George keeps staring expectantly. As if the devil himself is playing a fucking joke on us, a nut drops from the tree. It bounces off the corpse’s skull and drops into its lap.
I wince. This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever witnessed—until about two seconds later when the tree branches rustle.
Uh-oh.
A squirrel jumps onto the corpse’s shoulder. Ain’tthat the same meddling beast that messed around under Rust’s truck earlier?
Bushy tail flicking, the curious critter scurries down the limp arm. When it reaches for the nut, the empty beer can drops and the animal startles, dashing off into the thicket without its prize.
George gasps, taking a step forward. “Good Lord, Rustin! Is your uncle okay?”
Rust catches him by the shoulder, lips pinched. “As I said, hard times.” He makes a drinking motion. “Better let him rest.”
“That’s a family matter and I don’t mean to intrude. He’s lucky to have you.” George shakes his head solemnly.
“Appreciate it, Deputy. Now while I fix up your AC, why don’t you tell me all about that fishing trip you took last weekend? Catch a big one?”
George guffaws. “You won’t believe what happened! My wife said I was crazy, but I read online that if you wanna catch?—”
The two men walk toward the house and their conversation fades into the background noise of my rushing pulse. Hands shaking, I pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from my purse. I put one between my lips and light it with a cheap gas station lighter.
As the nicotine floods my system, I relax. It’s a bad habit, but nothing else calms me when shit hits the fan. Sometimes, I smoke after really good sex, too, but that doesn’t happen often.
My eyes wander to ‘Uncle Barry’ as I blow smoke rings into the air, tapping my foot. An absentminded hum forms in my throat, turning into a whistled melody.
My brow quirks as I catch myself.
It’s not a whole song, but it’s more music than I’ve come up with in over a year. Is crime the secret? Don’t tellme I have to narrowly escape a prison sentence for a tiny spark of inspiration.
Before I can spiral, the corpse tips sideways and the hat falls off its head. I sprint over, putting it on again.
I only hope George isn’t keen on saying goodbye to the good old ‘Uncle Barry.’
9
TALLY
Rust kicksoff his muddy boots in the hallway. I do the same and seeing the size difference does something unholy to me.
My clit pulses as I face the truth I feverishly ignored while we tossed the body in the swamp and burned the drifter’s backpack:
I’m still attracted to my gorgeous ex-husband.
It’s not like I’m desperate or never around attractive guys. Quite the opposite. Lots of women would consider the male country stars I’ve worked with to be swoon-worthy. But most of these men haven’t seen a day of hard labor in their lives. They’re fake.
Rust is real.
He’s all rough working palms, honest smiles, and a healthy tan from fishing in the sun. And there’s something irresistible about how smoothly he handled this insane corpse situation.
He took control. He fixed my mess, calm and confidently. If this ever gets out, he’s gonna go to prison as myaccomplice, but he still helped me. No questions asked, no hesitation.
He’s the type of man who can take care of a woman in the ‘flowers and candlelight dinner’ kinda way—andthe ‘bury the body and help to hide the evidence’ kinda way.
Honestly, I can’t tell which one is sexier.
I think they call that a competence kink.
His looks are a bonus at this point. Speaking of which, his ass looks incredible in these dirty jeans. I spent the whole hike behind him to get a real good impression.
