Page 8 of Cold Foot Revenge
His heart rate kicked up and Dylan jogged toward the sliding glass door entrance.
He didn’t even grab a cart. In a rush, he searched the produce section, and then three more aisles before he jogged down one of them and checked the back of the store. There were a lot of people here, but none with the red and blond hair Wolf Mask had.
He rounded a corner and ran right into a cart. A petite woman with mouse-brown hair apologized and was in the middle of saying she didn’t see him there when she stopped talking and raised her delicately arched eyebrows higher. Pretty lady. The natural kind of pretty too, where she looked pretty with no make-up.
“’Scuse me,” he muttered, looking around her down the aisle she’d just come down. “Fuck,” he said under his breath as he jogged to the next aisle. There was an older woman in this aisle with a couple of grandkids in tow, looked like. The next aisle had a guy, and the next aisle was empty.
Shit, what if he had missed her? What if she’d left while he was in the back of the store looking for her?
He searched that store up and down, but Wolf Mask was not here.
“Shit on a roach,” he muttered.
“What?” a woman asked from right behind him.
“Oh.” He offered a polite smile to the lady. “Just talking to myself.”
“Right.” The silver-haired woman frowned and pointed to the shelf behind him. “Are you done taking up the whole aisle?”
“Oh!” he said, realizing he was in her way. “Sorry.” He cast her one last glance as he walked away, and the battleax was glaring at him like she hated him. Geez, he never thought he would think this, but he kind of missed Montana right now. Darby was full of friendly folks.
Never once had anyone been rude to him in a grocery store. But a dozen times someone had struck up a conversation with him just to be friendly.
Huh. Maybe being away from Darby would make him appreciate what he’d had there more. Maybe he would like the memories of that place better.
Deflated, he made his way to the front and grabbed a cart, and in a fog shoved food into it. Now, Dylan wasn’t the most organized of souls and had never in his life shopped with a grocery list, but today it would’ve benefited him. By the time he got to the check-out line, he mostly just had breads and donuts, a couple of packs of cookies, Fruit Roll-Ups, and Hot Pockets.
In line, he frowned down at his wares and realized he hadn’t gotten anything he’d actually come in here for.
Gah, he was a mess.
Inhaling deeply, he leaned his forearms on the handle of the cart and scanned the candy racks thoughtfully. Nothing good in this line. He looked over at the next one and felt someone staring at him. A few lines over, he could see the pretty brown-haired lady looking at him.
She startled hard, and looked down at her cart, busted, but not before he’d seen her eye color—bright blue.
Recognition shot through him like a lightning bolt, and he stood up straight. “You!”
Her profile was rigid, her eyes wide and her lips pursed into a thin little line as she shoved her cart forward.
“Hey!” the guy in front of her griped as she hit him in the back of the leg.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Wolf Mask!” Dylan called, maneuvering his cart out of line to go get behind her. “Oh my God, you look so different.”
“Shhh!” she hissed at him, flashing him an angry look.
“Hey, can we talk?” he asked lower.
“Lady, you are right up on my ball sack, give me space!” the guy in front of her barked out.
“I can’t!” she said. “The guy behind me is crowding me too.”
“Hey, my guy,” the thirty-something yelled. “Back the fuck off.”
“Boy,” Dylan said, straightening his spine. “Don’t be cussing at me or this lady. Move forward if you want some space, you have a goddamn mile.”
Whatever he saw in Dylan’s face was whatever most men saw in his face when they tested him. He would fight a rhinoceros. He did not care about grown men’s attitudes and was perfectly comfortable teaching a lesson in manners.
