Page 6 of Ice Princess

But, as usual, the sentiment gets stuck behind my lips and can’t seem to find a way out.

Instead, all I say is, “You don’t have to thank?—”

“Great. Then I won’t.”

She skates past me to the monster truck. Gripping the gasket on the front, she pulls herself up.

I lurch forward on instinct, my arms extended to help her. But she doesn’t need my help and scrambles up to the cabin of the monster truck with ease.

I’m promptly ignored as she dislocates something inside the cabin and starts sketching on a notepad.

Hesitant to leave and not sure why, I rub the back of my neck. “Do you need help?”

She pointedly ignores me, her ponytail swinging back and forth like a pendulum as she sets the notepad down and crawls across the monster truck’s hood with the grace of Jane after ten years and five kids with Tarzan.

I’m not wanted here. Her frosty silence is ten times louder than the warning shot of a well-oiled rifle.

Still, I stick around like a sore thumb.

But it’s not because Iwantto be here.

It’s just in case Clifford comes back. I’m a gentleman and I can’t in good conscience, walk away without ensuring her safety.

Awkwardly, I retreat to the wall where dad keeps a bunch of my old hockey gear. I’m glad that, when Cliff was harassing Rebel, I saw a hockey stick and not something more dangerous. I have no idea what came over me back there, but I know it would have ended badly if my weapon of choice was something sharper.

My phone rings.

Mom.

I put the cell phone to my ear.

“Gunner Kinsey, did you get lost in your own backyard? Earlier, you insisted you weren’t interested in the show. Then Marge and the girls came over and you suddenly changed your mind. We’ve been waiting ages for your help with the tent.”

“I’m on my way,” I say quietly.

Mom hangs up and I close my eyes, recalling what brought me to the barn.

“I saw that Hart girl,”Marjorie had whispered to mom in the kitchen earlier. “You don’t think she’d dare to show her face at a Kinsey event when her little garage and Stewart’s auto shop have all but declared war?”

Thanks to my mother’s gossiping best friend, I was able to stop Clifford Davoe from doing something stupid. All in all, it was worth the tongue lashing from mom.

As I walk to the door, the sound of fabric rustling and the thud of feet smacking the ground erupts behind me.

“Kinsey, wait,” Rebel says.

I tuck my surprise behind a bland expression.

Rebel chews on her lush bottom lip. They’re the softest, pinkest hue, just like her clothes and hair clip. Blue eyes, like two ocean pools, dart up to look at me and then dart away as if she can’t stand the sight.

“Thank you,” she says abruptly.

My eyes widen.

She digs the toe of her pink sneakers into the scattered hay littering the barn floor and admits, “You helped me out. With Cliff, I mean… earlier.” She clears her throat. “I don’t like owing people… not that I owe you anything more than this. A thanks is all you’ll get…” She pins her lips shut, squeezes her eyes closed and then takes a breath.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

I rub my chest.

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