Part 6 (2/2)
Reggie climbed into the cab more slowly than he'd gotten out of it. He was favoring his injury more than Owen had ever seen. When he sat, he did so with his haunches against Owen's. Reggie only did that when he was overtired, stressed, or ill.
The tap on his window made Owen jump so high he banged his bad leg on the steering wheel. Becca stood on the other side of the gla.s.s.
”I need a ride.”
He was so tempted to put the truck in gear he actually reached for the s.h.i.+ft.
”Don't you dare.” Becca yanked open the door.
d.a.m.n. If he'd put the vehicle in gear the door would have locked automatically.
”Always go with your instinct,” he murmured. One of the very first rules in bomb detection.
”I'm not letting go until you agree to give me a ride.” She glanced toward the house. ”And if you don't want to be stuck here answering questions you don't know the answers to, we'd better move before Deb gets done talking to the station.”
”Then move.” He indicated the pa.s.senger side.
She ran around the front, shooed Reggie, who'd come over to greet her, back to the middle, and hopped in. Owen put the truck into gear, and they lurched toward the trees. Just in time too. In the rearview mirror, Chief Deb emerged from the house. At the sight of his taillights, she kicked the porch railing and it fell into the overgrown flower bed.
”Thanks,” Becca said. ”I figured you'd drive off the instant I let go of your door and leave me behind.”
He would have if he'd thought of it. But he wasn't thinking very clearly or very fast on so little sleep.
”How'd you get out here?” he asked.
”Wogged.”
Owen blinked.
”That's what my brothers call my pathetic attempts at jogging. Faster than a walk, slower than a jog makes-”
”Wog,” he finished. He'd always liked her brothers, though not half as much as he'd liked her.
Owen cast a sideways glance in Becca's direction, then had to lean forward to actually see her since Reggie's big fat head was in the way. The dog stared at Becca too, mouth open, tongue lolling. Couldn't blame him. She was stunning.
Her hair was long, thick, and fire red. She'd braided it; she always did. Otherwise the heavy ma.s.s got into everything-her eyes, her face, her food, his mouth.
Owen swallowed and dragged his eyes back to the road. He should never have kissed her. Though, to be fair, she had kissed him. It didn't make the taste of her that still lingered on his tongue, nor the memory of how different things were-how different he was-any easier to bear.
”You-” he began, and his voice broke. He cleared his throat, tried again. ”You always jog in the forest in the dark?”
”No. I wog.”
The dirt path had some deep ruts, the result of years of snow and ice and mud with no grading to even it out. The trees and bushes had encroached from the sides, narrowing the trail until branches sc.r.a.ped the truck. He was going to wind up paying for a new paint job by the time he returned it.
”Isn't that a little dangerous?”
”In Three Harbors?”
”If you were jogging-”
She lifted her eyebrows.
”Excuse me, wogging, in Three Harbors I wouldn't be worried.”
”You're worried?”
He glanced at her; Reggie tried to lick him in the nose. ”You saw my house. There's something weird going on here.”
”I didn't know that when I left, and I doubt it has anything to do with me.” She held up a hand. ”Or you either. It's one of those things. Sick, weird, freaky, horrible, all of the above. But in the end, probably stupid kids behaving badly.”
”You believe that?”
”Nope,” she said.
If what they'd been talking about hadn't been sick, weird, freaky, horrible, and all of the above, her response might have made him laugh. As it was, he muttered, ”s.h.i.+t.”
”Yeah,” she agreed. ”Good times. I need you to drop me at Emerson's place.”
The only Emerson Owen knew was Emerson Watley, a dairy farmer older than G.o.d, with plenty of hair in his nose and his ears but none at all on his head.
”Hot date?”
Why had he asked that?
”Date?” she repeated as if the word were a new one. ”With Emerson? He's ancient.”
”He could have a grandson, named after him and everything. Or maybe you just like ancient.”
Owen really needed to shut up now.
”I have no idea what you're talking about. There's a cow having trouble calving, so drive this truck like you own it and get me there yesterday.”
”I don't own it.”
”Pretend.”
For a few seconds the only sounds were the tires on the road and Reggie's staccato breaths. He could feel the heat coming off her skin. If he touched her hair, would sparks ignite? Maybe she'd just punch him. Wouldn't be the first time.
”It's none of your business,” she blurted.
”The cow?”
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