Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
GUNNER
Clifford Davoe’s face turns purple with fury and he flings Rebel’s hand down, storming toward me with a snarl.
“You’re asking for a beating, Kinsey.”
I swing the old, busted hockey stick over my shoulder like a baseball bat.
Clifford’s workmen take threatening steps toward me. I deliver a warning glare. It’s a look that needs no words and the crew shirk back, glancing at each other with uncertainty.
Clifford nears me and I toss the hockey stick to the ground, preparing for a fight.
It’s a toss-up for who’ll get the bigger beating.
I’ve gotten my fair share of bloody lips and raw knuckles on the ice, but Cliff’s become a lot brawnier since high school. Besides that, he’s got a skull so thick, he could probably crush cement with it.
I don’t expect to walk out of here without a bruise.
But before Clifford and his beer paunch can reach me, a streak of pink cuts in front of his path.
In a clipped voice, Rebel says, “If you’re going to start a brawl, do it out of my way. I’m too busy for all the caveman grunting.”
Clifford stops in his tracks.
I freeze too.
Rebel’s not looking at either of us.
Long, pink fingernails wrap around her cell phone as she speaks into the device. “Hey, Dalton. Yeah, are you and your crew available today? Oh, that’s perfect. Can you come down to the Kinsey farm? Dalton, you lifesaver!”
Sunshine wraps around her soft blonde hair like a halo and the fitted pink over-alls hug her willowy figure.
My heart does a strange double-tap, a symptom I’ve only experienced in Rebel Hart’s presence. It’s one of the many reasons I make it a point not to be in the same room with the woman.
Grunting, I rub my chest.
Cliff’s shadow falls on me. I glance up and find the jerk watching me with a glib smile.
He looks pointedly at where Rebel walked away and then focuses on me again. “Guess you haven’t changed since high school either, Kinsey.”
I stare at him, expressionless. “Are you going to leave on your own, Davoe? Or do you need to be escorted off the property?”
A shadow falls over Clifford’s face and he spits to the side. “You’re lucky you’re on your own turf, Prince Kinsey. If your dad weren’t the sheriff…”
I advance on him, seeing his eyes widen at my sudden movement. “If my dad wasn’t the sheriff, it would have been my fist and not a hockey puck coming at you.”
Clifford grins, showing off his big, yellow teeth. “You think Rebel will thank you for this? She won’t. She’s got a truckload of losers just like you who can’t see nothing but her pretty face. It’s because of guys like you,” he juts his finger in my chest, “that she thinks she’s something special.”
I stare at him, my lips curling up in a mocking smile. Idiot.
“You think I’m funny, Kinsey?” Clifford barks out a laugh, but it’s not one of amusement. He looks down at his fists as if he’s trying his best to control his arm. “You and that arrogant, punchable face.”
I applaud Cliff’s effort, but I’d give that insult a two out of ten. As a Kinsey, I’ve been called worse things.
“Clifford, you’re still here?” Rebel says, appearing in the doorway again with her cell phone hanging from her right hand. In a crisp voice, she demands, “Why haven’t you left yet? My crew is coming in fifteen.”
I flinch. With a tone like that, she’s poking at a bear. Does she not understand how unhinged Clifford is?
“I was just leaving,” Clifford snarls. He knocks into my shoulder as he passes by and hisses in my ear. “Better keep close to home, Prince Kinsey. Venture too far, and mommy and daddy won’t be there to save you from me.”
Well, since we’re exchanging advice…
I whisper too. “Put your hands on Rebel again, and not even my dad can save you from me .”
Clifford scowls. He and his workmen give me dark looks as they file out.
The welder’s truck coughs to life. I spin around to see a cloud of sand whip up over the tires. A moment later, Clifford peals away from the farm.
“I suppose I should thank you,” Rebel mutters, passing me by while tapping on her phone. The scent of her perfume mixes with the engine oil and brake fluid coming from the monster truck to my right.
She’s real close to me. Close enough that I can see the sparkly, pink clip in her hair wink in the sun.
A jumble of words spring to my lips.
Are you okay?
Did you hurt your arm?
Clifford’s an idiot. Whatever he said, don’t let it get to you.
But, as usual, the sentiment gets stuck behind my lips and can’t seem to find a way out.
Instead, all I say is, “You don’t have to thank?—”
“Great. Then I won’t.”
She skates past me to the monster truck. Gripping the gasket on the front, she pulls herself up.
I lurch forward on instinct, my arms extended to help her. But she doesn’t need my help and scrambles up to the cabin of the monster truck with ease.
I’m promptly ignored as she dislocates something inside the cabin and starts sketching on a notepad.
Hesitant to leave and not sure why, I rub the back of my neck. “Do you need help?”
She pointedly ignores me, her ponytail swinging back and forth like a pendulum as she sets the notepad down and crawls across the monster truck’s hood with the grace of Jane after ten years and five kids with Tarzan.
I’m not wanted here. Her frosty silence is ten times louder than the warning shot of a well-oiled rifle.
Still, I stick around like a sore thumb.
But it’s not because I want to be here.
It’s just in case Clifford comes back. I’m a gentleman and I can’t in good conscience, walk away without ensuring her safety.
Awkwardly, I retreat to the wall where dad keeps a bunch of my old hockey gear. I’m glad that, when Cliff was harassing Rebel, I saw a hockey stick and not something more dangerous. I have no idea what came over me back there, but I know it would have ended badly if my weapon of choice was something sharper.
My phone rings.
Mom.
I put the cell phone to my ear.
“Gunner Kinsey, did you get lost in your own backyard? Earlier, you insisted you weren’t interested in the show. Then Marge and the girls came over and you suddenly changed your mind. We’ve been waiting ages for your help with the tent.”
“I’m on my way,” I say quietly.
Mom hangs up and I close my eyes, recalling what brought me to the barn.
“I saw that Hart girl,” Marjorie had whispered to mom in the kitchen earlier. “ You don’t think she’d dare to show her face at a Kinsey event when her little garage and Stewart’s auto shop have all but declared war?”
Thanks to my mother’s gossiping best friend, I was able to stop Clifford Davoe from doing something stupid. All in all, it was worth the tongue lashing from mom.
As I walk to the door, the sound of fabric rustling and the thud of feet smacking the ground erupts behind me.
“Kinsey, wait,” Rebel says.
I tuck my surprise behind a bland expression.
Rebel chews on her lush bottom lip. They’re the softest, pinkest hue, just like her clothes and hair clip. Blue eyes, like two ocean pools, dart up to look at me and then dart away as if she can’t stand the sight.
“Thank you,” she says abruptly.
My eyes widen.
She digs the toe of her pink sneakers into the scattered hay littering the barn floor and admits, “You helped me out. With Cliff, I mean… earlier.” She clears her throat. “I don’t like owing people… not that I owe you anything more than this. A thanks is all you’ll get…” She pins her lips shut, squeezes her eyes closed and then takes a breath.
Ba-thump. Ba-thump.
I rub my chest.
“Thank you… Kinsey,” Rebel says earnestly.
I try to swallow and realize that my throat has gone completely dry. The symptoms worsen as Rebel stands there, looking at me with those summer-sky eyes.
Ba-thump. Ba-thump.
With a nod and a swift turn, I leave her behind.
My steps are slow at first.
And then I move faster and faster until I’m running like a loon.
When I’m a good distance away, I stop and catch my breath.
Ba-thump. Ba-thump.
My pulse is racing, and it’s not from the run.
Before heading in, I dial the number of the hospital and set an appointment to see the cardiologist bright and early on Monday.