"Nebraska," the man replied.
"Nebraska!" Sierra tossed her head around, taking in the grassland. Sage brush, scraggly, old elm trees, brown grass. Yup, this was Nebraska. Had her trip to Maine been a dream? No, the man standing in front of her held the despicable cat, the same one that had been in Maine. "Wow." She flattened three fingers over her mouth. Her vacation was already over and she didn't remember the flight home. Had she taken Dramamine?
She held up one of the fingers, indicating he should stop talking and give her time to think. Who was he? Head to toe in western attire, boots, tight-legged jeans, a button-up, sun-faded shirt that had a wide flap across the chest, a Stetson. He dressed like a true Nebraskan, but the holster and gun belted around his hips took the image a little too far.
She frowned. Did she know him? Tall, broad, and good looking in a rough and tumble sort of way. His face had a wrinkle or two, especially around the eyes. Squinting at the sun too much; should learn to wear a good pair of sunglasses.
"Ma'am?" That deep, husky, voice repeated.
"I'm sorry. I guess, I'm lost," she admitted, while silently noting his voice was too sexy to be healthy.
"Where do you live?" he asked.
She tilted her head, listening. The tone was deep and gravely, like he didn't use it very often. Taking a deep breath, she realized he waited for her answer. "Omaha," she said with a nod.
"Oh, well that's just a few miles from here."
"It is?" She looked around again. They were in the middle of nowhere- literally.
"Yup," he nodded.