Page 9 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Where was she?”

“Broke down on the side of the road. Decided to hoof it in hundred-degree heat with half a pharmacy and a tactical bag the size of a toddler. By the time Drew picked her up, she was two shades past lobster.”

I exhaled. “Jesus.”

“She’s got a mouth on her too. Snapped at me like I was the reason her car didn’t survive the Florida asphalt.”

I actually smiled at that. “Sounds like she’s still herself.”

“More or less. Adrienne and Santana are on Gabby duty until you get back.”

“ETA three hours, give or take.”

“She’ll still be red when you get here. Might even be glowing.”

I chuckled. “Thanks, Marcus.”

“Don’t thank me until you see her tan lines.”

Three hours later…

I wasn’t far from home when I passed a broken, heat-hissing Camry, pulled off to the side of the road as if it had given up mid-argument with the pavement.

I slowed, squinting as I passed. It wasn’t much to look at—an old car with a worn paint job, a trunk that was slightly misaligned, and windows that were half-cracked, as if someone had bailed in a hurry. There was no one around, but I caught a faint whiff of something burnt as I drove by. It could have been engine steam or the scent of desperation, it was hard to tell.

I reached for my phone and dialed Sasha. She answered quickly. “Is she with you?” she asked, the tension clear in her voice.

“No, but I just passed a broken-down steel grey Camry a few miles out from the ranch. You sure you said Corolla?”

“Ididsay Corolla,” she confirmed. “That’s what she’s had forever.”

I raised a brow and watched the Camry disappear in my rearview mirror. “You positive? Could itpossiblybe a Camry instead?”

There was a pause. Then, “...I mean, maybe? Is there that big of a difference between the two?”

I sighed. “The color was off, too.”

Another pause. “What’s the standard color for champagne, anyway?”

“Not grey.”

“Oops.”

I closed my eyes. “Sasha?—”

“Ithoughtit was a Corolla! I don’t pay attention to her car. It’s always been... beige. Or light-ish.”

“Congratulations, you’ve just described half the vehicles in Florida.”

She groaned on the other end. “So, it’s her car.”

“Pretty sure, yeah. I'll call you later after I've spoken to her, now that we know where she is and that she's okay.”

"Sorry about the Civic, Webb." My eye ticked at the new vehicle being thrown into the conversation. "Thanks for looking out for Gabby and helping me."

I ended the call and immediately called two of the ranch hands—Doug and Benny, both reliable and not inclined to ask too many questions if told not to.

“Need you to pick up a broken-down Camry about five miles out, heading west,” I told them. “Steel grey. Bring it back here and stash it in the east shed.”

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