She twisted the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered, but didn’t catch.
“It’s damaged from the collision,” Nick said. “I don’t know for sure what ran across the road. I think it was a deer—if so it’s probably better that we smacked the tree.”
“Regardless, it’s not helping us now.” She switched off the ignition, and switched it on again, pumping the gas pedal. The truck coughed but the engine wouldn’t turn over. Amiya cursed and tried it again, but it was no use.
“We can walk,” Nick said. “Maybe it’s better to walk, maybe we can keep a closer eye out for my granddad.”
At the mention of his grandfather, the anger seemed to seep out of her. She slid the key out of the ignition and placed it in her purse. Flicking hair out of her eyes, she looked at him.
“Before we go, let’s see what’s in the truck that we can take with us,” she said.
13
Amiya was pissed.
What had begun as a perfectly charming jaunt in the country, complete with a tour of a fully operational rustic home, had devolved into some off-the-beaten-path nightmare. Grandpa Lee was sick, possibly dying, and wandering alone through the woods. She had been in a vehicle accident and was shaken up. To top it off, she was stuck with Nick, who was responsible for their entire predicament and had no clue how to return to the house.
If they didn’t have a pressing need to get moving, she would have cussed him out, and she wasn’t one to use foul language. She had grown up in a chaotic house with a domineering mother who often exploded into screaming fits over even trivial matters, and she had determined that she wouldn’t follow in her mom’s footsteps. She strived to avoid drama.
Still, she was angry. But she channeled that emotion toward action.
When she suggested doing an inventory of the items in the truck, Nick, predictably, demurred.
“Is it really necessary to go through all of this stuff?” He stood beside the pickup, hands on his waist. “We’ll be at the house within half an hour.”
“I want to take the rifle.” She climbed over the truck’s rear lift gate and onto the flatbed. The bottom was so clean it gleamed in the sunshine, the metal simmering underneath her flats.
The Remington 700 was secured within a metal rack bolted at the edge of the rear windshield. Carefully, she lifted it out. The rifle was warm in her hands.
“You don’t know how to use a gun,” Nick said.
Amiya checked the chamber and found it was already loaded. She positioned the nylon strap across her shoulders, the rifle hanging across her back.
Nick stared at her, lips parted in surprise.
“Why are you shocked?” she asked. “Please, get up here and help me look through this tool box.”
“When did you learn about guns?” He clambered onto the flatbed.
“I did have a life before you came along. One of my brothers is a firearms enthusiast. He taught me some things, took me to firing ranges.”
Distantly, thunder rumbled. Amiya looked to the sky and noticed that dark storm clouds were forming into a thick tapestry.
“I still don’t think this is necessary.” Nick stood beside her on the truck. “We could already be on our way back, or could have found my granddad.”
“I want to be prepared for anything. Nothing today has gone according to plan.”
“Right.” Nick winced as if poked with a hot iron. “You think all of this is my fault?”
“I didn’t say that.” She snapped open the latches of the aluminum Kobalt tool box bolted to the front of the flatbed. “But it is what it is.”
“My fault then, huh? Everything is on me.”
“You seem determined to pin the blame on yourself. Guess what? If the shoe fits, wear it. I don’t have the inclination to join your little pity party.”
She heard him suck in a breath, and she thought he was going to erupt. Regardless, she was determined to ignore him. Searching through the tool box—which was meticulously organized, as she had come to expect from Grandpa Lee—she found a miscellaneous collection of items. Duct tape. A coil of heavy rope. A pack of waterproof matches. A first-aid kit. An umbrella. A box of ammunition for the Remington rifle.
Nick knelt next to her and began searching through the tool box, too. He didn’t meet her gaze and he didn’t speak, and that was okay by her.
