Her brows rose at his tone but then snapped down again. “I am doing my job.”
The flatness and defiance in her voice irked him. “I told you not to go out today,” he said, trying to moderate his tone. “It’s too dangerous, and–”
“Yeah, you told me,” Mal interrupted, raising her voice. “Did I respond? Fun fact, Hunter: I do not like being told what to do.”
Hunter felt a growl well up in his chest. “I don’t care what you like or don’t like, Mallory. You don’t know the area, and it’s dangerous in this weather. When I told you not to go out, I wasn’t doing it because you might get your hair wet. You could seriously get hurt.”
“I don’t need you to look out for me!” she cried, flinging her arm, causing her feet to slide.
Hunter jerked anxiously. “Are you kidding me?” he yelled. “Mal, it is torrential out here, and you’ve been slipping and sliding all day! Your boots are covered in mud! Do you have any idea how easy it would be for you to go tumbling down a ravine and no one ever know?”
“Oh, come on, the chances of that are–”
“Is your phone on you?” he interrupted, hands on his hips.
She opened her mouth, then scowled. “No, it’s at the cottage. Probably on the couch.”
“You never go anywhere on this resort without your phone, you hear me?” he ordered, his voice rising perceptibly. “What if you had gotten lost or hurt or something went wrong?”
Mal groaned up at the sky. “You are such a freaking worrier, you know that? Why do you even care?”
“Stop arguing!” he bellowed, growing irrational in his anger. “Get in the truck!”
She raised a brow. “No.”
“What?”
“I am a photographer, Hunter.” She hefted her camera for emphasis. “This is what I do and who I am. And no overprotective, bossy, nosy resort owner is going to stop me from doing that.”
Hunter felt his lip curl in a snarl and pointed one finger at the truck. “Stop being stubborn and stupid and get in the truck, Mallory!”
“You are ridiculous!” she screeched. “I can’t believe you have a problem with this. You know what this means to me!”
She was growing more and more rooted in, he could tell, but he was not going to bend on this one. “Get in the truck!” he bellowed. “If you won’t get in on your own, I will pick you up and force you in myself.”
Mal snorted and folded her arms, looking at him. “Right.”
“Try me.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled with all the dramatics of a moody teenager and marched over to the truck. Hunter went to his side and got in, waited for her to do the same, and then started driving again.
It was utter silence in the truck for quite a while, him gripping the wheel so tightly it would probably be permanently dented, and Mal looking out of the window, arms and legs crossed, as far away from him as humanly possible. He would have sworn steam was coming off both of them, curling with their mutual fury.
Mal shivered, and he glanced over to see her shaking, tucking her arms and legs more tightly against her. Silently, he reached forward and turned the heat up and turned the vent toward her.
She looked toward him barely and muttered, “You’re going the wrong way.”
“I’m not taking you back,” he told her simply, keeping his eyes focused on the road, trying not to wince every time the wheels slid on the road. He was going to have to talk to someone about the road conditions.
“What?” she cried, her legs coming uncrossed.
He shrugged one shoulder. “My place is closer, and I can keep an eye on you there.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she spat defiantly.
“Tough.”
She sat back heavily against the seat. “I’m drenched,” she said. “I need clothes to change into.”