Oh, who are you kidding? Especially when he scolded you. Like you haven’t dreamed of a man who was protective, loving and sometimes stern.
The way he’d scolded her for carrying those tubs on her own had made her insides tighten. Heck, she didn’t know who he thought would carry them for her. But it was sweet that he’d cared. After all, she was a complete stranger to him.
And she’d likely never see him again. She didn’t have any reason to go back out to Sanctuary Ranch. He definitely didn’t have any reason to come to the spa where she worked. It wasn’t like she ever really went anywhere else. Most of her time was spent working or at home, doing the housework.
Any free time she had was spent reading and daydreaming about handsome, sweet, sexy, bossy Daddies.
In cowboy boots.
Oh, yes, please.
She caught a glimpse of the time on the dash of the old car and swore under her breath.
Shit! If she didn’t get home soon, her aunt was going to have a fit. She pushed down on the accelerator, taking a corner fast. A smile lit up her face. She loved driving fast. And while this old rust bucket of a car might not have a working heater or decent suspension—she bounced with each hole in the road—it did have a bit of horsepower.
Turning another corner, she let out a giggle at the rush of adrenaline. She shot down the straight road. Headlights headed towards her on the other side of the road, and she dimmed her lights, but didn’t slow down. She had a good speed going now.
“Go, baby, go,” she cheered.
Then her good mood plummeted as she heard a siren go off behind her.
Mierda! No.
Not good. Not good.
The other car had turned around and was heading back her way. She hadn’t even noticed that it was a cop car.
Drat. Damn it. Her aunt would kill her if she got a speeding ticket. She slowed and put on her indicator, driving off to the side of the road.
The cop car pulled up behind her, the headlights flooding her car with light. Nerves filled her stomach. It’s all right. It’s not him. Not all cops are bad.
Rosalind had filled Marisol’s head with stories of corrupt police officers. Of how all cops were to be feared. Were evil. Once she was older, she realized her aunt had done that on purpose, that she’d likely made most of those stories up in order to make Marisol mistrustful of the police.
Then when she was ten, her aunt had been arrested and Marisol had been questioned by a police officer on a power trip before social services arrived. He’d yelled at her, threatened her, terrified her. But she’d never said a word to him. Or anyone since about what happened. Still, it had further ingrained a fear of the authorities.
You have nothing to be afraid of. Just take the ticket and drive away. Nothing to be scared of.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t gotten speeding tickets before. Just never at nighttime. On such a quiet road.
He could do anything to you and no one would ever know.
Okay, she had to stop.
What was a cop doing out here at this time of night anyway? There was a knock at her window and she jumped, letting out a cry.
Shit! She held her hand to her heart. He’d scared her half to death. What did he think he was doing?
He’s probably trying to get you to wind down your window so he can talk to you . . . idiot.
“Right, right,” she muttered to herself as she reached over and wound down the window.
“Evening,” a friendly voice said.
Even psychopaths can sound friendly. Assassins can sound friendly. School principals can sound friendly.
But they all have the potential to make your life a living hell.
“Miss? You okay? Miss? Are you hyperventilating?”