Page 18 of Shades of Mercy
“You know I will.” This time, Jag didn’t look in Mercy’s direction.
Jag took her bag from her and set it in the back of the truck. Mateo climbed into his truck and drove away. And then she was alone with Jag. She felt isolated and concerned, a cocktail of emotions she didn’t want to feel. She worried about her brother and how she’d handle being near Jag.
“We should go too. Let's try to beat the storm,” Jag said, broodingly.
She nodded. There was no running now. She needed to find an invisible muzzle to keep her words—and possibly her hormones—in check.
She wouldn’t be gone for long—a week to two weeks at most—and then she could go back to her life, where work kept her busy.
Jag opened the passenger door, and after a second of hesitation, she climbed inside, getting a whiff of leather and sagebrush. That smell had remained in her nostrils for weeks after they’d had sex. She knew it was all in her head, but he did something magical to her senses.
The door closed, and she watched in the mirror as he rounded the back of the truck. Once he was settled behind the wheel, she glanced over at his profile. “This is going to be very interesting.”
“I’m assuming he doesn’t know?”
“That we had sex and then you disappeared? No.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.
He clamped both hands on the steering wheel. “Mercy…”
“Don’t bother. It’s a blip on the map. It meant nothing.” Her tongue burned with the lies. There wasn’t a time when she hadn’t wanted Jag, and the rejection still stung.
Jag heaved a long sigh. “Don’t worry. You’re safe.”
“I’m sure I won’t need a babysitter too long. You know how Mateo is. He won’t stop until he has Cross behind bars.”
Jag glanced in his mirror and pulled out onto the street. “You have every right to hate me.”
She blinked. “I do?”
“That night…it was a mistake,” he said quietly.
“You’re right, I do, but do we need to hash it out since we agree? It’s history,” she said, staring out the side window. The scenery changed from fields with clusters of wildflowers to a historic area.
“We should have talked a long time ago.” he said, swiping off his hat and dropping it onto the seat between them.
“Talking is overrated.”
“For this agreement to work, we have to be on the same page.”
She then looked at him. “Agreement?”
“You did say you agreed.”
“Remind me.”
“We can’t drag anyone else into this. No one can know who you are.” He slowed the truck as if the following words needed his utmost care. “You’re taking the cook’s position.”
“I’m what?” she sputtered.
He sighed. “You did agree.”
“To beyourcook? What is this? An episode ofDesperate Housewives?”
“Not as my cook. The ranch’s cook. The crew needs one.”
She fumbled for her phone in her purse.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
