Page 7 of Surly Sheriff
To cover up her discomposure, she moved her focus back to the trunk. She squashed her sleeping bag and pillow behind her duffel and piled the shoes that had fallen from the oversized shopping bag into one corner. She lifted the cooler out. “This can go behind the front seat.”
The man —Beau— shrugged off the backpack and swung it into the gap she had created. It fit. Just. Finding the view of his flexing muscles as he lifted his arms to close the trunk far tooenticing, Rae stepped away and returned to the driver’s side. She placed the cooler in the gap behind the seat and pulled a bottle of water from it. She needed to cool down. Pronto.
Pausing, she looked at her unexpected driving companion, catching him run a hand over his hair. His sunglasses concealed his eyes again, but she could feel his stare.
“Would you like water?” she asked, holding up the bottle.
He scraped his throat. “Thanks,” he replied, and replaced his cap, adjusting the brim low over his forehead.
She retrieved the last bottle and tossed both onto the passenger seat. She gave the sleeping — unconscious? — dog another pat, pulled her seat upright, and dropped her body into it. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Beau open the passenger door. He pushed his seat into its farthest back position, scooped up the bottles, and settled in beside her. Despite the vehicle being a convertible, his presence seemed to fill the space. He opened a water and passed it to her. She took a grateful sip, replaced the top, and positioned it between her thighs, Esmeralda lacking modern conveniences like cup holders. She chuckled as Beau chugged half the bottle in one go. “Thirsty?”
He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Ran out a ways back.”
And that told her he had given his last water to the dog. Her admiration for him taking care of an animal in distress rose. And thinking of the poor hound, they needed to hasten and get to a clinic. She lowered her sunglasses and pulled back onto the road.
“You serve?”
“Marines.”
“Well, thank you for your service.”
He grunted.
“Been in long?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Wow. That’s dedication. Are you’re on leave?”
“Took early retirement.” He slugged back the rest of his water.
“On your way home?”
“Yeah.”
“Is Clearbrook your hometown?”
Another grunt.
“What’s with your gruff behavior?” she asked, giving him a quick look.
He canted his head toward her.
And growled.
Growled.
“I don’t know whether to be angry or grateful you stopped.” He half turned in his seat. “What you did, picking up a hitchhiker, was reckless,” he railed. “You’re young, female, beautiful, driving a sweet car … even one of those elements is a temptation for a depraved pervert or nefarious villain.” He sucked in a breath, huffed it out. “But all of them together … Fuck, Rae, what were you thinking?”
Astonished, she gaped at him. She closed her mouth, only to have it fall open again.
“And keep your eyes on the road,” he snapped, grabbing hold of the steering when the car veered into the oncoming lane. “Didn’t survive fifteen years in the Marines only to die five miles from home.”
It took a hot minute to process all he had said.
And when last had someone been concerned for her safety?
She stifled the surge of melancholy and forced some sass into her voice. “That makes no sense. If I hadn’t stopped, you’d still be walking with the dog around your shoulders.”
