Using the back of my hand, I wipe my brow then park my hands on my hips, waiting for the meter to tell me what I need to do. But it doesn't. Nope, my meter doesn't indicate any kind of problem at all.
So it's not electrical.
That's good, I guess. Well, I suppose I'll get after some spark plugs first, then the brake pads. After that it will be purely trial and error.
* * *
Forty minutes later and I've replaced my spark plugs. All of them. Just for the hell of it. But as I go to get down from my step ladder, my hair snags on something and I still.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
This isn't good, not one bit.
It's almost five thirty in the morning, I'm alone, and if I had a cell phone it still wouldn't be within reach and since I don't, it's definitely not. Samson is still MIA, and even if he were here he can’t exactly help, it’s not like he has thumbs.
Shit.
I grab the thick chunk of hair that fell out of my braid, give it a tug but it doesn't budge. Now I'm worried if I try to pull, it'll somehow tighten around whatever has it trapped and my truck will unintentionally scalp me.
Great.
I don't have to worry about the man with the soulless eyes killing me, my Ford is gonna do it either by holding me hostage until I starve or sucking me into the engine and squashing me under the hood. And no one will have a clue because none of the people I've met know where I am.
Awesome.
My pliers are sitting on the step just below the one I'm standing on, maybe if I could reach it I could use them to cut through the hair that's stuck. Yeah, maybe… maybe if I… I lean back and try to grab the pliers… if I could just...
My foot slips and I'm pretty sure a bald spot is in my future when I suddenly feel hands on my elbows and the second those cool fingers wrap around my skin, I black out.
Cool fingers caress my cheek, trail along my jaw, down my neck.
Slowly they retrace their path then slide up into my hair.
He pulls the ribbon free, a curtain of black shields us in the dim light of the barn, blocks out the world, leaving only him and I.
My eyes flutter closed as the pad of his thumb glides along my lower lip, a feather light touch but no less searing.
With his hand in my hair, my love pulls me toward him. I can feel his breath on my lips, can almost taste him without even touching.
My heart is hammering in my chest, pounding against my ribs, trying to leap from my body to his with silent promises of forever and always.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers. “Tell me now because if I kiss you I fear I will never be able to stop.”
I can only smile, smile into the mere centimeters that separate us, smile into the space quickly diminishing.
“You know what I fear more than that, my angel?”
I shake my head, hold my breath, wait for his answer and the impending pressure of his kiss.
“I fear,” I can hear his smile, can almost feel it against my lips—”I fear that if I do not kiss you now my heart will surely cease to beat, the muscle rendered useless in my chest because it has not belonged to me since the moment I laid eyes on you. You give it life, purpose, and if I do not kiss you now then there will no longer be reason for it to beat at all.”
His lips brush against mine and then...
My eyes flutter then pop open, and for a moment everything is still black, but as they begin to focus the first thing I see are eyes.
Ice blue.
