Page 63 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

Angie

Thetruckdoorclickingshut startled me awake. My flailing arms knocked against Remi’s empty bottle of Dr. Pepper Cream Soda. He’d parked his far-too-clean truck to a stop in a small dirt patch at the mouth of what looked like an overgrown trail. Between working four nights in a row, squeezing in a last-minute movie night with Dan, and finally getting the last of the crops planted this morning, I hadn’t had much time for sleep this past week. Mama and Papa still hadn’t warmed up to Dan. Not in the same way they had to Remi.

This morning, Remi had loaded two dirt bikes—where he’d gotten them, I didn’t know—tossed some gear in his backseat and told me it was now or never.

Of course, any time I came to a seated position, and I wasn’t driving, I passed out. No matter how much I slept, my sleep piggy bank never filled up. I would be in a perpetual deficit. My jaw cracked as I yawned and climbed to the ground, shutting my door behind me.

Damp mountain air rushed into my lungs, soothing me the instant I breathed in. How long had it been since I’d taken the time to go to the mountains? Not since Papa got sick the first time. We used to come up here in our old Cummins with a mattress in the bed and two sleeping bags. Not bothering to set up a tent, we’d sleep under the stars. I remembered my eyes drifting closed as Papa pointed out all the constellations.

Usually, we’d only get a couple of overnighters since the farm never quit demanding his attention. I understood if he neglected the crops we wouldn’t get any money, but as a little girl wanting nothing more than more time with her Papa, I may have been a tiny bit jealous too.

I arched my back and stretched my legs. Green grass speckled with bright yellow, white, and sparse red wildflowers carpeted the rolling mountains. End of June temperatures had climbed into the nineties the past week, but at this elevation, the air was always cooler. I needed this. A break from farming, my day job, and my parents pretend happiness, as they were never able to rid themselves of the underlying grief. The pressure built inside me like a teapot ready to release steam. Only I never allowed myself to unload the pent-up pressure.

I walked to Remi, careful not to step on any wildflowers with my boots. He opened the tailgate and pulled the ramp to the edge of the bed. His pecs and biceps flexed against his shirt as he pushed the ramp into place behind the blue bike’s tire.

I’d noticed his muscles were growing more defined with the amount of work I’d laid on top of him. Over the past month his citified look had all but disappeared, with his Wranglers now spotted with stains, white shirts no longer crisp, and his gloves needing replaced. The days he worked with his shirt off challenged my ability to focus. He never detected how I ogled him from my tractor or paused in the Dodge while driving along irrigation lines. Maybe, on occasion, I checked him out more than I checked on the crops.

One of the greatest tragedies of life was the waste of a good body on a man who didn’t know how to treat women. It’d be like Excalibur falling into the wrong hands in medieval times. They wielded their weapon without care of the broken hearts and embittered women they left in their path, wreaking havoc and devastation wherever they passed. If only Merlin could save me now.

My heart was safe. Even if I admired Remi’s body, and maybe his determination and work ethic, the kindness he showed my parents … I still would never fall prey to him.

Today, he matched the part of a bicycle racer, but with motorcycles—whatever they were called. Long sleeves protected his arms, the neon green and blue accented his matching gray and black clothes. A big FOX was tagged his chest along with the shape of a fox’s head. I tilted my head to read the block lettering on his arm … RACECO?

He’d been more prepared for this outing than I imagined. When was Remi not prepared? His habit of analyzing and being ready for all possible scenarios irritated me to no end.

“Here.” He handed me an outfit almost identical to his. “I got this gear for you.”

The tags had been removed, yet I was almost certain these items were new. My focus bounced from the clothes to the bikes tied down in his truck. Knobby tires, no mud—blue plastic, no scratches—shiny chrome spokes … I thought when I asked him to teach me how to ride dirt bikes, he would borrow some bikes from the following he’d accrued in town, not buy brand new ones, complete with all the safety equipment.

He might be as wealthy as Elon Musk, but I couldn’t help but inflate a little bit at all he’d done for me.

“Oh, and give me your phone.”

I held up my armload of stuff. “It’s in my front pocket.”

Without hesitating, he reached into my pants pocket and gripped my phone. His eyes flashed to mine, his hand lingering longer than necessary. Goosebumps spread from his point of contact through the thin fabric throughout the rest of my body.

He freed my phone and unlocked it. Maybe I should have set more personal boundaries with him.

“I’m installing the Find My Phone app. In case we get separated.” With one final click, he slipped it back from where he’d retrieved it.

“There’s nowhere to change.” And I wasn’t about to strip in front of him.

He pointed to the scrubby bushes on the edge of a quaky grove. “You can get dressed over there while I unload the truck.” He pushed some boots, other random pads, and what looked like a chest plate into my overloaded arms. “Put these on as well.”

Padded sleeves slipped from the mound of stuff I held. “What, no bubble wrap?”

As I bent to grab the two things I dropped, he tucked them under my chin. “I thought about it.”

A snicker escaped me before I managed to stop it. I didn’t need to encourage him. As my nemesis, he wasn’t allowed to make me laugh. In less than a minute, I traversed the meadow and walked into the protection of the trees.

High-pitched engines revved to life as I removed my clothes, the cold air chasing chills over my skin. Laying my jeans on the ground to keep my socks clean, I tried on everything Remi bought for me.

With all the things he’d been helping me with, it was surprising how much he knew about me. Everything fit perfectly, down to the boot size. I gathered the shoes and clothes, shaking the dirt off my jeans. I walked to Remi, where the two bikes idled, struggling in the stiff white and green plastic boots which climbed to my upper calf.

What other details about me had he’d filed away in his mind?

His gaze roamed from the top of my head to my feet, a smile softening his face. With all the padding in place, I felt like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, my arms not even able to touch my sides, dropping me to the bottom rung of the attractiveness totem pole, which I didn’t mind. It’d be even better if I had a big pimple on my nose. The less appealing I was to Remi, the safer I’d be.

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