Wilder opens the back seat of his truck and reaches in, snatching a dark grey blanket. It almost looks like one of thoseheavy blankets they wrap around people they pull out from a burning building. He cocks his head once, and Dallas slips into the back—where I was sure I’d be going.
Closing the door, Wilder turns and scans me once, as the wind continues to blow through the new slit in my dress.
The thick blanket is wrapped around me tightly—and he’s anything but gentle about it. He grips both ends of the blanket in front of my chest, meeting my eyes, and for a moment I think he might say something. Maybe even ask if I’m all right?
But he lets it go and yanks open the passenger door. “Get in.”
I swallow. “Only if you take me back to your place.”
“Excuse me?”
“So I can take care of Dallas’s arm.”
“You’re in no position to be making demands. Get in the car.”
I’m about to argue, storm off or, hell, do something. But the only thing that slips out is a small, “Please?”
He blinks away with a resigned breath. “Fine. Get in.”
I settle into the passenger seat, glancing back at Dallas. He’s spread across the back seat, eyes open, staring up into space.
I gasp when Wilder’s arm reaches across me from where he stands by my passenger door. He lifts my purse, reaches inside, and pulls out the keys for the golf cart.
Even through the thick blanket covering me, I’m sizzling from the proximity. Already wondering if my body’s reaction to him will ever stop.
After shutting my door, he darts across the street to the “borrowed” vehicle and tosses the keys inside, and that’s when I notice its condition.
“Holyshit.”
It’s not like I picked up the golf cart shiny and new, but how did I not see what I did to it? The wheels are caked in dirt and mud. There are dark scratches along the roof and sides. Pieces of shrubs and branches are scattered inside.
God, I hope there’s no other damage. Like to the engine or anything. Brett warned me about them not being built for certain roads.
Dallas glances back through the window, following my gaze. “Oof.” He winces, then chuckles. “You’re in trouble.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Not any more than you,” I point out.
He smirks, then plays dead when his brother jumps in the driver seat. Wilder glances in the rear-view mirror with a furrowed brow, then takes off.
On the short drive back, he dials someone. “Hey, Jeff, sorry to bother you. You out?”
I don’t hear the response.
“Figured as much. Would you do me a favor? I left one of the golf carts parked outside of Bones. Keys are by the pedals. Mind towing it back to the ranch for me?” There’s a pause before he offers his thanks and hangs up.
An hour later, I step out of Wilder’s house, releasing a deliberate breath.
As suspected, the sharp cut on Dallas’s arm turned out to be the result of a broken beer bottle. I inspected it for any glass shards that might have pierced through the skin, pressing my thumb lightly near the wound.
Either there were no embedded pieces, or Dallas is extremely tolerant to pain.
Or just too numb.
I cleaned the area with a first-aid kit Wilder handed me, then dressed it, all the while conscious of his curious gaze on me. Before I left, I thanked Dallas for coming to my rescue tonight.Even if I was sure I could handle myself, I didn’t want Dallas’s efforts wasted.
I kept the blanket over my shoulders, covering the better part of my right arm while in their bright kitchen.
Now outside, in the dark, I hand it back to the owner. “Thank you for coming.”
