Page 9 of Wanted

“Thank you,” I grind out, resolute not to cry. I won’t pity myself. I put myself in this position, and I’m determined to find my way out.

After a quick rest.

The warmth of the animal easily takes the edge off, and within minutes, feeling returns to my fingers and toes. I lean my face against the rough bark of the leafless deciduous tree and close my dry eyes.

Foggy facts dance at the edges of my consciousness. I’m lost. I’m wearing a wedding dress. Dillon and I were on our way to get married because we were going to move.

I startle upright as a prickle of awareness runs up my spine. A scan of my surroundings doesn’t produce a source.

“Get up, buddy.” I nudge the dog, but it remains firmly against my side.

Its head cocks as if to acknowledge my request without actually complying with it.

“You’re going to be stubborn, huh?” I mumble and curl my fingers into its fur. “Any other time, we’d be a perfect pair, but I think right now it’s best if we move.”

It doesn’t.

No amount of nudging gets the dog to its feet.

“Fine. I’ll leave you…”

The rumble of a motor cuts me off. I whip my head in the opposite direction.

“Ashe!” A man’s deep voice carries through the trees.

The dog’s ears twitch beside me.

“Is that your owner?”

I tense and curl tighter into the dog at my side.

The sound grows louder until a four-wheeler appears between two Evergreen trees about fifty feet ahead.

“What. The. Fuck.”

My shoulders curl in tightly at the sound of his cursing, not sure if he’s directing the words at me or the dog or the situation in general. He better not be talking to me or the dog or else I’m grabbing it and making a run for someplace far away from him. The man crawls the machine closer while not taking his eyes off the two of us. If I wasn’t already cold, his stare alone would induce a round of shivers.

The dog doesn’t move from its close position even when the man lifts one leg over the seat and dismounts into the snow.

“Who are you?” His voice thunders through the quiet space between us, fracturing the still air.

The snow crunches beneath his sturdy black boots as his powerful strides bring him close enough to touch me. My mouth falls open as he prowls closer.

The dog finally shows a sign of recognition and wags its tail happily against the ground, sweeping snow and debris out of its path.

But I can’t pay it any attention because I’m struck speechless at the appearance of this man.

He’s annoyingly beautiful in a rugged sort of way. Dark hair peeks out beneath the edge of his black winter hat and contrasts against his pale forehead. His cheeks are red with the cold, at least the parts I can see. Maybe even a little chapped from the wind. The lower half of his face is covered in a neat beard in the same color as the hair on his head except a small gray streak across his lower left cheek.

Silver eyes, finished with a similar scan of my body, flash at me, and I realize he looks really angry.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” I sputter, overwhelmed by him and the questions. I cross my good arm over my chest. “I need to find my way to town if you could help me with that.”

His eyes widen. “Nothing?” He pauses, his chest heaving beneath his coat as he breathes deep and waits for… something.

I grow impatient with his prolonged silence. “Can you point me in the right direction?”

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