But it was too early in the season for most hunters and too late at night. Not to mention, he had NO TRESPASSING signs posted every few feet. The only assholes out this late at night were drinking and shooting. Or fucking. And he wasn’t interested in dealing with either on his land.
Grabbing his shotgun from beside the door, he headed out into the night. It was dark and cold. Truly, a stupid night to be out, whatever your reasons. As he walked down the drive, the adrenaline rushed through his veins, gearing him up for a confrontation. It was good, just what he needed—someone to yell at, maybe a little brawl to get the aggression off his chest.
He caught sight of the car—not a hunter.Hercar.
All the fight went out of him, but if possible, the adrenaline buzz got even louder. What the hell was she doing out in her car on a night like this? The engine shut off.
He leaned his gun on a nearby tree and, without thinking it through, rapped his knuckles on the passenger window, hard. Immediately, he recognized his mistake. He thought he’d frightened her before? Jesus, what an idiot. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her, but the vague shape in the car looked like that painting of a scream. White face, gaping mouth, hands thrown in front of her as if to ward him off. He stepped back from the car, willing himself smaller.
“It’s Ive, Uma. The neighbor.”
She stayed against the opposite door but slowly lowered her arms.
“You okay?” he called, yelling to be heard and trying his damnedest not to sound scary. How the hell was he supposed to do that? “Need somethin’?”
The white hands fluttered like birds and her voice came through the window, sounding strangled. “I’m fine, thanks! Good!”
Fine? No, she looked scared and cold and in a real bad way. He pictured himself coming out here in the morning and finding her frozen in her car.
“You want to come on over to my place and warm up, Uma?”
“I…I’ll stay here.”
Shit. He couldn’t very well force her, could he?
“Would you let me in?”
“I’d rather not.”
This time, he could hear the trembling in her voice. Just scared? Or cold too? Damn, it must be thirty fucking degrees outside. No way she’d survive a night out here.
“Go away!” she yelled, and he almost smiled. Man, he liked her spirit. It was the same thing that had made her get back up and fight in self-defense class. Only, on a night like tonight, that spirit wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“You can’t stay out here, Uma. It’s fuckin’ freezin’.”
“’S fine,” she said, her voice thin and high. She didn’t sound fine at all.
“Come on. You gotta turn on the car or get out.”
She shook her blurry head at him. “No gas!”
“Hang on,” he said, then grabbed his shotgun and took off for his truck. He left the gun there and returned a couple of minutes later with his gas can.
“Uma,” he called, rather than knock on the window again. Didn’t want to freak her out any more than he had to. “Pull the lever,” he said.
“What?”
“For the gas. Pull it.” Once she did, he poured the gas in, closed the cap, then called, “Okay, start it up,” and made his way to the passenger door, where he knocked on the window again. Gently. Maybe, just maybe, she’d let him in and then, if he played his cards right, he could get her out of the goddamn car and in front of the fire. “Can you please unlock this?” He bent down, purposely making his silhouette shorter, less intimidating, and bringing his face closer to the window.
She finally hit the unlock switch, and he slid inside, briefly blinded by the overhead. Her car was small. A Honda. He’d noticed it parked out front the past few days. It hadn’t really fit into the local landscape. Around here, upper-class folks drove nice Hondas, SUVs, and hybrids, while the crappy ones went to meth-heads. Everyone else drove American.
It was a tight fit. He was like one of those origami swans folded in the front seat. The woman watched him through squinty eyes as he fiddled beneath it and slid all the way back, but even then, he felt like a giant. Probably not great on the scary-guy scale. A glance at her gas gauge showed that she was at an eighth of a tank.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, sounding slightly peeved. Why did he like that so much?
When he asked “Where’s your coat?” she didn’t answer, so he went on. “You’re gonna spend the night out here in nothing but that? No way. Hell no. It’s thirty degrees outside.”
“What do you care?”
