Chapter 20
HART
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WE’RE NOT TEN minutes on the road, and I catch her staring.
A spark of heat runs through my spine, and I flex my arms. “Admiring the muscles, the healing stab wound on my shoulder, or my gut where you punched me?”
There are few things in life more satisfying than piloting a thirty-foot bus or riding a stallion through the open plains, but watching Jade Fox slowly combust in the passenger seat ranks number one.
She rolls her eyes. “Just checking how well you patched your shoulder up. Looks like a shoddy job.”
“Pretending to care about my wound but really checking out my muscles. Our secret.”
“Your ego’s unreal.” She scoffs. “And trust me, I’ve learned my lesson. You really think I’d fall for that again? You’re the last guy I’d ever check out. You treat women like disposable objects, just notches on your bedpost. No thanks.” She opens the paper map.
For as long as I can remember, crawling under her skin and settling there like a splinter had been my goal.
Today feels different.
Hits different.
It’s that damn bucket list book she’s protecting from me, wedged between her thigh and the seat.
It doesn’t make a difference; I know every entry.
Every item on that list.
Every single damn word.
She leans over the crumpled, ancient map, her hair falling loose where her hat usually sits.
“We need the fastest route.” She squints at the faded lines.
Back in school, she didn’t wear it, but now? It never leaves her head, but she’s tossed it on the dashboard with her Aztec sweater.
I can’t help but notice the little things—the curve of her neck, the delicate line of her shoulder blade. And how hard my nipples are from the blasted air conditioning.
Do I regret ripping off my T-shirt to make her squirm?
Not in the slightest.
My nipples?
Yeah, they’d beg to differ.
I reach over and turn the air down a few degrees.
“Take a right at the stop sign.” Without looking up, she stabs a finger in the air, pointing right.
I could make this simple and follow her directions, taking us back to the original plan, the route I chose. The one she’s now so eager to steer me toward.
I should make the turn.
My fingers curl around the wheel. The road stretches ahead in the wrong direction. I slow to a stop at the country intersection.
“Blinker. You’re turning right.” Her tone is bossy.
Eyes locked dead ahead, hands firm at ten and two, I press the gas and yank the wheel hard to the left.
She snaps up her head, eyes wide. “The right, not the left. What part of no detours and reckless driving don’t you get?”
She spins around in her seat to look behind us as if that will magically put us in the right direction.
“Relax.” I shoot her a grin. “Sometimes you gotta blaze your own trail. You’ll thank me later.”
“I will not thank you later. This is literally the opposite direction.”
“Jade’s become the fun police,” I tease, but she’s always been the quiet one who didn’t break the rules.
“As I recall, you were the one insisting we don’t have time to get off track.”
I was, but now an opportunity has presented itself. Even if she can’t see it, she’ll thank me later.
“This whole drive, you’ve been off track.” I swerve around a fallen branch on the road.
“No. I was taking a planned detour, giving us enough time to arrive at the campground before they shut the gates at four. But you’re going to get us lost.”
That’s the plan, but with time to spare. If she relaxed long enough to put two and two together, she’d realize this is for her.
“We’re fine.”
She looks out the window. “Fine, my ass. You take one more wrong turn like that and I’ll snatch that cowboy hat off your head and beat you with it ‘til you remember this ain’t Nascar and you ain’t Dale damn Earnhardt.”
I smirk at her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Kinky Jade.”
“I am not the kinky one.” She turns her head to look out the side window.
She almost sounds like she’s convinced herself.
“You don’t have to lie,” I say. “It’s just you and me.”
“I can fix this.” She lowers her head and is back planning the next stop, but not before she turns the air up a few notches.
My poor nipples.
“The next stop has a creek right next to it. You’re gonna turn right—right. Not left. Not straight. Right. Then follow the creek. It’ll take us back to the road you ignored.”
Her shoulders drop as she eases back in the seat and opens our bucket list. The one we wrote together.
The hair from her ponytail flows over her shoulders in soft waves. Relaxed looks good on her.
Lucky her.
Taking this road is the worst call I’ve made today. It’s about as wide as a footpath and just as bumpy, with patches of gravel scattered like the whole thing’s been pieced together by a blindfolded contractor.
Up ahead, a massive pothole comes into view, looking like a crater-sized divot ready to shred a tire or break the suspension.
I yank the wheel to the right, skimming the edge.
“Seriously?” Jade grabs the armrests, her fingernails digging into the leather.
“Pothole,” I say it like it’s no big deal.
I’m not about to let her know I regret taking this road.
I get back in the lane just as another one appears. This one’s bigger. It’s got jagged edges and a center so deep I swear I could hide a body in it.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
“Shit? What shit?” She looks up and spots it. “Shit.”
I jerk the wheel again, and the bus lurches, rocking. I can almost hear the suspension groaning, begging for mercy.
“Fuck, Hart.”
Those choice words do something to me.
The way she snaps my name—angry and biting—hits harder than it should and sends a jolt of electricity running through me. And damn, if it doesn’t go straight to my groin.
“Just hold on,” I tell her, the edge of my grin holding as steady as I am the wheel. “The road’s bumpy.”
“Yeah, the wrong road,” she shoots back, eyes burning the side of my head.
Just as I think the worst is behind us, we hit another one. This one’s a nasty patch of uneven dirt and loose gravel. The bus shudders hard, the tires complain as they hit the rough ground.
The back end of the bus slams down with a sharp thud, and I hear the unmistakable sound of something pop.
“Shit.”
I glance in the rearview mirror. There’s a faint puff of smoke or dust trailing behind us. We’ve definitely hit something sharp.
My stomach sinks. This ain’t good.
“Did we just blow a tire? And by we, I mean you.” Jade’s gaze is fixed on the side mirror.
I slow the bus, pulling over, which isn’t even enough space for a vehicle to pass. Good thing we haven’t passed another vehicle for miles.
I kill the engine, and the kind of quiet that follows feels loud. “I reckon we did.”
“I hope you’re better at changing a tire than you are at following directions.” Her arms slide from the armrests and fold tightly over her chest.
“I’ll get us fixed up.”
I get the jack and roll it underneath the frame. The ground is soft. The angle is off. I know better than to throw the jack anywhere. It needs solid ground, a solid frame, and solid placement. The last thing I want is this whole bus tilting or worse, crashing down while I’m mid-tire change.
Hands on my hips, I stare at the jack for a minute, and then catch her reflection in the mirror, watching me.
Her lips curve upward. She’s not even trying to hide her amusement. She’s got a front-row seat to the outcome of my bad decision and secretly—but not secretly—hoping I fail.
I touch the brim of my hat with a flick and a half-smile.
Sweetheart, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I know what the fuck I’m doing.
I find a piece of wood inside the storage area and place it under the jack. I start cranking. The handle squeaks in protest, but the weight of the bus begins to lift.
The savage sun pounds me with heat and sweat stings as it runs down my face. Every inhale is heavy and thick with dust from the dry earth.
Her reflection catches my eye again. She’s leaning forward, elbows on the windowsill, that smile of hers unrestrained. The kind that says she’s enjoying this just a little too much.
“Don’t you worry. Almost done,” I shout to her.
“We’ll see.”
Grabbing the wrench, I work on loosening the lug nuts. As I roll the flat tire behind me, it slips down the edge of the gravel.
Cursing under my breath, I reposition it and then head for the spare. I swap out the flat, tighten the lug nuts, and lower the bus back to the ground.
With a quick wipe of his hands, I let out a sigh of relief.
The sound no sooner leaves my lips than my boot heel catches the blasted loose gravel.
The next thing I know, I’m falling backward like a sack of potatoes.
My arms thrash, and I try to catch my balance, but my feet slip out beneath me, and I crash into the ditch.
My back hits hard with a jolt that attacks me far worse than Jade’s little love tap.
“Shit,” I groan.
For a split second, everything goes silent, and the world tilts sideways as I’m sprawled out in the middle of the ditch. Sunglasses gone, I blink at the sky, a little disoriented, holding my breath against the pain.
I hear the passenger’s door slam shut. I hear her boots crunch against the dirt until she stands at the edge of the road, staring down at me.
She bends over to pick up my sunglasses. I can’t rip my eyes away from the angle of her ass in her denim cutoffs.
Turning to face me, she dangles my shades in one hand and lifts her sunglasses into her hair with her other. “How’s the weather down there?”
She’s so damn smug and damned if it doesn’t turn me on a bit.
“It’s a little dusty and a bit rough down here, but I promise, I know how to handle it.”
“If you knew how to use your tools correctly”—she takes a step closer—“maybe the women wouldn’t have to finish the jobs themselves.”
She picks the worst moment to burn my ego.
I prop myself on my elbows. “Trust me, I know how to use my tools.”
“If this visual is any sign, I’m not sure you even know what your tools are.”
I grit my teeth.