Page 28 of Reluctantly Married

Luckily, the subject of family did not come up again.

Megan eyed Adam as he pulled off the interstate and onto the highway leading to Sugar Springs. Every time the subject of family came up, he acted weird. Changed the topic. She knew what it was like, she had family issues of her own. But her curiosity was getting the better of her. She was going to ask him—as soon as they were alone, without Dale in the car filming their every move.

Adam flipped on the radio, and a soft rock song filled the car. She raised an eyebrow. “Air Supply? This is what you listen to in your 68 Mustang?”

He just grinned and sang along to ‘Even the Nights are Better,’ in a falsetto voice.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t sing.” She laughed.

He grabbed his chest. “You wound me, milady.”

A flash streaked across the road, and Adam swerved. There was the sickening thud of something hitting the car, and then screeching tires filled the air. When they were stopped on the side of the road, Adam swore under his breath and hopped out.

Megan’s heart raced. What was that? They obviously hit something, and it sounded about the size of a dog. She jumped out, her throat tightening. Adam ran into the ditch and knelt.

As Megan approached, she gasped. “A deer.”

Adam leaned over the animal, speaking in hushed tones. “It’s just a fawn. Not yet a year old.” Dale climbed into the ditch to get a good shot.

The headlights weren’t pointed directly at them, but they provided enough light. A large part of the skin on the hind section of the animal had been ripped off, revealing muscle and bone. Megan drew in a breath and covered her mouth. The deer twitched in obvious pain. “Can we do something?”

Adam scooped the fawn into his arms, holding it close. He looked at its pupils, pressed his fingers into its neck, and checked it over. The deer struggled at first, kicking its legs, but after Adam stroked its fur, it settled down.

Megan worried her hands. “Can you bandage it up?”

Adam didn’t answer, he just stroked the deer’s neck and whispered in its ear.

Panic filled Megan. “Should we take it to your place?”

He shook his head. “No. There’s not enough time. She’s dying.” His voice was husky.

Her heart jumped into her throat. She sat and helplessly watched as Adam caressed the deer, its head sagging, its breathing shallow. Adam continued to speak softly to the animal. Minutes stretched, but soon the animal slumped and was still.

Adam stayed kneeling on the grass, holding the deer, for what seemed like an eternity. Megan shifted her weight, unsure of what to do. “Adam?”

Her voice snapped him out of his trance. He gingerly set the deer on the ground, then stomped off to the car. He opened the trunk and came back with a shovel. He picked up the fawn and headed toward the trees. When Dale began to follow, she put her hand up. “Dale, not now.” Then she left him standing in the grass.

The farther away from the car they got, the darker it was. Megan picked her way over the uneven surface, hoping she didn’t catch a root and fall flat on her face. She watched Adam carefully lay the small fawn’s body down. Then he attacked the ground with the shovel, his muscles bulging from beneath his blood-stained shirt, sweat forming on his forehead.

Megan wasn’t sure what to do, so she watched as the hole grow bigger and deeper. When she was sure it was large enough, she stepped forward. He showed no signs of stopping.

“Adam.”

He ignored her, continuing to dig, his face red with the effort.

She walked closer, careful not to get hit with the shovel. “Adam. Stop.” She grabbed his arm.

He jerked his head up, staring at her like he wasn’t seeing her. Neither of them moved for a breathless moment.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered, stepping into the hole to be closer.

His shoulders slumped. “Yes, it was.”

“No.” She took the shovel from him and tossed it on the ground. “You tried to swerve.”

“I should have been paying closer attention.”

She put her arms around him, drawing him near. His cologne mixed with his masculine smell made her knees weak. “It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated.

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