I lift my chin toward Jesse. “Everything alright?”
“He is fine,” the strange man answers, his American accent way too practiced. “Our friend here was just telling meabout the park ranger who rescued a woman from the river.” His eyes narrow. “You must be the local hero.”
I must be sending fuck-you vibes because this man is a creep.Always trust your instinct.It’s how my dad raised me.
My glare notes the coffee pot to the right of him. It’s been boiling that brown sludge for hours. It’ll scald him if I throw it in his face before jabbing his neck.
I have a plan before I answer, “No one’s a hero because we never work alone. We tether to each other. We’re a crew.”
Like Loch.
I drove too fast. I’ve beaten him home by at least thirty minutes, and my gun is legally secured in my truck.
But this fucker doesn’t know that.
“Well, it is an honor to meet you, Ranger Allen.” The man bows his head like he’s high and mighty, not a hiker.
He leaves, sliding into a black, luxury SUV parked outside. Pulling out of the parking lot so fast, his tires bark on the wet pavement, but I catch the turquoise color. His New Mexico license plate.
“Jesse.” I turn my glare on him. “Who was that?”
“Some man that ain’t right.” Jesse shakes his head. “Came in here ’bout five o’clock, shopped for snacks for fucking ever, askin’ about your water rescue, then you pulled up.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Jack shit.” With trembling hands, he tugs a cigarette out of his front pocket. “I know better than to sell out a ranger ’round here.”
“So, he asked aboutme?”
“Like he saw the news, yeah.”
Lost in thought, I pour my cherry cola Slurpee. I need it to calm me.
I’ve done other rescues; I’ve been in the news before. But I know if something feels suspicious, it is. I need to call the Feds about that man. I don’t have much to tell them,but they can get warrants to pull the camera footage from this place. Maybe get his full tag and see what they can find.
It’s still scratching in my veins when I pull up to my cabin. Sliding out of my truck, I sling my pack over my arm and grab my Slurpee, squinting through the rain as Loch’s truck parks with a mad crunch of gravel beside me.
His door flies open. His handsome face scowling as he charges my way, “Goddammit, Alena! You ever heard of a speed limit?”
Why is this rubbing me the wrong way? Why, after my overbearing father and that creepy man, am I not in the mood for another man giving me shit? Even cute, worried about me shit?
“I’m fine.” I sigh. “I took defensive driving. I know what I’m doing.”
I’m getting wet in the rain. So is Loch, stabbing his finger toward my tires. “Not with those. You need new ones. And you got a taillight out. Get it fixed.”
No, moods need to be fixed. He’s worried, and I’m tired.
“Okay.” I exhale. “Thanks for worrying about me. I’ll get it fixed.” I turn toward my cabin.
“Where are you going?” He sounds angry, almost hurt.
I turn back. “I need to wash the road off me and catch my breath.” I nod toward his huffing chest. “So do you. I think we both had a day and need a break.”
“I’m sorry.” His chest falls. “Yeah, it was a shitty day, and I’m being a dick, and?—”
“It’s okay. We’re okay. I’m not mad at you. I just need a night alone.” Softly, I grin. “I’ll knock on your door with pancakes in the morning.”
His forehead furrows. “You sure we’re okay?”
