Starla was so lost in her thoughts that she almost missed the sound of a vehicle behind her and the brightening of the road ahead with the approaching headlights. Coming from the direction Max had gone. Oh crap, he was back. Stopping in her tracks, she looked wildly around for somewhere to duck and hide, but the foliage was so thick on either side, she dared not try it. No telling what lurked in that. Snakes, spiders… She shuddered and crossed her arms against the chilly early April night, stalking up the road with purpose now. She wouldn’t look back. She would ignore him. And if he attempted to get out and hassle her, she’d fuck him up. A well-placed nut shot would bring any bastard to his knees if it came to that.
Still, her heart thundered and the need to run burned through her veins. As the vehicle pulled alongside her, she whirled to plow through the trees no matter what horrors might await.
“Hey,” a male voice said. Not Max. Starla turned, wide-eyed. Not a car. A pickup. A dually, actually, huge and high off the ground due to its mud-grip tires. From what she could tell, it was red. A country song drifted mournfully from the interior. What she couldn’t tell was much about its driver in the darkness, especially since he appeared to wear a cap pulled low over his eyes. “You having trouble?” he asked, and the song’s volume decreased as he turned it down.
“You could say that.” When wasn’t she having trouble?
He leaned his head out a little farther, looking back at the road he’d just traveled. “Are you broke down? I didn’t pass anything.”
“Did you by any chance meet a black Mustang?”
“Yeah, I did. Nearly ran me into the ditch.”
“That’s the trouble I’m having. Or rather, the idiot driving it.”
To her surprise, he opened the driver’s door. A heavy work boot came down on the truck’s single step, and he easily boosted himself down.
Out here, standing just at the edge of the shine of his headlights, she could see better. Tall. Broad shoulders that almost stretched the dark plaid of his shirt. Built. A scent wafted toward her, not cologne but hay, cut grass, fresh air, and hard work.
And, hello, beard.
He tipped his cap back a bit and appraised her closely with eyes of an indiscernible color. Whatever color it was, it was light.
Please, God in heaven, don’t let them be blue.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his assessment apparently yielding him nothing alarming.
“Oh yeah,” she said quickly, glancing down self-consciously at herself. “Nothing much happened. I just made him let me out. Jerk. I did break my phone, though, so I can’t call anyone to pick me up. I was going to walk.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, debating. Not wanting to ask outright for any help, no matter how badly she needed it.
“I’m on my way into town. I can give you a ride if you want.”
Hmm. Punishment and blisters and achy feet versus heat and the comfort of a seat under her butt. No brainer. And she’d bet the meager contents of her bank account that this dude wasn’t a machete-wielding maniac. Although he could probably wield a machete, which would come in handy with idiots like Max.
Of course, stubborn thoughts like that were what always got her into these situations.
Chapter Two
Jared Stanton glanced over at his charge for the next few miles and puzzled over where he’d seen her before. She sat demurely against the passenger door, but he’d bet there really wasn’t a demure thing about her. She wore a black top with cut-out shoulders, enough to show that both her arms were covered with tattoos, and her jeans were ratty and torn enough to reveal her legs were no different. Shimmering blonde hair with pink and turquoise streaks spilled in large curls over her shoulders. She stared out the window, elbow propped on the door, silver-ringed fingers pensively at her lips.
Silence had filled the air ever since she’d hoisted herself into his truck. Ordinarily? he had no problem with silence, but this was a girl who looked like she had a lot to say. He only needed to look at her to see the tension thrumming under her skin.
“You really look familiar,” he said at last, then wanted to cringe at the banality of it. It was enough, though, to bring her head around. Feeling her stare him down, he figured it was no less than he deserved. He’d been doing the same to her.
“Now that I think about it, you do too.”
Interesting. But this wasn’t a big town, after all; he might’ve only seen her in passing. “What’s your name?”
“Starla.” She sat silently for a moment, but he still felt her gaze boring into him. “Oh. Oh shit. I think I just figured out who you are.”
And that was even more interesting, though he should have guessed what she was going to say before it came out of her mouth, should have prepared for the teeth-grinding misery of it. “You’re Macy Rodgers’s ex.”