“Okay, Georgia. Game face.” I slap my cheeks and fix my liner while muttering my mantra. “You're a twenty-nine year old badass bitch. You're not that lonely kid anymore. You can do this. There are way scarier things waiting for you in this podunk town than—”
“Who the balls are you talking to?” a raspy voice calls out, slicing through the air like a warning shot as my car rocks side to side.
My eyes snap to the yard in front of me just in time to see a tiny, elderly woman in a faded blue nightgown glaring at me like I just insulted her begonias. Her wild gray curls defy gravity, and her hands are planted firmly on her hips, elbows sharp as scythes.
And I…I may be in danger.
The car rocks again.
I jam the window button aggressively, my temper fully engaged.
“Are you seriously kicking my tire?” I snap, mentally calculating if there’s any possibility she has a shotgun tucked under her muumuu.
As if in slow motion, we both watch her bony knee arc back before shooting forward with impressive speed. She’s got on a pair of cowboy boots a few sizes too big, and when her foot collides with my tire, I realize they must be steel-toed.
“What are you doing?” I cry, my eyes wide. She does it again, and I quickly shove the door open. This is a lawsuit waiting to happen. “Stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself!”
The woman huffs and scowls, squaring her narrow shoulders. “It ain’t my safety you should be concerned with, girly.”
My jaw unhinges, my hands flapping uselessly.
“Are you…” What the hell is happening right now? “Are youthreateningme?”
She shrugs and picks at her nail with a knitting needle. I have no idea where it came from. “Dunno. Does itfeellike a threat?”
Okaaay.
So, she’s nuts.
I run an agitated hand through my red curls as I scan the property like a prank show crew might pop out of the tumbleweeds. How did this become my life? Two weeks ago, I was sitting in a five-star café eating gluten-free macarons.
“Where the hell did I wind up?” I whisper to the universe at large, not expecting an answer.
“You wound the hell up on my land,” she sasses with all the attitude of a petulant teenager. “And you ain’t supposed to be here, so get gone!”
My eyes squeeze shut, and my head falls back. I’m suddenly tired. Really fucking tired.
Something cold and metallic presses against my bicep, dangerously close to my boob. I wince. Not because it hurts, but because I already know what I’ll see when I open my eyes, and I’m not mentally prepared to fight an old lady today.
Exhaling slowly, I meet the woman's eyes. They’re so blue, they’re nearly clear, and it dawns on me that she might not be able to see all that well. Without breaking eye contact, I flick the knitting needle away and step back, crossing my arms.
“Look,” I say gently, but not weakly. “My name is Georgia Walker. I’m with the Department of Child and Family Services.”
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t look like no government worker. You look like one of those dominatrix gals off late-night cable.”
I blink. “I…what?”
She squints harder. “That get-up. Those heels. That car. And all that black?Mm-hm. RealFifty Shades.”
Oh,God.
“I’m here,” I enunciate, “on official business. I’m conducting a wellness check at this address. I’m trying to locate Kade Archer.”
At the name, her whole body goes taut. Her knitting needle lowers.
“And what’s a city girl like you want with Kade?” she snaps, immediately suspicious. “He didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”
“That’s not what I’m implying.”
