Page 2 of Daddy's Girl
I fumble for the side pocket on my pack. Dad gave me the little car emergency kit along with a rusty lemon-yellow Buick when I turned sixteenIt seemed like a smart thing to grab when the car began to overheat fifty miles into my desperate escape into the wilderness from my dickhead ex,David. I ditched the car, took what I could, and caught the next bus heading toward Wildfire.
At the time, I’d thought if the situation called for it, I could shoot it at someone instead of as a beacon into the sky. You know, like they do in the movies. That feels like a joke right now though, because I can barely hold on, let alone fire something without envisioning a future shopping for eye patches that come in something other than basic black.
The rope swings to the left as I fumble, a streak of noontime sunlight cutting through the trees, forcing me to squint as I feel around for the smooth plastic grip. Whitewater rushes under me as my calves start to cramp, but I finally secure the thick handle of the gun in my hand, breathing hard, biting down on the inside of my lip as I tug it free.
An angry voice rises over the deafening flow of the river threatening to swallow me into my doom.
"Stop! You’ll shoot your damn face off."
I jerk and twist making the rope swing wildly, my foot half-way out of the loop, my drenched Hello Kitty Converse lacking the proper rugged sole for this particular survival outing.
The handle of the flare gun wobbles as the spray soaks through my clothes, dripping down my forehead into my eyes.
Jesus. I blink blink blink at the droplets of water, unsure if my eyesight is trustworthy right now, because what I think I see on the riverbank can’t be real.
Big. Broad.Massive. A mountain of a man with shoulders that could block out the sun. Beard dark and full, jaw like it was carved from granite. And his eyes—piercing blue that cuts through me like I'm made of nothing but fog. The kind of eyes that see everything.
Oh my God, it’s Bigfoot. Riding a four-wheeler.
The voice comes again. “Don’t you fucking fall! Hold on, God damn it.” The sound is low, thunderous, as angry as the stupid water below, like I've already disappointed him... Yet, it vibrates straight down to places I shouldn't be thinking about.
The man who is clearly the size of Bigfoot but far less fuzzy, parks the four-wheeler with a violent skid and stomps through the current like it’s air. Water rises to his thick thighs, soaking his jeans, his green and blue flannel stretching tight across his chest. The river practically parts before him as he forces himself my way—a force of nature encountering a greater one.
Fire and ice wage a tiny war over my skin and down into my center as he comes to a dead stop under me.
"Let go," he barks, opening his arms wide, flicking his long fingers in a ‘come here’ sort of motion. "I've got you, little one."
Little one. For some reason, that sends something surging through me and my thighs clench together involuntarily as my own rushing torrent starts between my legs.
"I—I can't—"
"You’re not dying in my river. No trespassing signs are up for a fucking reason. Now, do what you’re told, I get the feeling that’s something new for you, but do it anyway."
Wow, really? Right now?
Jerk.
Sexyjerk who smells so fucking good even with the water dampening the air and muscle spasms starting to twist down my back.
I can barely feel my fingers. I’m not sure if I let go because he told me to, or just lose my grip, but gravity takes charge and I have no other choice but to close my eyes and pray.
The world heaves sideways and like a flightless baby bird kicked from the nest too soon, I’m flapping, screeching, calling for Jesus to take the wheel.
Then, boom.
I fall to earth. It has to be earth because when I land, it’s with a solid thump, not a soft catch.
I swallow down the scream wrapped in a moan as I realize I’m not onterra firma.
I’m in his arms.
The flightless baby bird saved by the grumpy, scowling, but infuriatingly attractive hero with the four-wheeler.
Biceps the size of Easter hams cradle me against an expanse of man chest that already feels like home. Heat radiates from him through my wet clothes. I feel small and protected and so fucking thankful.
The world is spinning but even in the chaos of adrenaline and confusion, I know this can’t be Jack. I mean, okay, he could be the same age as my dad, I guess, but he’shot.So, so hot.
With an embarrassed squeak, warmth pools between my thighs as I catch a hint of his scent—pine and spice and even a little exhaust from that thing he was driving. It makes me lightheaded as I inhale hard through my nose, my eyes fluttering closed for a second, losing myself in the craziness of the moment.
