Page 9 of Property of Bull
Then a shiver runs through my body again and I know I can’t leave anyone stranded out here in this weather. I ease this old vehicle to a stop and engage the parking brake just as he’s opening the passenger side door.
“Do you have chains?” he asks, scowling when I shrug.
“Give me a minute and I’ll check,” I respond in kind, already miserable that he’s letting all theoutsideinto the moderately warm cab. “Get in if you want to warm up, but close that door.”
His eyes narrow at my command, and instead of listening to me, he hits the release on the seat to dig around in the back. Notready to go outside yet, I pop my seatbelt and turn, getting up on my knees to dig around on my side.
“Maybe there’s one in the back,” I suggest, looking over my shoulder to find him staring in the general direction of my ass.
He’d have to have one hell of an imagination to picture it though.
Meeting him around the backside, I quickly come upon a tow rope and handing him one end, I take the other end before realizing that I have no idea where to attach it.
“Have you done this before?” he asks, sounding dubious.
“I have not,” I reply honestly, pleased he thought to ask instead of letting me bumble around.
“Let me show you then. If this snow keeps up, you’ll come across others who need help.”
His quiet, matter-of-fact tone of voice isn’t hostile and for a split second, I’m reminded of the kindness of the boy who saved me rather than the hot, growly, rough looking biker I’m faced with today.
“Thank you,” I whisper softly, handing him the end of the rope I had taken.
“You got to make sure they’re attached to the right recovery points. The points be in different places on different vehicles, so take your time and do it right. Otherwise, you’ll be driving off with someone’s bumper.” He continues talking, but I’m too focused on his full lips and his blue eyes that are framed by lashes I would kill for. Just as a light snow starts up, he indicates we should head to his vehicle, and I realize I missed most of his lesson.
I get down to his truck first and looking over my shoulder, I find him giving me the oddest look.
“What?”
“Is there something wrong with your legs?” he asks, looking like he’s trying to figure something out.
“No…”
“New boots?”
“Kind of, but I like them.” In my confusion at his questions, I lift my right foot suddenly needing to inspect the object in question.
“Why do you walk like that kid from The Christmas Story?”
That was absolutely the last thing I expected from this man and I start laughing so hard, the boot I had lifted up sets me off balance and even though he reaches out to steady me, I end up taking us both down.
“Are you okay?” I quickly ask, still lying half on top of him. Seeing his eyes darken in what I assume is annoyance, I feel like I’m being drawn into a trap. He nods and I realize he’s waiting for an explanation to his question, regardless of our position. “I have three or four layers on. You try walking around like this. I swear, my inner thighs are so chafed, and it’s only been a couple of weeks of this shit storm.”
“There’s lotion for that you know.” His voice has dropped to a low, deep pitch that sets butterflies swirling inside of me—especially when I imagine him applying the lotion on my upper thighs.
“Um, where’s your recovery thing?” I whisper as I push myself up to my knees, hoping he’ll think my burning red cheeks are because of the cold.
“Are the keys in your truck?” he asks, looking down at me after he’s secured the rope.
“Yep,” I answer.
“Mine are in the ignition, also. Go throw my truck in neutral and steer accordingly,” he instructs me, turning to head back to the plow.
There’s a moment of alarm in my brain when I wonder what the county regulations are regarding the public behind the wheel of the snowplow, but considering they hired me to clear the roads, they can’t be too picky.
Climbing into the passenger seat, I sigh contently at the warmth that surrounds me as I slide across to the driver’s side.
Turning it on, I quickly slide his seat forward so I can more easily reach the pedals and gear shift. A sudden smile breaks across my face at the thought of him needing to do the reverse in the plow; even at 5’8”, I doubt my head hits his shoulder.
