Page 23 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“What! It’s just what?”
“I saw someone sneak up on you, and I was so worried about you.”
The softness in his voice makes my heart stop. He was scared for me, and something about that makes me warm inside. My voice softens, too. “I get that, I think. If I saw someone sneak up on you, I’d also be worried.”
“Really?” he asks hopefully.
“Mostly, I’d be worried for them, because I’m pretty sure you’d murder anyone who snuck up on you, but yeah, I’d be worried about you, too.” I smirk.
He grins. “So, then. Are we still on for supper at seven?”
“And bring Max. I think Sugar misses him.” I nod. “I need to go back in and grab a couple of things. And then I need to hit the liquor store for supplies?—"
He raises an eyebrow at me and asks, “Did you drink the rest of that bottle of bourbon already?”
“No. I’m making something special tonight and I am going to need more booze for it.”
He smiles. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you then.”
Some twisted part of me wants to kiss him goodbye. What in the hell? I give a curt nod and fight my urges, as I put my groceries in the truck, then I go back inside. It’s warm in the store, but I still have the chills from his sexy smile. I’m not sleeping with him again. Nope. No siree. Not doing it.
***
All afternoon, I habitually check the roast, taste everything else, tap my foot, and generally drive Sugar crazy. I can’t take it anymore. “Sugar, we’re going for a run.”
Her giant tail whacks into the dresser, while I suit up in my cold weather running gear. It’s layer after layer of synthetic materials, topped off by a bright orange puffy vest which is rated for sub—zero temperatures. I want to stay visible and warm. I’d hate for my three year—long struggle to end in getting run over or shot by actual hunters. But my underlayers are in browns and whites, in case I get chased down by another kidnapper. I match the snowy dead trees. That way, I can ditch the puffy vest and stay camouflaged. I braid my dark red hair, then pin it under my hat, in case of the kidnapper. No easily grabbable parts. “Can’t be too careful, Sugar.”
She stares up and smiles in agreement. Or because I said her name. Not sure which it is.
On the run, I jump at every unusual sound, and I run next to a forest, so there are a lot of strange sounds. I long for the days when I could do this with earbuds and a thumping playlist in the middle of a city park. Without music, the runs are harder. Without the occasional other runner or lady with a baby carriage, feeling safe is almost impossible. But I keep running to keep my cardio in top condition.
In case of kidnappers.
I miss the days when my every thought wasn’t about Riker and his men. I’m glad Sugar is with me, but I worry she’ll run off again. She never mastered running with a leash on, so she runs free next to me. Sugar trots happily alongside me, like today is the best day ever. That’s every day for her, and I’m so jealous. When I die, I hope I am reincarnated as my own dog.
Two miles in, and my eyes dart side to side looking for anyone. Sometimes when I run in the morning, I see Mrs. Black getting her mail, so I always like to make sure to say hi. But she’s not around in the afternoons. Jordan’s truck is at her place, though. Odd. He is neighborly. Would it be neighborly of me to stop by and check on them?
No, it’d probably be weird. Besides, I’m sure he can handle whatever is going on there. And Sugar’s paws have to be freezing by now, even with her leather trail booties. “Come on, Sug. Let’s go home. We have to finish making dinner.”
She woofs in agreement. Or because I said her name again.
9
“You could bring Ernie out here. He can handle the snow.”
Michael laughs at me and says, “Mrs. Black is on your way home and it’s a cat in a tree. We do not need everyone to leave the station on Ernie for a cat in a tree.”
“Ernie has a ladder, and I don’t know how high up?—"
“It’s because she hits on you, isn’t it?”
I sigh. “Mrs. Black is in her eighties, man.”
“Yeah, but I bet she was smoking hot, back in her day.”
“Thenyoucome save her cat.”
He snickers and says, “Go on, Jordan. Rescue her cat and she might let you rub Bengay on her hard to reach spots.”
