No use asking the questions once you were trussed up in the basement of Murray’s cabin, having your fingernails plucked off as souvenirs.
“I’ll help him over here,” Archer told her. “Then I’ll move our bags to the back of your truck? Are you able to take us to Murray’s place?”
“Yep. Sure. I can do that.” She hadn’t actually thought about where she would be taking them. But Murray’s was definitely a better idea than taking them into town.
Please don’t let there be any thunder.
Another man walked towards her. He was holding something against his head. Archer turned towards him then back to her.
“Why don’t you get in your truck, ma’am? It’s pouring down and freezing, and you don’t have a jacket on.”
Was that a note of censure in his voice? She shrugged it off. What did he care if she didn’t have a jacket on? He didn’t know her.
But yeah, getting in the truck wasn’t a bad idea. She spun, at the last minute remembering how muddy it was. Thankfully, this time, she managed to keep her balance.
Graceful as always, Caley Jane.
She climbed into her truck and turned the heater on full, aware now of how badly she was shivering. Remembering a jacket would have been smart. Caley knew she was smart. She just didn’t have a lot of common sense sometimes.
If Dave had still been alive, he wouldn’t have let her go out in the rain without a coat. But then, if he was still here, he’d have come out to get these guys himself.
The familiar pang of sadness hit her. Although it was growing less painful as time went on. Which made her feel guilty. It should hurt just as badly as it did when he was taken from her, right?
It felt wrong that it didn’t. Like she wasn’t respecting his memory. Like she was starting to love him less when that just wasn’t true. She still loved him. It was just that she was so damn lonely.
The door opened and another large man swung himself into the passenger seat. What? Did they grow them huge wherever these two came from? This guy seemed a bit broader across the shoulders. Although it was hard to tell unless she saw him up against the first man. Archer. Cool name. She filed it away to use in a story.
He shut the door. He wore a slicker with the collar turned up. No doubt that kept him nice and dry. She needed to invest in one of those. She stared at him, trying to make out his features. All she could really see was that he seemed to have a short beard.
Hmm. She was a sucker for a beard. A good mountain man should have a beard. And he certainly looked like a mountain man. As though he could wrestle a grizzly bear single-handed then start a fire from scratch, skin a fish and build a shelter without breaking a sweat.
He slumped back in his seat and turned to look at her.
“Looked your fill, girl?”
She blinked at the rude comment. “Excuse me?”
“You’re gawking.”
Her temper stirred. All right, maybe she had been staring. But he was a stranger in her vehicle. Plus, she didn’t meet many new people anymore. Certainly not men who were quite so, umm, masculine.
Good word usage there, Caley. You must be a writer.
“You’re in my truck. I came out to rescue you in a storm.”
“And that gives you the right to stare at me?”
“Yes.”
There was a moment of silence. “Fair enough.”
She’d opened her mouth to argue some more when she realized he was agreeing with her. That was unexpected. Archer walked past with the bags and placed them in the truck.
She turned back to the strange guy as he pulled a bit of cloth away from his head, feeling ill at the sight of blood on it.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Yep,” he agreed.