She orders, "Pull over."
"Why?" Jagger asks.
"I said pull over!" she insists.
"I can't. The snow's too high from the plows," he states.
She shouts, "Then stop the truck!"
Jagger groans but pushes the brake. The truck slows, and he asserts, "Stop being so dramatic, Willow. Your clients will survive, and so will your business."
She turns toward me. "Get out."
"Wyatt isn't getting out in the snow," Jagger states.
Willow jabs me in the chest. "Get. Out!"
I grab her wrist, my lips twitching with a cruel desire to press against hers and taunt, "You don't have to get violent. Unless that's the type of woman you've become?" My grin explodes, and I can't decide if I'd rather her try to beat me to death or cuddle me like I'm a baby she'll never let go.
Flames burn in her blues, anger exploding. "Fine. I'll get out." She leans over and reaches for the door.
The scent of warm amber and crushed jasmine terrorizes me. It's the kind of smell that clings to your skin, claiming you with a vicious hold. All you can do is keep breathing as deeply as possible. But the more I breathe, the more my demons won't stop torturing me. They tighten the shackles she wrapped around me years ago.
"Willow, you can't be out in this weather," Jagger declares.
I splay my palm on her spine. She stiffens, and I lean closer, reprimanding, "It's too cold to stomp down the road. I'm okay if you want to stay pissed at me the entire way home, but you're not freezing to death over my little bar fight."
She pushes off me. "Little bar fight? Thatlittle bar fightcost me sixty grand!"
I jerk my head back. "No way."
Her expression tells me she's not lying.
I glance at Jagger.
"It's true, bro," he affirms.
My gut sinks. "Shit. Willow, I'm sorry. I'll pay my share and make sure the others do too."
"How are you going to do that? Are you going to fight them for it?" she snaps.
I clench my jaw, wondering how quickly I can come up with twenty grand. I've made a lot of money bull riding, but I've been stupid with most of it. After too many losing bets, bar tabs, expensive toys, and my agent's cut of my winnings and sponsorships, the money ran through my fingers faster than I earned it. If I'd have been smart, I wouldn't have any money worries, but I've never considered myself intelligent. There's only one thing I know how to do, and it involves hanging on for dear life on top of a bull.
Her lip quivers, and her eyes glass over. She blinks hard, claiming, "I'm not sitting between you idiots. Let me out so I can get in the back."
My heart sinks. "I'm sorry. I didn't?—"
"I said to get out!" she hurls, not breaking our stare.
"Calm down, Willow," Jagger orders.
"Get out," she repeats in a more controlled tone.
"I'll move. You stay here," I offer, and open the door.
A sharp gust tears through the cab, slapping my swollen face, but I deserve every ounce of pain.
I slip out of the front and into the back.
