Page 8 of Belong With Me

“I thought you said you weren’t a damsel?” He laughed, and then whistled. “You really did a number on this one, didn’t you?” He gestured toward the bug.

I bit my tongue, holding in the immediate response that came bubbling up with a few choice curse words. When I was sure they wouldn’t break free, I responded. “Your damned dogs did a number on my shirt.” That caught his attention, and he huffed out a quick laugh before he ran a hand over his neck.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he came closer to me. “They’re generally pretty good boys. I think they just got a bit excited over the whole scene.” He pulled the white shirt over his head, and I was momentarily struck dumb by the sight of his abs. Holy hell. He was one prime specimen; indeed, I could grate cheese on those babies. With his hand outstretched, he offered me the shirt. “Here. You need this more than I do, I’ve got another one in the car.” His eyes flicked to my chest before coming back to my face.

“Hey, cowboy. My eyes are up here.” I snorted, taking the shirt from him. I remembered my manners and with forced politeness, I bit out a quick “Thanks.”

Once I had used my manners, I turned around to take my shirt off so I could put on the one he had offered and that’s when I felt my stiletto heel snap.

This was just what I needed today. I let out an unladylike curse at the top of my lungs as I tumbled to the ground for the second time, following it up with a slightly more demure “Fuck me sideways.” I muttered before looking skyward and yelling, “Could this day possibly get any worse?”

The cowboy laughed and grasped the top of my arm, then helped me up from the ground again. “Do you often take your shirt off around strangers?” The pale pink of my lacy bra was now completely and utterly on show.

I didn’t even deign to reply as I shrugged his shirt on. But then my emotions got the better of me, and I squared my shoulders to look at him. “Do you often stare at women when they get changed? Or are you a first-time creeper?”

“I can go if you want?” he offered, throwing his thumb over his shoulder towards his truck, and smirking at me.

“Fine,” I huffed. “Like I said, I’m not a damsel and I’m not in distress.” It was rude, and I knew it. But honestly, I couldn’t have cared less right at that moment. He made to walk away from me and that was when I looked at the wrecked car. My handbag and phone were in there somewhere. For all I knew, my cell could have been smashed in the collision and if that was the case, how was I going to call for help?

I metaphorically pulled up my big girl panties and looked at my would-be helper’s muscular back, the tone and definition and never mind that right now. He had offered to help me, and I wasn’t exactly in a position to refuse. “Hey, cowboy?” I called out. He turned as he put his hat on again. “I might actually need some help.” I gestured at the whole scene, broken shoe, and car. I included a softer sounding “Please,” which left my lips as an add on.

“Alright, toss those shoes off. Even I know they’re not worth much when they look like that. You can come back to the house with me, we can call the mechanic from there.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got a cell somewhere in there.” I waved at the wreck of a car. “I can call a tow. There is a tow service in this town, isn’t there?”

“There is, but you won’t be getting a hold of him through your cell.”

“Why not? Do I have to whistle them up or something? Perhaps create a smoke signal?” I replied sarcastically.

He laughed, and the sound warmed my bones with its genuine nature. “What kind of movies have you been watching? You’ve travelled to the country, not back in time.”

“Hardy-ha, you’re a real comedian, aren’t you?” I rubbed the back of my hand across my cheek. On top of everything else, I was sweating.

“Not really. Anyway, there ain’t no reception out this far. I can give you a ride to the main house of my ranch. It’s just over yonder. You can call from there if you like. It’s up to you though.”

“You want me to come back to your place? You could be a serial killer for all I know.” I crossed my arms over my chest again, and the movement pushed my boobs up. Quickly I dropped them to my sides.

He barked out a laugh at my comment. “True, but I know I’m not a serial killer.”

Slipping my hands onto my hips, I looked him right in the eyes. “What if I am?”

“If you kill me, darlin’, I’ll die a happy man.”

I snorted at his cheesy response, took off my shoes as he suggested, and tossed them into the car through the open driver’s side door. I grabbed my handbag and the damned cell that caused this whole mess in the first place. Discreetly checking that my pepper spray was within easy reach, I closed the door, clutching my bag to me. For some reason, I locked the car.

“Do you feel better now? C’mon,” the cowboy called. “My truck’s up there.” He waved at where it still sat, but moved toward the road.

“What are you doing?” I asked, curious as to why he was moving away from the car, or from me even.

“I’m checking the deer, city girl. If it’s not dead, well, I need to do something about it.”

I didn’t dare ask why he presumed I was a city girl, instead choosing to get answers to more pressing questions. “Do something about it?” I asked stupidly. He rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at me. Oh. Realization dawned then. If the deer wasn’t already dead, he would need to put it out of its misery.

“Head to the truck,” he instructed as he crouched down beside the deer.

Quietly, I did as he said and walked toward the truck. The stones on the road made me limp and I heard him laugh. “If you don’t mind, I need to get this show moving on so I can get Logan out here to fix this mess you’ve gone and created. The sooner he gets here, the sooner we can move this car so no one else has an accident.”

“I am moving.”

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