CHAPTER 1
DAVID
This is really the last thing I need tonight.
The list of things I don’t need is long, but this…she…is the last thing.
I realize that’s not a very charitable point of view and I would never say it out loud, at least not to the woman sitting out in the middle of a field as a huge storm is rolling in on top of her, but I’d definitely say it to my co-workers or my brothers.
It’s been a long fucking day. I’ve already had to deal with a handful of annoying people, I just dropped off a pissed-off mountain lion that I spent most of the day with, Mother Nature is gearing up to be a bitch tonight, and I have no patience left for one more stupid person who doesn’t take storm warnings seriously.
But here I am. Doing my job. Being the good guy.
I really just want a beer and a baseball game. But the storm’s going to ruin the TV reception anyway, so…
I pull my truck in behind the silver Ford Fiesta.
A fucking Fiesta. In a field of grass that comes up to the door handle and soon-to-be mud that could easily cover half the height of her tires.
What the fuck is she doing out here?
She’s seventeen miles from town, it’s nearly ten p.m., it’s dark, and the thunderstorm that’s bringing torrential rain, sixty-five mile per hour winds, and golf ball-sized hail, with possible tornadoes—because of course, will be here in about twenty minutes.
And she’s not by the side of the road or somewhere logical. She’s in the middle of a goddamned field. On private property, but far enough away from the house that no one would see her or know she’s here for, possibly, days.
Now that the mountain lion that’s been roaming lately and making Bill Carter’s horses twitchy, and Bill twitchy, has been relocated, I can pull all the traps. I’d love to let that wait until tomorrow, but because of the pending rain, wind, and hail, I have to ensure a fox, raccoon, or stray cat doesn’t accidentally spend a stormy night in one. So I’ve been out for the past two hours.
Good thing for this woman. She’d be spending the stormy night out here alone if it wasn’t for how crappy my day has been.
I pull in behind her and put my floodlights on.
I swear to God, if she’s out here fishing or camping or something, I’m ticketing her and hauling her ass into town immediately. I’m not listening to explanations or excuses tonight. Nice Guy David signed off about six hours ago.
She gets out of the car and turns toward the truck as I get out. She lifts her hand, shielding her eyes from the bright lights at the top of my truck, the wind whipping her long dark hair around under the ball cap she’s wearing.
I take her in as I climb out. She’s in decent boots and blue jeans. At least she realized she needed sturdy footwear to walk around out here. But she’s only wearing a short-sleeved tee and that ball cap otherwise. It’s early August so a lack of layers makes sense. It was over ninety degrees today. Typical. But I hope to God she’s smart enough to use sunscreen and cover her arms if she’s messing around in tall grass and weeds. There’s poison ivy and poison oak, wild parsnip, sumac…
I draw a breath. An allergic skin reaction on this woman is probably the least of my worries right now.
We’re about fifty yards from the river to the east and about a mile off the access road that led her into this field. We’re four miles from the gravel road to the west and it’s another four miles to the paved highway beyond that. And north and south of us is nothing but rolling prairie dotted with trees here and there.
We’re pretty much in the middle of nowhere.
And it’s dark. Even darker than ten p.m. would typically be. The clouds have blocked out what had been a nearly full moon and there isn’t a streetlight, a house light, or even another headlight for fucking miles.
I stomp toward her. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”
“Wow,” she says, planting her hands on her hips as the wind continues to whip her hair around her face. “Hi. I’m fine. Well, maybe a little dehydrated. Starving. Definitely bored. But mostly fine. Thanks for asking.”
Great. Dehydrated. Starving. She just put a couple of marks on the Things To Worry About and Things That Will Make Her My Problem lists. Yes, I have two different lists going. Things To Worry About and Things That Will Make Her My Problem. I was hoping to keep from putting anything on either of those.
Other than the pending tornado of course.
Fuck.
The wind molds the T-shirt she’s wearing to her body and I note that she’s slim and her skin is pale—and not covered with red marks or rashes from poison plants—but her arms are muscular.
Hey, I have to catalog if she’s injured or holding a weapon, seems to be having a medical incident, or is under the influence of any substances. I swear to God if she’s drunk or high…
