Chapter 11
Eleven
The truck bounced and lurched across invisible obstacles, and Charlie’s arms strained to hold her in place, even as her seat belt locked tightly across her chest. “I appreciate the heads-up about the need to hold on,” she said sincerely. “Apparently, it’s leg and arm day today.”
His expression was hard to see, but he gave a chuckle that sounded a bit…well, diabolical. Contrarily, it made Charlie smile. Then another bounce of the truck almost made her bite her tongue off, so she set her teeth and braced for the next hit.
It came with a bump, plus a crunch and the twang of wires breaking.
“Did you just run over a piano?” she asked once the rear tires had settled back on the ground and she dared to relax her jaw to speak.
“Yes.” His tone was completely deadpan, and she loved it so much. “Next is the cello. We’re taking out the entire Simpson Symphony Orchestra.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but another lurch made her teeth clack together painfully. “Oof,” she said. “Freaking tuba.”
He laughed again, and she beamed at him, rough ride through the unyielding darkness forgotten for the moment.
As someone who could appreciate a good adrenaline rush, she recognized a like mind.
The man was becoming a little too perfect, and if he kept laughing, she was going to get an inferiority complex.
The idea made her immediately snort with amusement, since her self-esteem was quite solid.
Her arms ached as they hit another bump that launched the truck into the air for a moment before the front wheels, then the back, landed with a bounce. They rolled through another natural speed bump, then another. The jouncing was beginning to make her head ache.
“Before my insides get churned into butter, what’s the ETA?” She tried to make her voice casual, but even she could hear the tension in her words.
“ETA to where?”
“Oh, just…” She paused as the truck launched off an especially large bump, automatically counting the seconds before the wheels touched ground again—well, it was more of a slam than a touch.
She hurried to get the rest of her words out before the terrain jarred her any more than she already was. “Let’s start with any paved road.”
“Depends.”
Her teeth ground together for more reasons than one this time. “Depends on what?”
“How long they look for us.” Twisting the wheel, he pulled up next to an enormous boulder and stopped, turning off the truck and killing the dash lights.
It was suddenly very dark inside the cab.
They both fell silent, and the only sound was the occasional tick from the engine as it cooled.
As her eyes adjusted, the sky outside the windshield lit up with billions of stars.
Staring, Charlie felt both awed and slightly panicky.
The universe felt a bit too big at the moment, so she focused on Kieran.
At the sight of his bulky, shadowed form, she immediately relaxed.
For a grumpy bastard, he sure made her feel safe.
Safe, but also…not, she thought nonsensically as the hummingbirds in her stomach buzzed and swooped in a way that didn’t feel bad, just strange and novel. The awkwardness that kept her mouth shut was new too, and she didn’t think she liked caring what another person thought of her.
Scrambling to think of something—anything—to say to banish those weird emotions, she grabbed her cell phone out of her pocket. “Fifi! Needs to know! That we’re here!” Her voice sounded too loud and definitely too peppy in the enclosed space.
She could feel Kieran’s confused gaze on the side of her face as she focused on her phone screen, relieved to see she had cell service again—just a measly single bar but hopefully enough to text.
Hiding from our tail by a large boulder the size of a small boulder. Debrief without us, and we’ll see you in the morning.
Instantly, an ellipsis appeared, showing that Fifi was typing. Charlie kept her eyes locked on the screen, hanging on desperately to the normality of texting her sister so she didn’t have to deal with the man next to her or all the churning feelings he caused.
No debrief jokes? What kind of animal would you be?
Charlie winced. Kieran had really thrown her off her game if Fifi was using the emergency is this really you or did someone kill you and steal your phone question.
Otter, she quickly answered, but then paused. Wait. Did I end up picking octopus?
Despite her answer—or maybe because of it—Fifi seemed reassured. Stay safe and text when you’re in your room—don’t care how late it is.
I’m always happy to wake you and B up.
Fifi shot back an eye-roll emoji.
With the conversation over, Charlie was back to her original situation—alone in a dark truck with a guy who seemed to be giving her feelings, of all things.
Letting out a sigh she carefully kept soundless—the only thing worse than having emotions, after all, was Kieran knowing about them—she decided to make some small talk. How hard could it be?
“Why do you stay in Simpson when everyone treats you like you’re going to bite their faces off?” she asked. Okay, so maybe small talk isn’t my forte.
Even in the dimness of the truck, she saw him flinch, as if she’d punched him.
The reaction and his silence reminded her that not everyone was an open book like she was.
She’d happily talk about just about anything, and her sisters often reminded her that other people had actual boundaries, unlike her.
She didn’t mean to ignore people’s boundaries. She just forgot that they existed.
Feeling bad for conversationally punching him, she dug around in her brain for a whole different conversation, one that hopefully was less intrusive than her last attempt.
“Did you know this big rock was here when you drove off the road? Or should I be grateful that you saw it before we ran into it?”
He didn’t respond for a few seconds, and Charlie had resigned herself to passing the time until the militia gave up searching for them in silent boredom when he finally spoke. “I knew it was here. I hike this area.”
“Yeah?” Relieved she wouldn’t have to entertain herself, since she was not good with extended stillness, Charlie turned to face him, bending her left leg and pulling it up onto the seat in front of her.
“National forest borders our backyard in Langston, so Fifi has us do most of our training in there. I can’t say that if I didn’t have my sister screaming at me like a rabid drill sergeant, I’d hike for fun, but running in the woods is much better than on a treadmill. ”
“You live with your sisters?”
“Yep. All four of them—plus their assorted stalkers.” When he made an odd choking sound, she clarified. “Their husbands and boyfriends, I mean. We keep the actual stalkers outside. They can come into the garage when it’s cold though.”
His laugh still sounded strangled, but it was more clearly a sound of amusement, rather than a choke. It was as if his laughter muscles had atrophied from lack of use, and he was relearning how to use them correctly.
“I don’t know why I stay,” he said, and it took Charlie a startled moment to realize he was answering her first question. “Habit, I guess? I grew up here. It’s my home.”
Charlie understood having a home she’d never want to leave, but their house in Langston was a safe place, filled with people who loved her—well, at least it was now that their mom wasn’t there anymore.
From her admittedly limited point of view, it felt like Simpson—although a fun, murder-y little town for most people—was a hostile place for Kieran, so she was struggling to get why he wouldn’t drive off into the sunset without a backward glance.
“Okay, but is it a home you actually like?” she asked, trying her hardest to be tactful but not sure if she was succeeding. “I mean, I like it here, but I have the skin of an armadillo.”
“Are you calling me sensitive?”
Charlie peered through the gloom, trying to tell if he was serious. It seemed unlikely that he was teasing her, but his voice was so deadpan that she honestly couldn’t tell. She decided to just be honest. “Well, yeah.”
This laugh came even more easily, encouraging her to keep talking.
“I know you’re an ultra-tough firefighter, since you’ve told me that about a thousand times—”
He interrupted her with a huff. “Two times, and I’ve never said I was ‘ultra-tough,’ and I didn’t tell you I was a firefighter to brag about it.”
She continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “But I also know you have a squishy, soft middle.”
Air left his lungs in an audible whoosh. “Squishy middle? Squishy middle? I had the second-highest score on our last fitness ability test.” Grabbing her hand, he pressed her fingers against his abs. “Does this feel soft and squishy to you?”
“I didn’t mean that you were literally soft and squishy,” she explained, even as the motion of his ab muscles flexing beneath her fingers distracted her from what she was saying. “Just that your emotions are…mmm. Sorry, what was I saying?”
“How not squishy I am?” There was a smug note in his voice that should’ve come off as obnoxious but instead turned her on—although that could’ve been the heat of his skin radiating through his shirt or just the entire package that made up Kieran Sullivan Byrne.
“Hmm…” It was almost impossible to make her hum sound skeptical, but she somehow managed it. “I don’t think I can conclusively determine that without further study.”
He went still under her hand, which she couldn’t seem to keep from stroking his abs—not that she really tried too hard.
This time, his hiss of breath wasn’t caused by irritation, judging by the way he leaned closer to her.
There was a click in the sudden silence and then a second one before she felt her seat belt loosening and retracting.
She didn’t have time to ask what he was doing before he was sliding across the seat, lifting and turning her with a startling quickness and ease.