Page 4 of Deathmarch
His lips flattened as he steadied her. “You shouldn’t drive in spurs. They make your boot unsafe on the pedals.”
He was worried about how safespurswere? She’d been stuck in a snowbank in the dark in a blizzard. She’d nearly frozen to death. She’d almost gotten run over. She’d been close enough to perishing, in fact, to smell the grim reaper’s Peppermint Patty breath. And Harper was worried about herspurs?
“Dagnabbit.”
“What’s that? You have a dog?” He scowled. “Out in this weather?” He looked behind her. “Where?”
She seriously contemplated tackling him. The added weight of the buffalo coat might be enough to knock him over. Except she might fall too. And what if she couldn’t get back up again?
“No dog!” she shouted.
The wind tore into them. He let her arm go because he had to reach up to hold his hat in place. With his other hand, he picked up her purse. Then he pulled his neck into his turned-up collar and jerked his head toward the pickup. “How about we get in?”
Yeah, how about that?
More distance between them was the best idea Allie had heard that year, so she shuffled past him and skirted the plow. And then she proceeded to climb into the passenger seat, an ordeal that resembled a woolly mammoth being born. Played backward. To the twangy music of some country station on the radio. As a comedy show, the spectacle would have sold serious tickets.
Dear God, please don’t let him be watching.
She glanced over her shoulder to find his eyes riveted on her.
“Would you like some help?”
“No!” she snapped before he could put his hands on her ass for a good shove. She was an independent woman. She didn’t need help from anyone, and especially not from Harper Finnegan.
She heaved as hard as if her last remaining shred of dignity depended on it and popped through, twisting around until she could settle herself on the seat. “I’m fine.”
“Okay, then.” He dropped her purse at her feet.
He hurried around the truck, moving a lot faster than she had, jumped behind the wheel, then shut out the wind. He watched her struggle with the seat belt, his eyes riveted on the sea of fur that surrounded her. He had this look on his face, like he was picturing how he’d tell the story to his buddies later.You’re not going to believe this…
As the snowflakes on his eyebrows began to melt in the warmth of the cab, he cleared his throat. “That’s some coat you have.”
His rich voice held a heavy dose of sexy when he was speaking at a normal volume and not shouting over the wind. That familiar voice Allie had tried hard to forget reached inside her and dredged up way too many uncomfortable memories. She slammed the lid on them without mercy.
“Coat kept me alive,” she told him. “Don’t mock it.”
Smartest thing would have been to turn her head and pretend she was watching the snow outside, but she couldn’t make herself look away.
A flipping decade.In some ways, the blink of an eye; in others, not nearly enough to forget how badly Harper had betrayed her.
His eyes were the same, but the rest of his face had grown more angular, more masculine, more handsome, if possible. His lips still looked as mesmerizing as ever, and she had trouble pretending that she didn’t remember how many times those lips had kissed hers. How many spots on her body he had kissed.
Don’t go there.
She loosened the top button of her coat. After the freezing temperatures outside, the cab was too warm.
Oblivious, he reached for the dashboard and cranked up the heat another notch, turning down the music while he was at it.
How many times had they sat in his old truck, listening to the same kind of music? Or barely listening because they’d been busy doing other things. First boy she’d ever slept with. A monumental step to her, which, as it turned out, had meant nothing to him.
He leaned forward to see the top half of her face better, the two-inch strip between her nose and forehead that her scarf and hat left uncovered. “Do you still feel faint?”
“I didn’tfaint. You knocked me over with your plow.” She shot him the murderous glare she’d learned in drama class, one that could not be misinterpreted even from the back of the theater. “You almost killed me.”
She crossed her arms for good measure, no easy task in the bulky coat, but she managed.
“I’m Harper Finnegan,” he offered.
