and pocket knives. There are about four aisles, and there's one restroom in the back. The walls are log cabin styled, while the floor is just a dirty cement. There's a hallway to the left, which is where the crashing noise came from.

Then, a man who looks to be in his late twenties to early thirties smoothly walks out from the hallway back to the counter where the register is. He's a couple of inches taller than me with an athletic build. He has brown hair, which is almost shoulder length and a clean-cut face.

His face is...not bad at all, really. And, his light blue eyes somehow appear dark as he looks at me for a moment.

Then, he looks at Grace, "Jason will be out in a moment. He needs a bit of time to recover from his unfortunate little fall."

"Of course he does," she says to him, then adding, "Who the heck are you?"

Oh, I thought she knew him.

The man smoothly leans against the counter in front of him.

"Who's asking?" His voice is rough, and he speaks in a low tone, so it's almost hard to understand him.

I raise an eyebrow and almost laugh when Grace glares at him coldly.

"Grace Cameron. Now answer my question."

I'm actually a bit surprised when he does. If I were in his place, I wouldn't answer.

But maybe that's just me and my rude self.

"I'm Roan, Dean's brother."

Dean. I've always hated that name.

"And, why are you here at the counter instead of Dean?" Grace questions.

"I came to visit him, and when Jason told him to go run an errand, the short annoyed man also ordered me to take his place until he got back."

"And you listened to that lowlife?"

He chuckles, "There's really nothing better to do here in this pathetic little town."

I smile before realizing I'll be living in a small town for who knows how long.

Then, the smile instantly falls off my face.

I've been solely concentrated on getting there; what am I going to do once I finally arrive? Besides finding out what happened to my uncle, of course.

I guess I just never thought I'd make it this far.

Roan then turns his head to the right to make eye contact with me again. "And who are you?"

Not really thinking, I say the first thing that comes to my head this time.

"Jane Smith."

I hear Grace snort as I keep my eyes on Roan's.

Well, thanks for making it obvious, Grace.

Roan succeeds at what Grace never can and lifts a dark brow. "Well, you certainly look like one."

I laugh, turning smoothly on my heel and walking towards the foreign hallway in the back, "Bye."

I hear footsteps behind me and realize Grace is deciding to follow.

The hallway is well lit and leads to one giant storage room in the back.

The rows and rows of shelves are lined with cans and boxes, but my attention soon shifts to a surprised sound to my right.

I look and see a man who is probably in his early fifties. A wrinkled face, receding hairline, salt and pepper hair, oval-shaped face, full bottom lip but no upper lip, tanned skin, scared eyes.

Grace steps in front of me, "Jason."

"Grace!"

He tries to stand up suddenly but immediately winces in immense pain and falls back to the wooden stool he was sitting on.

My eyebrows furrow as I look at his right ankle, seeing it's very swollen and very discolored.

"That doesn't look too good," I state the obvious.

Grace stares at his ankle for a long moment. "You can't drive her, can you?" She asks Jason.

He fidgets in his seat, nervously laughing. "Well...I mean, you're the one who startled me, causing me to fall." He then defensively says to her, "I could sue you."

For a moment, his eyes shift to something behind me, but I don't bother turning around to see what it is.

Instead, I say, "You literally just have a sprained ankle, Jason. Plus, she didn't know you were up high when she yelled for you. Meaning, she didn't put you in danger; you did."

He only glares at me in silence.

"Anyway," I continue on, "Do you happen to know anyone else who would be so kind as to give me a ride?"

He glances back behind me again, and I hear that rough, not-as-low-as-I-thought voice come out of nowhere.

"Where are you headed?"

I sigh, not really trusting to tell Roan. Glancing at Grace, I see her very obviously shake her head to indicate a 'no.'

Seeing that, he scoffs, "Well, I can't drive you somewhere if I don't know where I'm going, now, can I?"

I spin around on my heel swiftly, raising an eyebrow. "And why would you give me, a total stranger, a ride? Better question: why would I trust you, a total stranger?"

"You're a hitchhiker, are you not?"

"I-"

"Therefore, are you not used to trusting strangers?"

"I've only trusted Grace; Plus, we both know that the statistics against men are more condemning than the statistics against women."

"Well," he pulls out his wallet, flipping it open, "does this influence your trust in me at all?"

Immediately, I read the bold, capitalized words above Roan Wilson: 'BOUNTY HUNTER'.

Why yes...that makes me distrust you more, actually.

I fail to look impressed as I stare at the letters. "Nope," I lie.

Roan puts his wallet away, saying, "I'm on my way to a place called Chickaloon. If your route follows the road to there, you can come along if you'd like."

I blink at him.

What are the chances he's also going to Chickaloon?

Immediately Grace speaks up, "That's actually where she's going, too."

I glare at her.

What is she thinking?

She probably isn't, actually.

It's incredibly risky; he's literally a bounty hunter. This also could be a trap. What if he's heard of me and is planning on bringing me in? Is there a reward on my head? What if he's figured out my uncle was last in Chickaloon? What if he was sent by him and has been tracking me continuously?

I sigh, shaking my head. I ask Roan, "Where are you from?"

"Butte, Montana."

Oh, Montana, my least favorite state.

"Why are you going to Chickaloon?"

He counters instantly, "Why are you?"

Fair enough.

"Do you have any pets?"

Everyone in the room looks at me as if I'm crazy. I agree.

"I have one dog, but what does that have to do with anything?"

Ignoring his question, I ask, "Do you have your dog with you?"

"Uh...yeah, he's out back."

"Can I meet him?"

"He doesn't really trust strangers, he's only nice to me."

"Studies show dogs often mirror their owner's personality traits."

"Well, in that case, he won't hurt anyone unless he has to."

"It's over a 7-hour drive to Chickaloon. And I thought you came to visit your brother?"

Roan shoves his hands in his pockets. "I came to go to Chickaloon, my brother was only just a stop along the way. I'm leaving my dog with him while I'm gone. Besides, I'm sure Dean won't mind me helping out a pretty girl in need."

"You're kind of making yourself seem kind of creepy and untrustworthy, you know."

"Fine, don't accept my offer to help."

"Okay, bye."

I start walking towards the hallway, meaning I have to walk by him.

When I brush past him, I see him roll his eyes.

And then Jason speaks up from the room behind me. "Wait! I'll come with for the ride if you go!"

What? Why?

I turn around, and then I see Grace, who's rolling her eyes.

Oh. He's doing it for her, isn't he?

She sighs, "Jason, no. You're hurt."

"And why would you care?" He shoots back, but I hear a sliver of hope in his voice.

"I don't care; I was just stating the obvious."

"Hmph."

I turn back around and walk out to the restroom, leaving my bag out by the door. When I come back out, I pick it back up and walk down the hallway once again, hoping he's still there.

And, he is.

I sigh, looking at Roan, who remains leaning against the doorframe, watching the other two bicker back and forth.

"When do you plan on leaving for Chickaloon?" I inquire.

He snaps his head to the side, making eye contact instantly.

"I can leave whenever...why?"

By this time, Grace and Jason have stopped their arguing and are listening intently to our conversation.

"Because I'm deciding to be an idiot and trust you."

He smirks a little, which immediately makes me start to regret my decision.

Why am I doing this again?

He pushes off the doorframe and walks past me without another word.

Without looking back to see where Roan went, I walk quickly to Grace, hugging her. She seems surprised but hugs me back, regardless.

"Thank you so much," I say, pulling back away from her. "Are you sure you won't accept anything?"

She smiles, almost sadly. "Yeah. Just stay careful, okay? And, find a way to contact me to let me know you've made it to where you want to be."

She turns to Jason, who's staring fondly at her. When he sees her glare, he quickly looks to me, handing me a folded piece of paper. I unfold it, seeing three phone numbers.

"Grace's phone number, my phone number, and the phone number for this place."

Immediately I'm overwhelmed by feelings of confused gratitude.

I'm practically a complete stranger to them, yet they continue to help me.

I decide not to voice my confusion, though. That's not important at the moment.

"Jane!" I hear Roan shout, "If you want the ride, hurry up!"

"Okay!" I shout back.

Then, to the two in front of me, "Thank you. I'll try my best to contact you when I can."

"Oh! Before you leave," Grace adds, "When you get into Alaska, make sure you buy another knife, since you had to throw out your other one."

"Got it, thank you."

They both nod, and I smile tightly before turning around and walking back through the hallway, out to the store area.

Roan's waiting for me by the counter, staring at the wall, looking bored.

When he sees me, he walks to the front door and pushes it open without saying anything. I follow him quickly, stepping out into the cold, November air once again.

You have to trust people to survive, but you can't trust everyone. Let's just hope I can trust him.

Roan pulls out keys from the pocket of his jeans as he walks to a black truck, a Chevy, and unlocks it, getting behind the wheel.

I open up the passenger door, making sure there's a handle on the inside before getting in.

I throw my bag onto the backseat before I close the door behind me.

When I do, he says, "2010 Chevrolet Silverado. 140,000 miles."

I nod like that means something to me, personally. "To me, it's just a black truck, but that's nice."

He shakes his head.

"Typical girl," he mutters under his breath, so I barely hear it.

Instantly a particular race car driver pops up into my head.

"How so?" I ask, wanting to hear his explanation.

He gets the truck going and pulls out of the parking lot, "Girls just don't care about cars. I'm not being sexist; I'm just stating the facts."

I laugh as I look out at the road ahead of us, making sure we're going the right way. We are, thankfully. "Danica Patrick is a guy, then?"

"Okay, fine. But, I bet she's the only name that comes to your mind when you associate women with cars."

Considering I once wrote a report on this exact topic...it's not. "Sara Christian, the first woman driver in NASCAR history."

"Okay, two. Your point?"

"Janet Guthrie, the first woman to qualify and compete in the Indianapolis 500 and the Daytona 500. Used to be an aerospace engineer."

"Fine, three. Big deal."

"Pat Moss, who was one of the most successful female auto rally drivers of all time."

"Four exceptions."

"Milka Duno, Susie Wolff, Sarah Fisher, the list goes on..."

He's silent, but I don't bother to glance at him to see his expression. I don't really care. And, I would look out the window to my right, but I don't particularly trust him to take my eyes away from him. Even if he's just in my peripheral vision, at least I can still see him.

"So, 7 hours with a raging feminist. Dang."

Ignoring his comment, I ask, "Do you have an aux cord?"

He scoffs, "Why don't you just say auxiliary?"

I shrug, "It's easier."

He sighs, "In the glove compartment in front of you."

I open it up, coming across a black aux cord and several receipts. I see that one of them is for Wendy's.

Well, at least he knows which fast food place is superior.

Closing the compartment, I plug the aux cord into my phone and the truck, turning it on.

"Let me guess...you're going to play some Taylor Swift song or something."

That was what I had in mind, yes.

"I think you'll enjoy this song," I simply say as I play 'The Man'.

I personally prefer Cruel Summer, but this seems like a song he should hear.

As the song plays and Roan hears the lyrics, he groans.

"This is going to be such a long ride. Why did I even offer to drive you?"

"No clue."