Chapter Six
It isn’t just a lamp. It’s never just a lamp.
After completing a laundry list of tasks that were far from urgent, I pull back into my driveway and blow out a long, aggravated breath. At least Wes didn’t witness my mom’s theatrics.
Needing a few more minutes to calm down before facing him, I rush through the living room. “Just need to change,” I say quickly over my shoulder without making eye contact.
When I emerge from my bedroom in my normal chasing uniform of leggings and a tank top, dress firmly back in the closet, there’s a brief moment when disappointment flashes across Wes’s face. Refusing to think about what that might mean, I grab my bag and head out to the driveway.
He tosses his duffel haphazardly into the trunk, only to stare at me like I’ve lost my mind when I yank it right back out.
“Unless you want to chase with a naked guy, I’m going to need that,” he drawls, propping his hip against the side of my car and folding his arms across his chest. I absolutely don’t notice the way the muscles in his forearms flex.
I definitely don’t think about Wes naked.
“No one is taking their clothes off in my car,” I say with a pointed look. “We’re also not just chucking stuff in here. I’ve got a system.”
“Of course you do.”
My eyes snap to his. “You don’t have to come with me. Just take your credit card to whatever dealership you want and buy yourself a new car. No one says you have to do this.”
A muscle flexes in his jaw, but Wes doesn’t say another word as I carefully stack our bags so that the camera gear is both accessible and not about to fall on the ground the first time we open the back hatch.
If he wants to trash fifteen grand worth of gear, that’s on him, but it’s not so easy for me to replace.
After a quick stop to fuel our raging caffeine addictions, I merge onto I-25 and do my best to settle in for the long drive south. “I’m thinking we stay in Hobbs tonight. Any objections?”
“I’m good with that.” Wes gives me a long look and then asks more quietly, “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He leans back into his seat and folds his tanned arms across his chest. “Fine usually means anything but.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and focus on the long stretch of road ahead. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fair enough.” Wes yawns and tips the brim of his baseball hat down over his face. “Mind if I grab a nap?”
“Nope. The music going to bother you?”
“Nah. I can sleep through just about anything.”
Wes doesn’t say another word for the next two hours. Maybe he’s asleep. Maybe he’s just pretending to be because he has even less to say to me than I have to say to him. If I just ignore the bulk of him in the passenger seat, it’s almost like I’m alone.
Almost.
His eyes crack open when I stop for gas just over the New Mexico border, the deep green of spring in the mountains giving way to a long expanse of dry desert scrub.
We’re too far west to run into other chasers yet, the parking lot full of truckers and a group of bikers having lunch in the afternoon sun.
“Gas is on me,” Wes says, his voice rough with sleep. “Least I can do.”
“We can just split it,” I insist, the low rasp of his just-woke-up voice making me question if spending days in close quarters together is a good idea. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” The nap seems to have improved his mood. Wes grins before he grabs the door handle when I pull up to the pump. “But I’m going to do it, so let’s not waste time arguing about it. As long as we’re chasing together, I’ll cover the gas. We both know you’re doing me a huge favor.”
One part irritated at the high-handedness and one part grateful that my budget will stretch further than I planned, I fumble out a “Thank you” just before the passenger door falls shut. I can’t remember the last time someone pumped gas for me, never mind paid for it.
Banging my head back into the headrest, I stare out across the parking lot at the clouds. Off to the east, barely visible at the very edge of the horizon, the telltale profile of a building storm grabs my attention.
While Wes is pumping gas, I scan data on my iPad.
A couple of hours ago, the models showed scattered storms that weren’t going to amount to much forming in the area where Texas, New Mexico, and Oklahoma all meet.
Now, roughly a hundred miles or so to our east, the picture has changed, the black ovals of supercells dotting the area over the next several hours.
“Look at this,” I say without preamble when Wes gets back in the car. I hand him the iPad and move into a parking spot. “If we detour east now, we can probably catch it.”
He looks up with a smirk. “Let me drive and we’ll definitely catch it.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel reflexively. “You forget I just saw what happens when you’re behind the wheel.”
It’s hard to believe that all went down only yesterday afternoon, but that’s the thing about chase season.
Time gets slippery. Yesterday I woke up in Kansas and went to bed in Colorado; tonight we’ll be in New Mexico or Texas, depending on how far we chase this system to the east. By June, I’ll be so sick of my car that I’ll vow not to go any farther than the grocery store for weeks.
I’m still not letting Wes anywhere near the driver’s seat.
“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he says in an exaggerated drawl. “I’m not about to steal your keys. East works for me. Just going to head inside for some snacks. You need anything?”
“I’ll come with you.”
Thanks to holiday travelers, the store is far busier than usual for a middle-of-nowhere truck stop.
A pretty blonde in a pastel-yellow sundress clocks Wes the second we walk in, her focus locked on him as he heads for the energy drinks.
I split off to the sad fruit display. She waits all of three seconds before sidling her way over to him.
Rolling my eyes, I dig through the apples in search of one that isn’t bruised. When I look up again, Wes is grinning at the blonde and making no move to separate her hand from his arm.
“Seriously?” I mutter under my breath while she leans closer. Wes being a flirt is nothing new, but we’ve barely been on the road for a couple of hours. If he thinks I’m going to wait around while he has a conversation with her perky cleavage, he’s going to be walking back to Colorado Springs.
Stomping over to the water case, I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Wes has his phone out, tapping on the screen while laughing at something the blonde said. I don’t even want to consider how many phone numbers that man has accumulated.
My phone buzzes a second later, and eager for a distraction, I pull it out—only to find a text from Wes.
Little help??
Snorting under my breath, I quickly reply, I am NOT your wingwoman before shoving my phone back in my pocket. When it buzzes again, I ignore it and focus on grabbing the coldest bottle of water I can find.
“Sloane, there you are, darlin’,” Wes says, suddenly at my side. His new friend scowls and takes a step closer to him. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes again.
I transform into a five-foot-eleven popsicle, frozen in the middle of the aisle, when Wes drapes his arm around my shoulders. He leans closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of my ear as he murmurs, “Play along and I’ll owe you big time.”
“You already owe me,” I hiss under my breath, but I don’t shake off his arm.
Despite Easter Barbie glaring daggers at me, being tucked into his side feels pretty nice.
At my height, it’s not often I meet a guy that makes me feel anything close to dainty.
Despite the shrieks from my inner feminist, some lizard-brain part of me likes it.
Or I’m so touch-starved that I’m starting to lose my mind.
“So what do you say, Wes?” The blonde bats her eyelashes and leans forward in an unnatural posture that puts her chest on full display. “I’d love to show you a good time while you’re visiting New Mexico. My family’s place has a private hot spring. It’s very secluded.”
“Sounds like an invite to get murdered.” It should be too quiet for her to hear, but by his choked laugh, Wes catches my muttering just fine.
“Thanks, but we’ve got to get going,” he says while sliding his hand low on my hip. I get a little thrill at the possessive move, which has nothing to do with Wes and everything to do with the novelty of someone claiming me so blatantly. Even if it is for show.
“Oh, you can bring your…friend.” She smiles at me like a snake about to strike, the wrinkle of her nose unmistakable as she takes in my faded leggings and the remnants of chipped pink polish on my toenails. “My cousin has a thing for tomboys.”
Pressed into his side, I feel Wes go rigid, though his charming smile doesn’t so much as flicker. “Best of luck to him. This one is mine.”
I must not do a great job of hiding my shock. The blonde rolls her eyes with a scoff.
Not in the mood for a second round of gas station insults in one week, I turn to tell Wes he can meet me in the car when he’s done with whatever the hell this is. To my surprise, he only tightens his grip and steers us toward the cashier without another word.
I keep quiet when he plucks my water and snacks out of my hands and pays for everything, the weight of the blonde’s stare heavy between my shoulder blades and a host of confusing feelings swirling in my head.
It doesn’t help when Wes tucks me back into his side as soon as he’s done paying—and keeps me there despite the heat.
I recover myself once we’re at the car and lift a mocking brow like I can’t still feel the weight of his touch when he lets go. “Not in the mood to be tied up in her basement?”
He laughs under his breath and shakes his head. “Definitely not. Thanks for that. I—”
The click of heels on pavement precedes a cloud of perfume marching toward us, determination pinching the blonde’s mouth. She gives me another of those dismissive up-and-down glances before turning her attention firmly to Wes.