Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
“Um, are you all right?” he asked again.
“I’m really, really not,” she told him, stepping back. “But I’m so glad to see you.”
“You are?” he asked slowly. What was going on?
“Uh-huh. I was getting worried that no one was going to drive along this road. And that I was going to have to camp overnight in Cherry.”
“Cherry?” he asked.
She patted the bright red pickup. “This is Cherry.”
“You thought you would spend the night in your vehicle? Do you know how low the temperature gets at night?” Not to mention how unsafe that was for a woman alone.
She held up a finger. “I do not. But, also, I hate camping. And I think I would really hate camping in Cherry in the dark and cold. So that’s why I’m so happy to see you. I mean, not just because I need help. I’m sure I’d be happy to see you anyway.”
“You would be?” he asked, feeling more confused by the moment.
“Sure.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Um, I don’t know. You seem like a nice guy.” She looked him over and nodded. “Yes, I declare that you’re a good guy. Hi, I’m Phoebe.” She held out her hand and he stared down at it.
She had small red hearts painted on her nails.
Dear lord.
Who was this girl? And how had she landed in his path?
Sometimes it’s when you least expect it that fate steps in.
Nope. He wasn’t listening to Derek right now. That was ridiculous and this girl wasn’t for him. She was too young. Too impetuous and lacking in self-preservation. Not for him.
Or maybe she’d be perfect for you, idiot. If you just took a chance. If you let someone in.
Dear lord. He’d only just met her, and he knew nothing about her, other than the fact that she knew nothing about vehicles, couldn’t dress for the weather, and seemed overly friendly.
“You can’t know that just from looking at me.”
“Why not? You’ve got a kind aura.”
“A kind aura?” He frowned and shook his head at her. “That’s not a thing.”
“Sure it is.”
Sighing, he took her hand to shake it and realized how cold it was. “Your hand is like a block of ice.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She tried to tug it free, but he held it tight in his. “I’ve always run cold.”
Run cold?
“Um, can I have it back?”
“What back?”
“My hand.” She glanced down at where he was still holding on to her.
Shit. What was wrong with him? He quickly let go of her hand and turned back toward his truck.
“Oh no, are you leaving?” she asked. “I’m so sorry! You can have it back. Keep it if you like.”
The panic in her voice made him pause and turn back to her slowly, his hands in the air. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just getting my jacket.”
Her shoulders slumped as she sighed in relief. “Oh, good. That’s a relief.”
Grabbing his jacket from the backseat, he turned and banged right into her. Shit! Reaching out, he grabbed her arms as she wobbled on her high-heeled boots.
“I didn’t even hear you move up behind me,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry! Eric always hates when I do that to him.”
“Who is Eric?” he snapped. Then he took a breath. Shit. What was wrong with him? What did it matter who Eric was? And why did he feel a surge of jealousy?
“Oh, he’s one of my dickhead brothers,” she said cheerfully.
He gently guided her back a couple of steps so he could move away from the truck door. Then he swung his jacket around her shoulders.
“You have more than one?” he asked.
“Huh?” She gaped up at him, looking shocked.
“Brothers? You have more than one dickhead brother?” His lips twitched at the description. He had two younger brothers, so he knew how she felt. He loved them, but they could be complete assholes sometimes.
Which reminded him that he should call them. They’d both tried to contact him over the last few months, but he’d been in too much of a dark place to call them back.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Putting my jacket over you. You’re cold. Actually, you should put your arms in the sleeves so it doesn’t slide off.”
When she didn’t move, he took control. That was what he did best. He slid her arms into the jacket. There, that should keep her warmer.
“Why?”
Barren frowned. “Why? Because you’re cold.”
“You gave me your jacket to wear because you thought I was cold?” she asked.
“I didn’t think you were cold; I knew you were. Your skin was freezing.”
“But that’s probably just bad circulation.”
“Maybe. But it’s also fifty-eight out today and you aren’t wearing enough clothes.”
Phoebe glanced down at herself, then up at him, her lower lip dropping into a pout. “You don’t like what I’m wearing.”
He held up his hands, realizing it was a trap. “I never said that. You look gorgeous. But you aren’t wearing enough clothing to keep you warm.” There. Had he worded that carefully enough?