Chapter 2 #2
The stranger squinted into the sunlight streaming through the open door, striping his face.
He looked about as shocked as I felt, which was somewhat reassuring, and if I had to describe his demeanour, I’d say he was about ready to bolt.
From what I could see, he didn’t appear to have any kind of weapon on his body or close by, but as isolated as my property was, the cautionary phrase, no one will hear you scream, was foremost in my mind.
“I’m sorry.” The man’s hands rose slowly in front of him.
“I didn’t mean any harm. I was just about to leave.
” In his late twenties, at a guess, the man had dark brown hair cut in a chic messy style, a tidily groomed and intriguing moustache that looked a little old on him, and a light scruff I wouldn’t mind running my fingers through if given the opportunity.
That particular random thought was startling in and of itself, considering I rarely thought twice about any man other than whether I could hook up with him and still be home in time to close the greenhouse vents.
Which pretty much summed up the excitement of my romantic life, or lack thereof.
Before I could reply to his apology, a sharp yap broke the silence, and a familiar face poked out from under the tarp next to the man’s thigh.
“Ziggy?” I glared at the little miscreant, then strode into the room and scooped him into my arms before quickly retreating back to the open door. “What did you do to him?” I gave Ziggy a worried once-over, but he seemed fine.
The man rolled his eyes. “I didn’t do anything to him. What kind of arsehole do you think I am?”
I said nothing, just raised my eyebrows.
A red stain crept over the young man’s cheeks, and he visibly squirmed, which led me to give him a second and much longer once-over.
Sitting on a straw bale, with the tarp pulled over his lap, and two slender, hairy legs sticking out beneath—nice legs, not that I was looking—the man made an unexpected but not unpleasant sight in my chicken shed.
A pair of muddy suit pants lay in a puddle on the floor, an equally filthy matching jacket hung from the rafters, looking like it had seen better days, and a battered, soggy briefcase sat by the shed door.
I stared at the latter for a long moment, puzzled and wondering what fucking rabbit hole I’d just fallen down. Who the hell takes a briefcase into a forest? What kind of nutjob am I dealing with here?
My gaze snapped back to his. “What kind of arsehole do I think you are?” I huffed and shook my head.
“For all I know, you could be the very worst kind. So, maybe you can start with those questions you’ve yet to answer,” I warned.
“Who are you, and why the hell are you in my chicken shed? Like right fucking now.”
A deep crease formed between the man’s brows but he met my gaze unflinchingly. “Wow, and I thought I was grumpy in the morning.”
I blinked, somewhat taken aback. I might’ve even laughed if I wasn’t so pissed. “I’m sorry. Am I not making myself clear? You are trespassing on my property, and if you don’t give me some kind of explanation, I’m going to call the police.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then sighed. “Fine.” He leaned forward to grab his suit pants and started pulling them on. “Pass me my jacket, would you?”
I’d reached for it before I could stop myself. Irritated at my stupidity, I ignored his outstretched hand and threw it on the bed. A foul odour wafted through the room, and I lifted my hands to my face. “Oh my God. Is that—”
The man’s cheeks pinked. “Manure? Yes. At least I think that’s what it is. I didn’t investigate too closely. It’s been a long crappy night—forgive the pun. Your dog has been the best part of the whole experience.”
Ziggy yipped happily, his tail banging feverishly against my ribs, the little traitor. He was an infallible judge of character when it came to strangers, which only served to irritate me more.
“So, why did you lock him in here?” I demanded.
The man left his trousers sitting around his thighs and looked up, his golden-brown eyes gleaming in the sunlight coming over my shoulder. He squinted and leaned sideways into shadow. “I didn’t lock him in . . . as such. I simply . . . closed the door.” He smiled winningly.
It was a struggle, but I managed to ignore its charm. “Riiiight. You shut him in.”
The man’s cheeks darkened once again. “Fine, but I wouldn’t have even let him in if he hadn’t kept barking and scratching at the door. He wouldn’t go away.”
“Because he knew an intruder was inside,” I said pointedly. “He was guarding his property. Doing his job.” A bit of a stretch, considering the little minx had been consorting perfectly happily with said intruder under his bedcovers.
The man’s raised eyebrows conveyed the same argument, but thankfully, he let it go.
“As I said—” He was clearly choosing his words carefully.
“—Ziggy’s scratching and barking woke me up.
I was hoping to be gone by daylight, in which case you would never have found me, and I am sorry about that.
In the same vein, I didn’t want Ziggy attracting attention to my .
. . predicament.” He gave a wry smile that wasn’t at all charming or adorable.
“I brought him inside simply to keep him quiet while I got dressed, but I got distracted and started patting him, and the next thing I know, you’re calling for him and it’s too late.
” He opened his hands. “That’s it.” He stood and pulled his trousers over a pair of black briefs, offering a teasing glimpse of lean hips and a dark happy trail, not that I was paying attention.
When I finally dragged my gaze back up, he was staring at me, his expression unreadable. Busted. Shit.
I cleared my throat and said, “That doesn’t explain why you were in my shed in the first place.”
He gave me a long look, then finished zipping his trousers. “You do remember the storm last night?”
I counted to five. “Don’t get smart with me.”
He sighed and looked up. “I’m not—” He hesitated, then continued. “Look, I got caught up in it, all right? And when I saw the shed, I came inside so that I wouldn’t die of fucking pneumonia.” He glanced down and grimaced at his suit pants. “Christ, these are still soaking wet.”
I followed his gaze and winced. “Are you telling me you were walking through the forest in the middle of all that? There were a million lightning strikes, for fuck’s sake. What is wrong with you?”
I caught a flash of raw emotions in those leonine eyes. Anger, sadness, and something like grief. “It’s a long boring story,” he confessed in a much quieter tone. “Basically, I was looking for a place to park and wait for the storm to pass over, but it didn’t quite work out that way.”
“Park?” I narrowed my gaze. “So, you drove up here?”
He nodded.
“Then why were you walking in the forest?” I made no attempt to hide my incredulity. “And why this road?”
He seemed to be considering his answer. “The storm caught me on the highway, and the map indicated a car park not far up this road. I suppose I got lost.”
I shook my head. “The car park is about three kilometres back down.”
He shot me a level look. “Yeah, thanks for alerting me to the fact I missed it,” he muttered. “I would never have guessed.”
I bit back a smile, but it was too late.
His eyes narrowed. “Glad you find my problems so amusing.”
I shrugged. “It’s one road with no side roads. The car park is kind of hard to miss.”
“Says you.” His gaze slid off mine, and he added, “Okay, so I may have been deep in the middle of an emotional crisis at the time, which may or may not have clouded my judgement.”
I didn’t even try to hide my smile that time. “Emotional crisis, huh?” I set Ziggy on the floor, and he immediately made a beeline for the stranger, begging to be picked up.
The man caught my eye. “Can I?”
I waved my hand, indicating that it was fine, and Ziggy all but jumped into the guy’s arms. “I believe you were telling me about your emotional crisis.”
He rolled his eyes. “No, I wasn’t. Not really. Telling you I was in one is not the same as telling you what it was about. And are you going to repeat everything I say?”
“And are you going to give me the whole story before or after I call the police?” I countered, watching those gorgeous eyes widen.
“Why the hell would you call the police?” He looked genuinely perplexed.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I countered. “You’re trespassing on my property. You could have been about to kidnap my dog—”
“Kidnap?” He barked out a laugh and tilted his head to the side as Ziggy licked his neck. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
That dog and I were going to have words later. I caught the man’s gaze and held it. “So, how did you end up in the forest? Where’s your car?”
Ziggy took that as his cue to leave and wriggled to be let down. He raced outside, and a succession of angry squawks pierced the shed wall.
The stranger’s gaze shot sideways. “Are they okay?”
I gave a soft snort and leaned back against the doorjamb. “I’d be more concerned about Ziggy than the chickens. Fertile Myrtle has a black belt in get the fuck out of my henhouse. Now keep talking.”
The man sighed. “When I realised the road dead ended, I was on my way back down when a dog ran in front of my car.”
I frowned. “A dog?”
He gave me a look and my cheeks burned. Because, yes, I was echoing his words . . . again.
“Anyway,” he continued, “a dog ran across the road, in front of the car. I slammed on the brakes, and the car slid off the road, hit a tree, and careered down the bank. It came to a stop buried in a mountain of manure.”
Oh no. He surely didn’t mean— “Are you talking about my compost heap?” I asked. “Next to the machinery shed?” When he looked unsure, I added, “Big steel building, double doors.”
He hesitated, watching me carefully. “Are you going to hit me if I say, yes?”
I groaned. “God almighty. What kind of mess did you make?”