Page 2 of Mother Clucker

I shoved my card at the clerk. “I need gas, please.”

“How much?”

How did I know how much? “I don’t know. I want to fill it.”

“Well how much does it usually take?” he asked.

“Twenty dollars worth, I guess?” I shrugged.

“Which pump?”

Darn it. I was supposed to know that too, wasn’t I? These were too many questions for this early in the morning.

I glanced out the glass doors. “The one by the white car.”

With a sigh, the clerk moved toward the window and glanced outside. “Pump seven.”

If he said so. “Okay.”

The guy ran my card but not without a judgmental glare. Forgive me if I didn’t know exactly how much gas my car took or notice the pump number.

It was starting to be a cruddy morning, but as I made my way back out of the building and to my car the sight that greeted me wasn’t so bad. Tex was standing, holding the gas nozzle and facing a big black truck. Like really big.

I’d probably need to use those built-in stairs beneath the doors just to get in it.

I pressed my lips tightly together. He might be cute and hot, but I was still judging him and his truck for his enormous carbon footprint. Judging him or whomever he worked for, since closer inspection made me think this was a company vehicle. On the door was painted the name Strickland.

Beneath the name was a logo featuring a rooster. That was fitting. The man driving the truck was certainly cocky.

He turned and noticed me looking. I yanked my gaze away and concentrated overly hard on filling my car.

When I dared glance back, I saw his lips twitch with a smile before he let out a chuckle.

“Something funny?” I asked.

He lifted one shoulder. “Just that if I had to guess what kind of car you drove, I would have guessed that one. Or something like it.”

I had the distinct feeling I’d just been insulted. And by a man who’d ordered a hundred dollars worth of gas when I’d be lucky if all twenty dollars worth fit in my car.

He certainly had no business criticizing me or my choice of vehicles.

I lifted a brow. “And I suppose I should have guessed you’d be driving something like that. Although in this day and age, why anyone would want or need a giant gas guzzler like that is beyond me.”

He matched me by raising his own brow. “Someone would want and need a truck like this because someone often has to haul trailers, and stock, and hay, and feed.”

“Pfft. Not around here,” I countered.

“I’m not from around here.”

I let out a snort. “That’s obvious.”

“Very,” he agreed. “Thank God.”

He’d mumbled the last part under his breath but I heard him.

The pump clicked off and I realized I’d reached my twenty dollar’s worth. And not a minute too soon.

He’d been nice to look at—when he wasn’t talking—but our conversation left a lot to be desired. I was more than ready for it to be over. I had someplace to be. And coffee to find.

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