Page 4 of Junkyard Dog

“That’s the goal,” the man replied, shaking his long blond hair out before feeding it through the opening of his ball cap and readjusting his sunglasses. “Are you heading that way, too?”

Only if I can walk behind you and stare at that ass.

Her cheeks reddened at the invasive thought that had sprinted through her head. “No. Just checking out this stretch today,” she lied, averting her eyes and taking a long sip of water to distract herself from the visible cut of the hiker’s abs under his shirt.

The man pursed his lips and shrugged. “Damn. I could’ve used the company.” He stepped closer to her, his hand extended. “Alex. You know, if they need to identify my body at any point.”

And lucky for you, I’ve got that body memorized from top to bottom already. All six-foot-six of it.

“Charlotte,” she mumbled, looking past his shoulder as her traitorous mind flipped through a barrage of flirty and filthy replies. “Watch your footing in the third mile and stay away from the chollas.”

Chollas? Really?

A look of amusement crossed Alex’s face, as though he had heard the smut her head was spinning. He gave a quick nod and turned toward the mine, his long legs clearing ground at an enviable speed. “Nice to meet you, Charlotte,” he called over his shoulder. “Good luck with your photography.”

Rolling her eyes at her own awkwardness, she crossed her arms and watched as the man effortlessly made his way over the harsh landscape, his blond hair disappearing around the bend.

“Damn,” she whispered under her breath, shaking the image of the hiker’s smirking lips from her head. “Damn, damn, damn.”

She waited until he was out of sight before she looked back down at the sand to resume her research, the massive paw prints scuffed out by large hiking boots.

“Damn,” she whispered.

*

Alex adjusted hispack, easing it to the left to relieve the growing discomfort of his broken right ribs. He leaned against the fence surrounding the mine shaft entrance and glanced around at the barren terrain.

“Fuck,” he muttered, groaning at the realization he still had to make his way back. Wiping the sweat from his brow with the bottom of his shirt, he rolled his aching shoulders out and scanned the area for the quickest route back to his car.

Doubling back it is.

Keeping his eyes on the ground, he made his way through the winding trail, scuffing the sand as he passed the more ingrained paw prints he’d missed on his initial trek. With a water bottle in each hand, the pressure of his backpack was reduced to a manageable, almost ignorable, pain.

Fucking sedans.

The imprint of the mesh grille was still visible on his skin, a carryover from his miscalculation the night before. Even the minor movement of his shirt while he walked was irritating, the fabric catching on his fresh wounds.

Determined to be out of the park before dusk, he kept his focus on eliminating the trail he’d left, erasing the prints one Miss Charlotte had found so fascinating.

Miss Charlotte with the short shorts and long auburn ponytail flecked with sand.

Yeah, that Miss Charlotte.

Miss Charlotte with the voice he had instantly recognized.

Scuffing out another print with his boot, he took a long sip of water.

Miss Charlotte was way too interested in sitting in trucks with binoculars and in photographing animal prints for Alex’s comfort.

With a grunt, he hefted his pack back onto his shoulder and made his way to his SUV.

*

Max waved offthe wad of bills Charlotte set on the bar. “No way, Chuck.” He snorted, running a hand through his spiked brown hair. “I’m paying, so I’m picking.”

She groaned and flopped forward dramatically. “Be kind,” she pleaded. “I’ve been up for twenty-four hours. I shouldn’t even be here tonight.”

“Two tequila,” he called out as he nudged her knee with his own. “The others will be here after shift,” he said, the nudging becoming more insistent the longer Charlotte ignored him. “Sit up and take the damn shot.”

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