Page 8 of Wrecked for Love
She was lucky she wasn’t pulling this stunt up north. Up there, she’d run into men who’d make her wish she’d never seen daylight again.
I pulled open the creaky garage door and flicked on the light. The gas can sat where I left it, full and ready. At least I could fill her tank and get her the hell out of here. Koda stood beside me, tail wagging, his head cocked like he couldn’t figure out what was going on either.
“You’re really killing it on guard duty, buddy,” I told the collie. He looked up at me, clueless as ever. I guess it had been a while since we’d seen a woman around here. Not since…Tessa.
“Dammit!”
This wasn’t the time to go down that road. I grabbed the gas can, hoping this would be the last time I ever saw Miss Attitude again.
When I got back, she looked more ready to take me down than any sheriff I’d ever seen—like she’d been waiting for a moment like this her whole life.
“Listen, Miss Chili Pepper,” I said, pulling the nickname out of thin air and nodding toward her gun.
“Excuse me?” Her voice was like a shot fired. “You think I’m some kind of spice? Think again. I’ll serve up a bullet with that heat if I have to.”
This woman…holy smokes, she was something else. I almost laughed. Almost. But the look on her face told me this wasn’t the time to push her buttons any more than I already had.
“You’re not going to shoot me,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “So, how about you holster that thing, and we move on?”
To my surprise, she actually did, tucking her gun away like she was doing me a favor. She took the gas can from me without another word and started filling up the tank.
“No need to siphon,” I said, trying for a joke. She didn’t laugh. Fine. Tough crowd.
I spotted my jacket, no longer strewn on the ground but draped over the hood of her car. Clearly, she’d been poking around.
“Find what you’re looking for?” My tone edged with sarcasm as I slipped it back on.
She didn’t bother answering. She was more interested in filling up her tank.
The rifle was missing, though. I kept quiet, waiting.
When the tank was full, she handed the gas can back and clipped a brusque, “Thanks.”
“Rifle,” I demanded just as sharply.
Lips drawn in a tight line, she bent down by the front tire and passed it over in silence. Her gaze flicked to me, barely registering, before landing on Koda. She gave the mutt a quickpat. Koda soaked it up, wagging his tail. It was the first time my dog seemed to forget where his loyalties lay.
Heading back toward the house, I whistled for him to follow. But I barely made it two feet when I heard it—the silence. She’d tried the ignition, but the car didn’t even cough. Not a sound. Just dead air.
“Shit!” Her frustrated yell was swallowed by the rising wind, but I didn’t need to see her to know she probably slapped the steering wheel in frustration.
I turned back and watched her as the storm began to build.
The wind lashed harder now, howling through the fields and sending the long grass into wild waves. Still, she climbed out, undeterred, and popped the hood. Stubborn. I admired that.
“You’re not fixing it tonight,” I called out, raising my voice as the wind fought to drown me out. “I’ll help you tomorrow. But right now, you need shelter.”
She glanced around, finally noticing how fast the gusts were growing, the weather shifting in seconds.
“I’ll just stay here, then,” she insisted, preparing to slip into the backseat. “And I trust you won’t use that rifle on me while I’m asleep?”
I shook my head, a chuckle escaping despite the tension. “And I thought I was the most paranoid person around here.”
Her brows furrowed. “You’re in danger?”
I held her gaze, dead serious. “I am. You’re my danger.”
She snapped back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
