Chapter One #2
Wade didn’t wait for her to reset. The shotgun had a considerable kick, and although it didn’t knock her off-balance, she was forced to take a step back.
He strode forward and wrenched the weapon from her grasp.
Anger suffused him as soon as the life-or-death threat passed.
This complete stranger had pulled a gun on him in his mother’s house.
She’d fired it, too. A few inches to the right, and she’d have taken his head off.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he roared.
She wasn’t as brave without the shotgun in her hands.
He’d overpowered her easily, and now she was in a precarious position.
Cringing away from him, she pressed her back to the wall and brought her arms over her head in a self-defensive posture.
Her hands were trembling. Her entire body was trembling.
Wade regretted his outburst, even though it felt justified. He was still angry, his muscles tense, but he wasn’t a violent man. It was clear that she thought he was going to strike her. She slid down the wall, as if her legs would no longer support her.
He stifled a curse at the sight of her collapse.
Turning away from her, he stashed the shotgun on top of the kitchen cabinets.
Then he removed his Stetson and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
His nerves were frayed, like hers. When he glanced her way again, she was sitting on the floor, watching him.
The dogs were barking up a storm. The wind had picked up, rattling against the single-pane windows.
There was a strange pressure in the air.
Rain was coming, and all of his belongings were in the back of his pickup truck, unprotected.
He’d been planning to unload it as soon as he arrived.
She eyed the screen door, as if calculating her chances of escape.
She was wearing a sleeveless top, faded jeans with grass stains on the knees, and work boots.
Her ponytail was charmingly off-center. Dirt smudged one freckled cheek.
She was beautiful, and afraid of him. He felt a tug of sensual awareness that unsettled him further.
“I’m Wade Hendricks,” he said finally. “My mother lives here.”
She moistened her lips. “Your mother?”
“Yes, my mother. She owns this place. Is she home?”
“No.”
“I’m assuming you’ve met her.”
“She didn’t say she had a son.”
“Well, she does. And I’m him.”
Wade could read the doubt in her expression.
His mother looked young for her age, and Wade didn’t.
It was one of life’s cosmic jokes. Wynona had been a teen bride, and decades of hard living hadn’t caught up with her.
Meanwhile, Wade felt older than he was, and it showed.
He’d probably go gray early from the stress of being a Hendricks.
The strange young woman recovered from her shock.
She grasped the edge of the table and rose to her feet.
She was about five feet six, with a delicate face and a slender figure.
The dogs outside continued to bark and howl.
She kept glancing toward the screen door.
It appeared that she’d fired clean through the mesh.
“Are those your dogs?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Wade noted that she seemed disturbed by the ruckus they were making, or perhaps she was plotting to sic them on him at the first opportunity.
He took out his wallet to show her his badge.
“I just signed on with the Lost Lake Sheriff’s Department.
I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to kill me again. ”
Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t try to kill you.”
“It was pretty close, for a warning shot.”
“I thought you were an intruder. I was standing my ground.”
“You don’t live here,” he said in a clipped tone.
She lifted her chin. A faint scar edged from the underside of her full lower lip. “Yes, I do. Your mother invited me to stay.”
He put his wallet away. “Of course she did.”
“You can call her if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” he said. His mother collected people like she collected pets.
Lost souls of all types were welcome here.
With a tired sigh, he retrieved the half-empty soda can from the floor.
Setting the can by the sink, he grabbed a few paper towels to clean up the mess. “Do you know where she is?”
“I don’t keep tabs on her.”
Wade tossed the wet towels in the trash can. “Do you keep tabs on your dogs?”
“Yes.”
“The little one bit me.”
Her eyes widened with concern. “He did? Why?”
“I picked him up to put him in the dog run, and he snapped.”
“You probably startled him,” she said. “He’s arthritic.”
Wade arched a skeptical brow. The dog had whirled around his ankles like a dervish and attacked with the speed of lightning.
She took a step forward. “I’ll bandage it for you.”
He flexed his fingers, considering. He wouldn’t have bothered with a bandage on his own, but he was tempted by her peace offering. Experience had taught him to become allies with his mother’s friends, not adversaries.
With a shrug, he sat down at the kitchen table.
She washed her hands at the sink. Then she opened a nearby drawer and rifled through it.
After selecting some first aid items, she took the chair next to him.
He proffered his injured hand. She turned it over gently, her fingers cool against his skin.
She frowned at the punctures in his palm, as if she didn’t believe her precious angel was capable of doing this much damage.
She started by wiping the base of his thumb with a square of rubbing alcohol.
The sensation tickled, but he held still.
Then she opened a little brown tincture bottle.
Wade hissed as she applied a fine layer of liquid adhesive to the wound.
The mixture stung as it dried, creating a mild zing of discomfort.
She bent closer to his hand and blew on it.
This simple act struck him as both innocent and erotic.
Without meaning to, without even touching her lips to his skin, she’d enlivened all of his senses. The combination of pleasure and pain caught him off guard. Wade’s fingers twitched involuntarily, and his pulse quickened.
She lifted her gaze to his, curious. Her eyes were hazel, like a quiet forest, rimmed with thick, dark lashes.
An alarm rang out in the still air, punctuating the tension between them.
It took him a second to realize the sound was emanating from his phone. He removed the device from his pocket as the emergency broadcast signal continued to blare.
Tornado warning.