For the second time in less than twelve hours, Lance assumed battle stance while he stared down at the pint-sized blonde and her fantastic tits, ignoring the tingling in his chest and the hum of adrenaline spicing his blood.
“Oh, no, you got caught?” he suggested.
In a wink, she put the sass back in sassy. “Hush your tongue. Does your momma know you talk like that?”
Any other place, any other time, with any other woman, he might’ve offered anI’m sorry. For running away that night. For kissing her in the first place.
But this woman?
This woman made him crazy. He’d talked to her for a grand total of ten minutes in his entire life, but it was enough to make his skin twitch and his muscles clench.
And to think he’d considered apologizing when he’d first recognized her this afternoon. “Does your momma know you’re operating a pumpkin chucker without a license? In the dark? And aiming at a fuckingfire?”
“Lordy goodness, you’re fixin’ to get your tongue washed down with a bar of Ivory, aren’t you? And there’s no such thing as a pumpkin-chucker license. Though if there were, I’d get one long before you and your ragamuffin crew.”
Her eyes were large and dark tonight, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. Because she was afraid she’d gotten caught? Because she was afraid someone was hurt? Because she’d been running?
This woman running—dear God. His groin tightened.
That’d be a sight.
“Of the two of us,” Lance said, “I’m not the one with a second-place trophy. Nor am Ithe one flinging pumpkins in the dark.”
He couldn’t be sure, but it almost looked like she was blushing.
“Well, so long as no one was hurt?—”
“Someone got hurt.”
That blush he’d thought he saw receded until her skin glowed paler than the moonlight. “S-someone’s hurt?”
“Mildred.” Lance couldn’t help himself. Baiting her was too much fun. “She’s dead.”
“I killed someone’s grandmother?” She punctuated her sentence with a squeak, and she swayed on her feet. “Have you tried CPR? Called 911? Are the cops on their way? The fire trucks? An ambulance? What are we doing just standing here? My momma was right. I should’ve given this all up after the pig incident, but I—why are you smiling?”
Was he smiling?
Well, damn.
He was.
He switched it to a scowl. “I’m gonna need to hear more about this pig incident.”
“Who’s Mildred?”
“Criminals first.”
“Excuse you, Lieutenant Bossypants, I amnota criminal. Who in the Sam Hill is Mildred?”
“Captain,” Lance said.
“Mildred is a captain?”
“No,I’ma captain. Captain Wheeler. And you are?”
“I’m standing here having some light dawn on me, that’s who I am. Mildred ain’t anybody’s granny. She’s probably your damn mascot, isn’t she?”
“No, that’s Gertrude. Mildred’s on private property, though. And you blew her to bits. Pony’s about to have a cow.”
