Page 52 of The Vigilante's Lover
She looks around. “Where are we?”
“A barn.”
She coughs out half a laugh. “Back to my roots.”
“You can take the girl out of the country,” I say.
“But you can’t take the country out of the girl,” she finishes. Then she frowns. “Did you lose your shirt?”
“It looks better on you.”
Mia glances down. “Oh,” she says.
“I think you were changing when the dart took effect,” I tell her.
She tugs the shirt more tightly around her. “I don’t remember.”
Her closeness now that she is awake starts to become a distraction. I’m still surprised by her unexpected kiss, tying me down. Yes, I definitely need to put some distance between us.
“I’m going to get your clothes from the car,” I say and stand up.
“Are we safe here?” she asks.
“For a while. Until you recover a bit.”
She sits up. “Where are we going?”
I was expecting this question. I’m not sure if I should continue to placate her, or tell her the truth.
But my hesitation gives me away. She struggles to her feet. “You can’t take me back to Tennessee. I won’t go!”
“Mia, you are acting like a petulant child.”
“You weren’t treating me like a child a few minutes ago!”
God, she’s so difficult. Why won’t she just let me get her to safety?
“If you stay with me, we’re both dead,” I say.
“You got us out of the silo. We jumped into a river! I kept up withyou!” Her eyes flash like fire in the dim barn. The poison’s definitely out of her system. Or the antidote is making her slightly manic.
“We work well together!” she insists.
She stands before me, clutching the shawl and my shirt. Her hair falls over her bare shoulders, the red straps of her bra bright against her skin.
I have to get some distance.
“I need to get some supplies from my car,” I say.
She reaches out her hand. “I want to go out there with you.”
Does she think I’m going to just leave her here in the barn? “I’m not going to desert you here,” I tell her. “We’re miles from anywhere.”
“Can you just sit down for a minute?” she asks, tilting her head. Her green eyes are visible even in this light.
“In the last few hours, I’ve been interrogated, locked up, forced to climb a ladder in the pitch black, chased by strangers, and shot with a dart,” she says. “You owe me a moment.”
She plops back down on the hay, letting the shawl and my shirt fall into a puddle in her lap. Her bare shoulders lead to the red bra. It’s not substantial at all, just sheer wisps that accentuate her puckered nipples in the chill.
