Page 7 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

Three hours later…

The second I climbed into the truck, the blast of blessed AC made me want to cry actual tears. My knees stuck to the seat, my shirt clung to my spine like a needy ex, and I was vaguely aware I probably smelled like despair and overheated upholstery, but that had made hopping into this potential axe murder's vehicle worth it. Call me dumb, but my car had tried to kill me, and a weird, psychotic, but well-respected businessman was after me. What's the worst a stranger could do at this point? I was probably better off not asking that question, given how my day was going.

The driver extended a calloused hand, taking me by surprise. “Name’s Drew. I’m one of the ranch hands up at the Townsend-Rossi ranch.”

Right, that was Marcus’s ranch. I’d only ever heard about it in passing — mostly in stories that involved livestock escaping, someone getting kicked, and the occasional unlicensed flamethrower.

I shook his hand. “Gabby. I’m, uh… a relative-ish of one of the Townsend-Rossi’s.”

His eyes flicked to my hair, then back to my face. “Yeah, I remember you. You were a brunette last time. Gotta say, the red wig doesn’t suit you.”

I blinked, pretty sure I'd never met him before. “Wow, okay. And where about did we meet?”

He grinned, unbothered. “The glasses are cute, though, and that sunburn's impressive. Did you know it matches your hair now?”

I winced and touched my cheek. I couldfeel the skin tightening every time I moved my face, like nature’s way of saying, “Good job, dumbass.”

“I was hoping it wasn’t that bad,” I sighed.

“Oh, it’s bad.”

I groaned. “Some tan lines are cute, right? Like the accidental bracelet line or whatever.” I glanced down at my shirt—one of those trendy ones with cutouts on the shoulders and tiny holes down the back. “I’m going to look like I fell asleep on a grill, red dots and all. On top of that, it'll look like I’m still wearing this thing even when I take it off.”

Drew laughed. “At least it’s a look. You might start a trend.”

I sighed, leaned my head back against the seat, and mumbled, “My life’s fucked.”

He snorted. “Whose isn’t? You just gotta deal with the fuckery and make it work for you.”

That actually pulled a weak chuckle out of me. “Pretty sure this much fuckery would drown an actual professional. But thanks for the wisdom, I’ll write it on a sticky note to get it put on a cup.”

We bumped over a pothole that probably doubled as a wildlife watering hole, and my head thunked lightly against the window. I could feel my brain rattle in my skull. “What's this road made of, craters? Broken dreams? If my car hadn’t died when it did, it would’ve exploded the second I hit this stretch.”

Drew shrugged. “That’s why we use trucks out here. The cars can’t handle the sass.”

“Sass? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

He winked. “Townsend-Rossi Ranch motto: Built tough for high-stress horses and emotionally unstable visitors.”

I chuckled just as the ranch came into view—sprawling fields, stables, and a couple of properties with massive wraparound porches that looked like they’d been built for dramatic speeches and surprise pregnancy reveals. Jesus, I needed to get off social media.

As we pulled up, I spotted a familiar figure stepping out of the barn.

Marcus. Tall, broad, and serious as hell. He squinted at the truck, yanked off his hat, and looked straight up at the sky like he was asking the universe for a refund.

I winced.

“Great,” I muttered. “He’s doing the sky thing. I was hoping he’d be in a normal mood.”

“You’re new to this family, huh?” Drew snickered, putting the truck in park. “There’s no such thing as normal with the Townsends. It’s just different shades of 'ready to lose their shit' in a multitude of ways.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed my bag. “Yeah, I’ve met enough of them to know their DNA’s got a built-in self-destruct button.”

Drew opened his door. “You’ll fit right in.”

That was what I was afraid of.

Marcus didn’t ask me what was going on. He didn’t sayhi, didn’t ask how I was, didn’t even look surprised to see me wobbling out of Drew’s truck looking like the before photo in a desert survival documentary.

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