Page 13 of Gatling
I sputtered a laugh of disbelief.
“Beg your pardon? What are you talking about?”
Marcy held up her hand, ticking off names with her fingers.
“Let’s see. There’s Noah, the soldier boy with the juicy ass.”
I gagged.
“Ew! He’s my brother. Don’t talk about him like that to me.”
She continued, unfazed.
“Then there’s the biker hunk. What’s his name?”
The tips of my ears burned.
“Ryker.”
Marcy gave a dreamy sigh.
“Ryker. God, I’d love to snuggle between his muscled thighs all day long.”
The pit of my stomach clenched until I felt queasy. I had no right to be jealous. Ryker and I weren’t together, and that would never change. He didn’t really seem to be the type to settle down and get married. He was more of a lone wolf, a bachelor for life. But that didn’t mean he would forego sexual companionship…
I shook my head, steering the conversation somewhere else.
“We can’t talk about this in front of the kids,” I hissed through my teeth. “You know they repeat everything they hear—”
A little girl came up to us, pushing a miniature shopping cart with a jumble of dolls inside.
“What’s a biker hunk?”
Marcy snorted a laugh.
"See what I mean?" I whispered.
“You’ll find out when you’re older, sweetie." Marcy knelt down and smoothed a stray curl away from the little girl's forehead. “Your main concern right now is what snack you’re going to pick for lunch.”
The little girl cheered, sufficiently distracted.
And I released a breath of relief, grateful for the change of subject.
By the time I got off work, the sun dipped low on the horizon. As August came to a close, the days grew shorter. Autumn was just around the corner. In about a week, September would arrive, bringing cooler temperatures, the first touch of fall colors, and pumpkin-spiced everything. My favorite time of year.
As I headed to my car, movement on the other side of the street caught my attention. My heart leaped into my throat and my gaze snapped up. A large silver truck rolled around the corner.
Uneasiness prickled along my arms.
It’s nothing,I reasoned.I'm just jumpy and overreacting.
Big silver trucks were a dime a dozen in Montana.
But I could have sworn I’d seen that same truck following me to work last week. It didn’t happen every day though, so I couldn’t be absolutely sure.
That’s why I didn’t mention it to Ryker. I could imagine what a disaster that conversation would be.
Hey, um…yeah, this truck follows me. No, just once in a while. And I don’t have a license plate number. Have I seen thedriver’s face? Well, no, not exactly. I can’t be sure it’s the same truck, either. It’s just…a feeling.
