Page 16 of Preying Heart
“We’re almost home.” Heath holds up a piece of black cloth. “I’m sorry, but before we go, I’m going to have to blindfold you.”
“Is this where you turn me over to the sex traffickers and collect your reward?” I’m beyond exhausted, sweaty, mosquito-bitten, and he’s apologizing about blindfolding me?
“Is that truly what you think of me? Because you’re welcome to step out of my truck and go back to town. There’s a wonderful little church on one side and a tavern and inn on the other side.”
“You know I can’t walk another step with these blisters.” I wince at the blood seeping through my borrowed socks. “Can you not blindfold me? It’ll make me feel safer.”
He wipes my sweaty forehead with the cloth. “I’m not going to hurt you. But it’ll make me feel safer if you’re blindfolded on the ride.”
I narrow my eyes and take the blindfold from him. “What are you hiding? Are you on the lam? You tell me you’re a bounty hunter, but I wonder if you’re on the run.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and just when I think he’s going to say something, he turns the key in the ignition. Reaching across me, he digs underneath my seat and pulls out a pair of what looks like telescopes on a headband.
“Are those night vision goggles?” I ask.
He pulls them over his head, adjusts the scopes in front of his eyes, and starts driving—without turning on the headlights.
“So you didn’t need to blindfold me anyway. I can’t see where we’re going.”
“I never drive with headlights. Just close your eyes and enjoy the ride. You’ll get sick if you can see where we’re going.”
The truck lurches up a rutted dirt road, and he’s right. The amount of tossing and turning would have me nauseous if I could see how close to the edge of a cliff we’re about to fall off.
I’m so bone-weary, I close my eyes and plan my next move.
A million dollars is a big hurdle to get over, but what if Heath decided he cared about me more than the money? What if he falls in love with me? Can I pull it off?
I’ve never had a man fall in love with me. Never had that unconditional love—the kind they write about in romance books. Where a guy would die to save my life. Of course, in those stories, the heroine later finds out she’s pregnant with the hero’s baby after he made his ultimate sacrifice.
I’d rather my hero didn’t die but live with me until we’re both old and gray, but loving each other just as much as the day we met. Oh, if only I was one of those Disney princesses worthy of a handsome prince who moves heaven and earth to be at my side.
I must have drifted off, because there once was a boy who’d liked me, way back in junior high school before I went to live with the Greasleys.
Slade and I were still together, living with Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton. They were strict and had no other children, but they were the best foster parents we had. They took us to church and gave us good food to eat, but they had a long list of rules we had to follow. We had to do our homework after school. We were assigned weekly chores. We weren’t allowed to pilfer food from the pantry, and no one was allowed to come into the house while they were gone. We also had a strict curfew and had to be home by five, before the Hamiltons came home from work. Slade broke the rules all the time, but he got away with it. He’d come home in time, but later on, sneak out after they went to bed. I covered for him, of course, but one day I was the one who broke the rules.
I was eleven and in seventh grade. That was the year I discovered boys. While the other girls all flocked toward Michael Willis, the popular ninth grade class president and big man on campus, I went for the bad boy—a younger version of Slade, in retrospect. Darrell cut class more than he attended, he smoked, and his hair was too long. He talked back to the teachers, but he was also brave. When a bunch of guys let a raccoon into the classroom, scaring the teacher, he took the blame, even though it meant detention four Saturdays in a row.
Needless to say, Slade hated him. It was the first time we disagreed on something, and I wasn’t backing down. Slade was already in high school, so he couldn’t keep tabs on me, especially since he was trying to run with the cool crowd there.
“Dorky Darrell is a dweeb,” Slade teased. “He picks his boogers, and he pops his zits and licks his fingers.”
“He does not. You just don’t like him because all the girls think he’s cool.”
“Seventh-grade girls are stupid. If you knew what he does to them at the self-storage shed, you’d think he’s yucky.”
“What does he do?”
“Nothing. He’s a weenie.”
I disagreed. Every day, I’d hang out after school in the hopes of following Darrell and figuring out what he did that was so forbidden. He had a motorized bike, and he rode off with his buddies to places I couldn’t follow.
He must have noticed me because one day, he caught me lurking around his bike.
“Wanna go for a ride?” he asked, flashing me a smile that made my heart soar to the stars.
“Sure.” I eagerly straddled the back of his seat. It felt awkward, and I didn’t know where to put my hands.
“Hang on.” He took my hands and wrapped my arms around his waist.
