Floyd returned to The Garrett's an hour later, just as promised. She spotted his old pick up and stood, picking up her bag. She moved to the counter, and pulled some coins out of her pocket. She couldn't see Peter or Arthur so she turned to Forrest. "What do I owe?"

He turned to her and for the very first time she felt like she was the one thrown. Like his brother's, Forrest had bottle green eyes but his were rimmed with full dark lashes that would have made him pretty if not for his wide square jaw and the dark stubble covering his cheeks. He was larger than his brother's, not as tall Peter, but broader. She looked down at her hands before taking a small step back.

"Arthur said he took care of it," his voice was deep but gentle, as though he were trying hard not to scare her. She peaked at him from under her lashes but couldn't be sure.

"Cuz he owns the place?" she asked, she surprised herself by wanting to joke with him, to see if his smile also matched his brothers'.

Forrest snorted and turned back to the notebook spread in front of him.

She suddenly felt foolish and laid a few coins on the counter. "Just so," her voice came out hushed and breathy. "Please tell Miss Lilly Floyd was right about her cooking. And thank you." She felt her confidence failing her and slipped out the door quick as a mouse before she said or did anything else embarrassing.

Floyd drove them back down to the train platform at a slow but steady pace. "Was your lunch alright ma'am?" Despite the quiet concern she heard in his voice he kept his eyes firmly glued to the road as he eased the truck around the muddy corners. It made speaking with him easier.

She gave him a tight lipped smile. "It was wonderful. You were right, Miss Lilly is a wonderful cook." And for some reason feeling the need to defend the brother's who had been kind to her. "And the boys were very generous and kind." She added staring deliberately out the window.

She didn't need to look to feel his shock. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

There was no one at the platform when they returned. She hopped down from the truck, her heels slipping in the mud. Thunder rumbled overhead and the clouds were low and angry. She climbed back up on the platform and looked down the tracks but there was nothing to see. Floyd shuffled back to his booth.

The first drops began to fall and Miss Rose snapped open her umbrella, praying the train came before the rain.

Seeing their return, a whip of a boy raced across the main street from the post office, a piece of folded paper in his hand. He was out of breath as he slid through the mud to come to a stop in front of Floyd's booth. He handed the paper through the window and as the rain fell in earnest the boy raced back to the post office.

The rain came down in sheets, and the deep humidity of summer was suddenly even more oppressive. Miss Rose struggled to keep herself and her bag dry.

"Ma'am!" Floyd was calling to her through the rain. She shuffled across the platform, worried she would slip and fall on the slick wood. "We got word, the train ain't going to make it today. There's a storm or some such out west holding it up."

Miss Rose found she was nodding while her mind whirled. She needed to get out of this town. "Is there a bus? Or someone who can give me a ride? Maybe to another train station?" she had to raise her voice to be heard above the driving rain as it pounded on the tin roof of the small booth. "I can pay." She sounded desperate even to her own ears.

Floyd looked apologetic. "With these storms, there's no way anyone is getting out of this hollow. The roads won't be passable."

Miss Rose bit her lip and looked around. The rain was pounding the ground so hard it was bouncing back up and soaking her legs and the bottom of her dress. She hugged her bag tighter to her body, trying to keep it dry.

Floyd leaned forward so she could hear him over the rain. "There's a boarding house if you want," he said motioning towards town.

Miss Rose sighed, "that would be wonderful."

Floyd looked down at the papers in his hands. "I can't leave, but I could give you a ride after my shift."

Miss Rose ground her teeth, but forced a demure smile. If there was not going to be any trains there was no reason for the station master to sit here. The wind began to pick up, pulling ruthlessly at her umbrella and with it Miss Rose could feel the temperature begin to drop. "I think I will head there now, could you point me in the right direction?"

Floyd explained how to get to the boarding house and Miss Rose set off down the road. By the time she reached the main road she could hardly walk. The thick red clay clung to itself, building layer upon layer on the bottoms of her heels. She slid when she stepped down and tripped as she tried to step over the ruts. The thin fabric of her dress was soaked completely through and clung to her body in uncomfortable ways. The worn wooden handle of the carpet bag became saturated and rubbed her hand raw.

A horn beeped behind her. She ran through a string of curses in her head as she struggled through the mud to get further off the road and out of the way. She tripped over a deep rut, the heavy bag slammed into her shins and she nearly fell. She let go of her umbrella and the wind carried it away before she could snatch it back.

A worn truck rolled carefully to a stop near her as the driver tried to avoid the worst of the puddles. "Miss Rose!" the driver called. "Miss Rose!" it took a second try before his voice could be heard over the rising storm.

Miss Rose turned, slipping once more and saw Arthur and Peter. The bed of the truck was filled with wood crates. Miss Rose didn't need to guess to know what they were transporting.

Arthur opened the passenger door and slid across the seat into the middle. Without allowing herself to think too much, Miss Rose tossed her bag on the floorboards of the truck and struggle to pull herself in out of the mud. Arthur reached out and took her arm to help her. She fought back the urge to flinch away from the man's touch.

Once she was settled on the seat, Arthur reached around her and pulled the door closed. "What in god's name are you doin' out in this weather?"

Ignoring his brother's brazen question, Peter reached around Arthur and offered her a handkerchief. Miss Rose smiled shyly at him and gratefully used it to wipe the water from her face. She was certain her makeup and hair were ruined.

"I'm afraid my train was delayed." She tentatively touched her hair and cringed. There would be no fixing it without a mirror.

Arthur snorted, "that train is never reliable. Hardly ever shows up on time, if at all."

"Well that seems to be the case," she couldn't believe no one had mentioned this to her before her arrival. The ticket master in Chicago had assured her she would be in Florida by the end of the week despite choosing out of the way stops to avoid crowds. She was beginning to believe she would have been better off with the strangers and the crowds. Too many people in this town already knew her.

"Where were you headed? You weren't goin to try to walk back up to the store were you?" Now that she was in the truck, Miss Rose was able to see that was exactly the direction she had been headed, though there was no way she would have made it on foot in this weather.

"No, I was trying to get to the boarding house but it appears I missed the turn," she said, quietly embarrassed.

Arthur laughed good-naturedly. "Must be you just missed us. You went completely the wrong way."

Peter leaned around his brother. "You still want to go to the boarding house?"

Miss Rose nodded and began to shiver. The temperature had dropped significantly and despite having long sleeves on her dress the wet fabric did nothing to ward off the chill. She had a sweater in her bag, but she didn't want to open it for fear of the boys seeing what she had inside. She folded her arms across her chest for modesty sake.

Arthur reached behind the seat and pulled out a worn flannel jacket. He set it around her shoulders, and she was so grateful she didn't have time to think or react to his proximity. "It ain't the cleanest thing," he said apologetically, "but it's warm and it'll do in a pinch."

Peter had to drive up the road a ways before he was able to find a spot to safely turn around and head back into town.

Miss Rose leaned back against the seat and let herself relax for what felt like the first time in years. She allowed herself to be lulled by Arthur's cheerful chatter. She warmed up fast with the warmth from the engine and the three of them squished in the small cab. She snuggled down into the oversized jacket and let herself be comforted. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, the jacket smelled of pipe tobacco, burnt sugar and wood smoke.

The windows of the truck began to fog up, and Arthur swiped at the glass so Peter could see well enough to continue driving. Even with the windows clean it was amazing he was able to keep the truck on the road. Water ran in rivers down the wheel tracks into town. The main street was completely flooded. Luckily it appeared they were the only ones attempting to brave the storm so Peter didn't have to worry about other cars.

It took them nearly twenty minutes to creep through town. The street was running like a river when he pulled over in front of a large white washed house. Miss Rose leaned forward to peer through the rain. There was a small sign at the head of a short, flower lined walk but she couldn't make it out.

Peter hopped out, was around the truck and opening her door before she realized what was happening. He grabbed her bag and offered her a hand down. She hesitated before taking his hand and allowing him to help her down. She tried to reach for her bag but Peter hustled her up the main walk and into the boarding house and there was little she could do but follow.

He opened the door and ushered her inside ahead of him. The lobby was brightly lit by two gas lamps and at the sound of the bell above the door a smiling, matronly woman in a clean yellow house dress stepped out from a door behind the desk.

Her smile faltered at the sight of Peter Garrett standing in her lobby. She pressed her lips together and leaned back in the door. "Harry, we have guests."

A thin, elderly man hobbled out through the door, leaning heavily on a cane. He looked confused at the woman until his eyes drifted over Miss Rose and landed on Peter. He puffed himself up and fought to stand up straight, pushing hard off his cane. "What can we do for you, Mr. Garrett?" he asked, his voice polite but suspicious.

Peter offered what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. "I'm just dropping Miss Rose off. My brother and I rescued her. She was trying to walk here from the train station in this storm. Seems her train has been delayed."

Harry froze, his body suspended as fear clouded his eyes. "You and your brother?" he asked as casually as he could muster. His eyes drifted over the jacket Miss Rose wore. He looked beyond Peter and Miss Rose and satisfied himself that it was only the two of them in the lobby.

Peter nodded, flashing the old man the same crooked smile Arthur used. "Arthur's waiting out in the truck."

Harry sighed and tension left him. He gave Peter a grim smile and ran his hand over his mouth.

Miss Rose looked back and forth between them, not understanding the nature of the man's or Floyd's persistent fear. Peter was taller than most, but wiry like Arthur. His clothes were neat, his hair brushed flat. He hardly looked intimidating. In fact he looked like a sales man.

Ignoring Harry's discomfort Peter turned to the woman. "Mrs. Hudson ma'am," he greeted respectfully. "Do you have a room available for my new friend?"

Mrs. Hudson glanced up once at Peter before looking down at her ledger. "I have a few rooms available," she allowed cautiously.

"Well, my friend here is traveling alone, on her way to visit her extended family. So, I expect you to find her a nice room in your women's wing," Peter spoke calmly but firmly as though he were accustomed to people doing what he said.

Mrs. Hudson turned to face Miss Rose and warm understanding lit her face. "We have a lovely room my dear that will do you just fine for the night. It'll be two dollars for a private room, one for a shared one."

Before Miss Rose could reach in her pocket, Peter was laying money on the desk. "You take care of my friend, you hear?" He looked square at Harry as he spoke and there was an intensity that hadn't been there before.

Harry swallowed hard, but nodded lifting his chin to meet Peter's gaze.

Mrs. Hudson seemed content to ignore the men and pulled a key out from the desk. "Room eight Miss Rose." She said brightly. "The whole second floor is women only. Room eight it just to the right at the top of the stairs." she said with a smile. "Dinner in the dining room at six if you are inclined."

Miss Rose smiled. "Thank you, Ma'am."

Mrs. Hudson nodded and she and Harry disappeared quickly behind the swinging door.

Peter turned to face Miss Rose. "I'd offer to carry your bag up to your room, but Mrs. Hudson takes her policy of women only on the second floor quite seriously." He said with a gentle smile, the previous intensity she had thought she saw was gone, swallowed up by a friendly smile. He set her carpet bag at her feet and stepped back.

"Here," Miss Rose said, reaching into her pocket. "Let me pay you back for the room."

Peter just shook his head.

Miss Rose swallowed hard and spoke the next words staring at her muddy shoes. "You needn't have scared him."

Peter snorted and Miss Rose peaked up through her lashes to see if he was mad she had questioned him.

"They will take better care of you if they are worried about us coming to see them about it."

Miss Rose didn't know what to say. Judging by everyone's reactions so far she would wager there was truth in that. Miss Rose opened the jacket and started to return it before she noticed her light pink dress was still soaked through. She blushed fiercely and pulled it tight around herself.

Peter shook his head. "You keep it."Miss Rose started to protest but he held up his hand. "Floyd will be able to return it. Tell him it's Arthur's though, be best if he didn't know it belongs to Forrest."

"Oh," Miss Rose stammered. "If it's Forrest's – I'd better..." she looked towards the stairs.

Peter snorted. "Don't worry about it," and he waved her off. "Good luck." And he started towards the door.

"Mr. Garrett - Peter," she called after him. He turned to face her. "Thank you for everything."

He smiled at her, once more showing his dimples and she found herself smiling back. He dipped his chin and disappeared out the door into the storm.

The room was quiet and comfortable. It had a single bed in the middle, with a small night stand and matching dresser. There was not a speck of dust to be found. Mrs. Hudson clearly ran a tight ship. Miss Rose turned both locks and slid the chain home. She hung Forrest's jacket over the back of the chair and stripped off her wet clothes, hanging them over the radiator to dry. She pulled on the warmest clothes she had and moved towards the bed. She had every intention of climbing beneath the covers and sleeping for the rest of the day. She paused at the sight of Forrest's jacket. She took it off the chair, wrapped it around herself once more, and climbed beneath the covers. The warmth from the quilt and the comforting smell from the jacket lulled her to sleep.