"Are you tired of carrying me yet?"
Nope. I'll carry you to the end of the Earth and back again.
"It's not a problem." I move toward the tent.
"Are you from Texas?"
"Yep. How did you know?"
"You have a slight drawl."
"Most people don't catch it."
I stop outside the door of the tent. "Who are the Global Leaders?"
She shudders. "No one. I shouldn't have said anything."
"That's obviously not the case."
She turns her head away.
"Okay. Tell me what you have to do with Jonas Torres."
"No."
"Zoe—"
"I said no. Do you know what that means, or are you like every other man I've come across?"
Anger, not at her, but what she's alluding to, ignites and burns in my veins. "What are you talking about?"
"Let me down."
"Zoe—"
"Let me down," she says, annunciating each word slow but stern.
I set her down.
"I didn't mean—"
"Thanks for getting me out of the mud." She storms into the tent.
Great. You take one step forward then ten steps back.
I take several deep breaths, trying to calm the rage inside me, wondering what happened to her.
When I walk inside, her muddy stilettos are next to the bed, and she is lying on the air mattress with her eyes closed.
I pick up a rag, bowl, and water. I pull a T-shirt out of my backpack then crouch down next to her. "Hey."
She opens her eyes.
"Do you want to get out of that dress and sleep in this?"
She sits up. "Okay. Thank you."
“Let me wash the mud off your feet.”