Page 2 of Cold Foot Cash

“I carry bear spray,” she told him, and yanked it out of the passenger seat to show him.

“Okay, well that’s over the top.”

“Says a man!”

He frowned, looking utterly baffled and oh Mylanta how was he even hotter when he frowned? “Yes,” he drawled. “I am a man.”

“Well, you are safe in the world and can walk around all safe and free to not carry bear spray, but I am a woman and—”

“Most women I know carry pepper spray. Or carry a pocket knife? Wield a Taser? The can of bear spray is pretty bulky. What, do you carry it in a backpack? In a shopping cart? I’m trying to imagine you just walking down the street at night swinging that thing.”

All right, he was rude and judgmental. “If I roll down my window, you have to promise not to hurt me.”

The man opened her unlocked door, and she yelped, but all he did was lean on the frame all smooth and masculine and yep, she’d been right—he wore cologne. “You’re the one hunting me,” he pointed out.

“You’re dating my sister.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s a weird statement on its own, but when you pair it with aiming the bear spray at me, I’m having a hard time finding my footing.”

“Carolina Monroe. You’re talking to her, and I demand to know if it is actuallyyoutalking to her, and also, if it is you, why the hell can’t you respect her enough to plan a meet-up, or visither, or do a damn video chat to prove you are who you say you are. Do you have a girlfriend? Are you married? Are you freaking cheating on her?” she demanded, wrenching up her voice an octave.

He had both of his arms up, one resting on the top of her door, and the other against her car, and how did this make his biceps look even more demigod-like. God, her sister had atrocious taste in men. Carolina loved perfect, model-like Ken dolls that were all jock, and no personality.

“I’m having trouble understanding the words that are coming out of your mouth,” he admitted.

She snorted. “Typical.”

“Typical what?”

“You are my sister’s exact type—brainless meathead, but you look like a pretty package.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” he asked.

“Hey, you know I’m still on the phone right?” Carolina asked over the speaker.

Shit.

Harley sat up straighter and hugged her bear spray to her chest like a shield. “Do you recognize his voice, Carolina?”

“Um, hi Cash.”

The guy’s eyebrows shot up and he shook his head in surprise. “You know my name.”

“And I know you’re favorite food is pizza, you love your little sister dearly, you are a momma’s boy, and you prefer baking over grilling. You like late night talks, and eat ice cream sandwiches when you are missing me.”

His mouth had fallen open somewhere in the middle of that. He leaned over in this obnoxious hot-guy move and scratched the back of his thumb against his three-day scruff. God his eyes were pretty in the sunlight. They looked gold.

“My favorite food is spaghetti and meatballs, I don’t have a sister, I haven’t seen my mom since before I went to prison, I can make a mean steak but couldn’t bake a desert if someone held a gun to my head, I am in the woods most nights and leave my phone at home, so no talking there, and ice cream sandwiches are delicious, but I haven’t had one in years. I don’t know you from Adam, lady.”

“Wha…what do you…How?”

“You say you’ve been talking to me? Where? I live up in the mountains with a bunch of recluses and my social media pages have like three posts from a half dozen years ago. I’ve been thinking about getting on a dating app or applying for one of those mail-order brides when I get drunk enough to consider it, but dating sounds hard and I’m pretty sure I would be shitty at it, pardon my language. Where do you think you know me from?”

“Ponder?”

“What’s Ponder?” he asked, leaning closer to Harley, eyes on the screen that was lit up in her car that read Carolina’s name.

“A dating app. Come on. Stop messing around, Cash. It’s not funny.”

---