Page 3 of Edge of Ruin
Edna whined anxiously from the van, sticking her nose outside the door I’d left halfway open. “Stay, Edna,” I snapped. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m not going to attack you,” he said, pushing back his hood. “You can relax.”
Relax, my ass. Light, silver-gray eyes, cool and unreadable. His face was brown, lean. High cheekbones, a hooked nose. A scar on one temple slashed down into one of his straight, dark eyebrows, leaving a white line. He had a short beard, or maybe longish beard stubble. Dark hair, long and shaggy. He regarded me steadily. Drops of rain beaded his face. He did not look like Snake Eyes, as Nancy and Nell had described him. This guy was not loathsome, swollen, squint-eyed, or malodorous. Not that I could smell him from here. I would have to get much closer. And inhale. Hungrily.
This guy was oh-my-God fine. I tried to breathe. My terror was transmuting itself into utter embarrassment. An unfortunate development.
“Put it down, please.” A small smile crinkled up the skin around his eyes.
“What?” I said, realizing that my mouth had been hanging open.
“The tire iron.” He glanced at my white-knuckled hand.
“Oh.” I felt foolish, panicked. Acutely conscious of the mud on my clothes, the hair stuck to my face, the way my wet, muddy shirt clung to my tits. Of how incredibly tall he was. Even if he wasn’t Snake Eyes John, he was still a stranger, and there was nobody around here for miles. Just me and Edna, the world’s friendliest dog.
I looked at the hand that clutched the tire iron. It was shaking.
“The boards aren’t going to work,” he said. “It was a good idea, but the mud is too deep.” He took a step closer. I backed away, then kicked myself for acting like a scared, cringing kitten.
He picked up a stick, walking away from me and heading around the back of the van, prodding at the mud with a stick he held.
Released from the spell of his eyes, I finally managed to exhale. Get a grip. He was not going to leap on me like a rabid dog. I had to at least try to be civil. My face felt so hot, raindrops should be skittering on it like water on a griddle. Insane. I never blushed.
“I asked what you were doing here,” I said, trying to sound authoritative.
“This is my land,” he said.
“Oh.” I dropped my gaze, before his bright eyes could catch it and nail it down again. “Do you always walk around in thunderstorms?”
“I do, actually. Rainstorms, at least. The thunder took me by surprise. But I like the rain. I like the way it smells. I really, really wish you’d put that thing down.”
“I’ll put it down when I’m ready to put it down,” I said shakily.
He tossed down his stick. “Whatever. Just don’t hit me with it.”
“I wouldn’t without provocation,” I said.
His mouth twitched. “Oh, please,” he murmured. “Would you just chill the fuck out, already? You are safe. Completely safe. I swear it. On my immortal soul. Okay?”
That made me feel ridiculous, so I promptly threw the tire iron back into the van in disgust.
“You travel alone?” he asked.
“No. With my dog,” I replied.
Edna barked excitedly when her existence was mentioned, taking it as permission to bound out the door. She landed in the mud with a wet plop, shook herself, and trotted over to the stranger. She gave his large brown hand a cautious sniff, then panted up into his face, smiling. Then she stroked her mud-spattered head against his leg.
“Down, Edna,” I ordered, startled. Edna had never cozied up to strangers without taking her cue from me first. It made me feel vaguely betrayed. “Get back in here!”
Edna trotted back, panting and smiling. “Sorry about that,” I said.
“No problem.” A brief smile lit his face. “Nice dog.”
“Too nice,” I muttered. I started to push back the tangled hair that clung to my face, but stopped short, remembering the mud on my hands.
He gazed at me, projecting a weird, supernatural calm. Maybe hanging out in nature did that to a guy. Look at him, walking through pouring rain because he liked the way it smelled. What was he, a freaking Jedi knight? Give me a break.
It made me feel embarrassed to be myself. Frantic, citified, stressed out, nervous, afraid. A shallow little squeaking hamster racing on a wheel. And the hungry, fanged tomcats were lurking out there, licking their chops. Waiting for lunch.
