Page 40 of Deadly Ruse

Tonight, I want her to open up to me.

“I was born and raised in Blackburn. I was a waitress at the lovely Wallflower Diner.” She pauses, her attention drifting out the window. There’s a moment of hesitation, as if she’s carefully choosing her words. She continues without meeting my eyes. “My dream was always to leave town and go to college, so I saved until I could make that happen.” She lets out a sigh and twists in her seat toward me. “And then everything changed.”

She’s holding back. There’s more, something she’s not telling me. But I don’t want her to focus on the night everything changed, so I ask, “What colleges are you considering?”

Her lips curve up, and I can tell she’s excited. “The University of Texas.” She beams.

“Good thing you’ll look cute in burnt orange,” I tease, throwing up the Hook ’em Horns hand signal. “I wore it non-stop for four years.”

“Did you go there?”

I confirm with a nod. “Yep.”

She dives headfirst into a barrage of questions about my time there. As I’m telling her about my fraternity days, I sense a shift in her energy. Her body tenses. We’re almost to Austin, and as expected, there is heavier traffic. I glance over, and she’s sitting on her hands, biting her bottom lip.

“You okay over there?” I ask, curious about the sudden mood swing.

“It’s like everyone goes out driving at exactly the same time,” she exclaims. City driving can be a nightmare, even for seasoned drivers. “And you drive with such ease, I’m jealous. When I’m behind the wheel, I’m gripping it for dear life, my foot hovering over the brake, swearing up a storm that everyone is out to get me.” I chuckle, picturing her. “They are!”

I guess she didn’t come to the city very often. “You get used to it,” I assure her as Luke Combs’s “Fast Car” plays in the background.

She tries to relax and taps her thumb against her bare thigh to the beat, and I find myself distracted by the sight of her long, tan legs. For someone so short, she’s all legs. I force my eyes back to the road.

“I hope so. So, are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Not big on surprises, are you?”

Brake lights flash in front of us, and she slams her foot against the floorboard. I press my lips together to hold back my chuckle, easing the Jeep to a gentle stop. She exhales sharply, as though we narrowly avoided an accident. It wasn’t even close. “Do I need to install a brake pedal over there for you?”

“Only if you’re aiming for a case of whiplash,” she jokes and cranes her neck to look at the small fender bender wreck that was causing the slowdown. “Do you report that?”

The people gather behind their cars, exchanging information. “Looks like they have it under control. They’ll call it in if they need to.” As traffic clears and I hit the gas, her shoulders relax.

We drive by a billboard advertisement for a restaurant on Lake Travis, and she asks, “Are we going to the lake?” Her question hangs in the air, and I respond with a grin. She lets out a playful huff that I won’t tell her. She’ll figure it out soon enough.

Not long after, off to the left, through the tall trees, glimpses of the lake come into view but are then hidden again as the road snakes along hilly terrain. There’s a comfortable lull in the Jeep as music continues to play in the background.

As we reach the marina, her voice lifts an octave when she asks, “You have a boat?”

I park and turn off the engine. “I wish. It’s a buddy of mine’s. He lets me use it, and I let him hunt at the ranch in the winter.”

Her head whips around, and her bottom lip sticks out as she pushes my bicep. “He better not kill Riggs’s girlfriend.”

I turn in my seat. How should I say this without offending her? Women seem to have bleeding hearts when it comes to hunting. “But that boy is a player. He has a lot of girlfriends. He can’t have them all.”

She drops her head with a silent laugh, and I’m relieved to see it. “I can totally see him as the Casanova of dogs.”

“Ha! He likes to think so.”

Together, we unload the Jeep and make our way down the dock to the boat. Despite the sun hanging low in the sky, it’s still blazing hot, so as soon as we’re on the boat, I yank my shirt over my head, toss it aside, slide my hat on backward, and fire up the boat. I catch a quiet hum of approval from her direction and can’t help but smirk.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she offers, watching me untie the line and bringing it into the boat.

“Nope. Sit back and relax that foot,” I jest, flicking water on her as I pass.

“There’s no need for war,” she replies with a light laugh, setting her bag on the back bench.

I open the canopy to give her a bit of shade, but she stops me, wanting some sun. When she takes off her dress, I bite my lip, not able to turn away from her bikini-clad body. The rays of the setting sun dance across her skin, casting a golden hue over her curves.

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