Page 5 of Back in the Saddle

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”

Okay.

I’d had a tough night.

And tomorrow was going to be a tough day.

Jeff wasn’t there, or they were hiding him from me so I’d continue to bring water, hydration packets, food, clean syringes, bath wipes and the like. My mother was useless (per usual). My father was a piece of garbage (per usual). Therefore, no family Thanksgiving for me, and I loved turkey, and stuffing, and all that shit.

But more, because Mom and Dad were such wastes of space, it was on me to find Jeff.

And the longer it took, the more terrified I got.

So…yeah.

I wasn’t in a stellar mood.

And Eric looked delectable, all long, lean, muscled, black-haired hot guy lounging against my Mini.

But I was into him, and a girl could feel vibes, so I knew he wasn’t into me (which sucked…huge, until very recently, when I was figuring out he could be a dick).

So there was also that.

But straight up, I wasn’t doing this.

I started to head to the driver’s side door when he said, “The other guys think it’s cute. I’m older and I’ve been through this crap before, and this vigilante shit, it’s not cute, Jessie.”

That stopped me right in my tracks.

“I’m not being cute,” I whispered, my words trembling with my fury.

Because trying to find my missing brother who had significant mental health issues was nowhere nearcute.

Finally, he pushed off my car and moved to me. I had to tip my head back because the dude towered over me, and I wasn’t short.

That said, even though I’d never had a guy that tall, I knew he was theexact perfectheight to kiss.

Cripes, the hits just kept coming.

“I know,” he said, his voice having changed, back to smooth, even gentle. “But what you’re doing is dangerous.”

I tensed, my head so screwed up with worry about Jeff (and, I couldn’t deny, unreciprocated longing for Eric), it hadn’t occurred to me to spare a moment to cipher why he just happened to be here.

I felt my eyes narrow. “Do you know what I’m doing?”

“I’d like for you to talk to me about it.”

That was both sweet and not an answer to my question, so the second part negated the sweet part.

I abandoned that line of questioning to get things moving so I could go home. In the deep fall and winter, it got cold at night in The Valley, and suddenly, I was freezing.

“Homer looks after me,” I asserted.

“Homer?”

“The King of the Encampment.”

“And what do you know about Homer?”

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