Page 37 of Orphan Girl's Mountain Men

As we head down the mountain, the silence stretches between us and I get the feeling that Lennon is starting to get uncomfortable again, an emotion he had been too distracted to feel earlier. His frown is back in full force, and he looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.

What's up with this guy? It's not like I'm yapping away, distracting him from his driving, or annoying him with attempts to make conversation. I'm literally sitting here. I don't think I'm being annoying….

So why does he seem to hate me so much?

I've tried to ignore it, but it's eating at me. Besides, my thigh is throbbing, and I could use some distraction from the pain. An idea occurs—if I ask him, he'll tell me. But I need to do it the right way, so he doesn't get offended. How to begin?

"I'm sorry," I say. "For getting myself into that mess."

"You've already apologized several times," he replies, in a tone that isn't exactly snappy, but isn't exactly welcoming either. "It's fine."

"But—"

"Seriously. You can stop talking."

Once again, his voice is sharp, and I think I've irritated him, though I don't know how or why. He finally releases a sigh, flexing his fingers around the wheel.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "Seriously, at least one hand a year makes that mistake. You're not used to our horses, so you don't know which ones are safe to approach and which ones are dangerous."

"Which is why I shouldn't have approached any of them at all."

He shrugs. "It's Dean's fault in the first place for not assigning you a chaperone for at least the first couple of days you were here."

"Was Reed given a chaperone when he got here?"

"No, but Reed can probably tackle that bastard on his own."

Fair enough. That question leads me to my next point of curiosity.

"What about you? That was pretty quick reflexes back there."

"I was in the military. It's kind of bred into you."

I nod, but because I'm infernally curious, I press on. "What about before that? Did you grow up on a farm, or did you get adopted into farm life too?"

His face tightens, and I instantly know I've flown too close to the sun. "My story is none of your business."

Ouch—that told me! But I'm not going to be deterred. Now that I've got him talking, I might as well get to the bottom of his seemingly severe dislike of me.

"Lennon—what's your problem with me?"

He coughs unconvincingly. "Who says I have a problem with you?"

"Oh, a little matter of everything you say and everything you do. You ignore me as much as you possibly can, and when we do interact, you're incredibly rude and cutting—and I don't understand why. You can't be like this with everyone, or you'd end up with no friends. So why me? What have I done to make you treat me this way? I get the feeling you're not normally this rude to total strangers—especially not to someone who once kept your daughter from getting lost."

I had originally thought his problem with me that day was simply a misunderstanding, exaggerated by heightened emotions. I'd decided that he didn't know I was trying to help, not hurt, and his fear for his daughter's safety made him lash out. I had therefore assumed that once he got home, calmed down, and thought it over, he'd realize his error and apologize, or at least feel embarrassed about his actions.

But he doesn't seem to regret it at all. He still treats me like I legitimately tried to kidnap his daughter—but he's not stupid enough to believe that. Is he?

"Did I do something to you?"

He doesn't speak for some time, seemingly focused on navigating the truck down the hill. When he finally does, he says, "You didn't do anything."

"Then what is it?"

"I... I have a problem speaking to strangers. Especially women. I don't get along with them."

That's strange, because he looks like the type of guy who effortlessly attracts everyone—not only women. He's good-looking, but not aggressive like Dean, and he's not an obvious pickup artist like Reed. He has the mannerisms of someone dependable, trustworthy, and safe. He's the type of guy you'd trust to walk you back to your car late at night, or to pretend to be your boyfriend if some creep was following you.

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