• • •
The heat had brought half the camp to the swimming hole. Overflowing with people, it took Preacher a good ten minutes searching the small space before finding a familiar face.
He spotted Sylvia first, easy to identify by her bulging belly and brightly colored sundress. Wearing a dark blue bikini top and white shorts, Louisa was sunbathing beside Sylvia, her nose in a book. Whiskey Jim and Joe were seated nearby, a pack of beer and Debbie’s backpack wedged between them.
Preacher glanced around. But no Debbie.
Dropping down beside his brother, he snagged a beer for himself. “Where’s everyone else?” he asked, scanning the area again.
Scowling, Joe shrugged. “Not bein’ forced to sit here. Probably havin’ fun.”
Sylvia lifted her sunglasses only long enough to shoot Joe what Preacher assumed wasthe lookJoe had referred to earlier, but thankfully she didn’t say anything. Chuckling, Jim shook his head and pointed toward the swimming hole. “They’re swimmin’,” he said.
Preacher followed his finger across the water to the far end, where the waterfall flowed thick and heavy over the rocky outcropping. He spotted Anne first, wading through waist-high water in a skimpy red bikini top—just a tiny scrap of fabric that barely covered her. He saw Knuckles next, splashing and chasing two young women around. He followed their movements until he spied Max… but still no Debbie.
Just then a body broke through the water surface. Water droplets flying in all directions, Debbie shoved her sopping hair out of her face and smiled at Max.
Smiled.
At Max.
She fucking smiled at Max—his dirty dog of a little brother.
Frowning, Preacher straightened and shielded his eyes with his hand. Max was gesturing to Debbie, talking animatedly about something, and Debbie was… laughing?
Preacher stiffened, irritation prickling along his skin. Getting Debbie to talk was like pulling teeth, but making her smile was ten times more difficult. And yet here she was, smiling at and laughing with Max.
Preacher’s frown continued to deepen as Max drew closer to Debbie. Max pointed at something off in the distance, and when Debbie turned to look, Max casually slid his arm over her shoulders.
Preacher shot to his feet. He was two seconds away from jumping into the water, jeans, boots, and leather vest be damned, and dragging Max out by the scruff of his neck. And he would have if Debbie hadn’t immediately shrugged out from beneath Max’s arm and swam away.
“What’s it gonna be?” Joe asked, standing shoulder to shoulder with Preacher, peering out across the water. “Wedgie? Swirly? Purple nurple?”
“I’m gonna smash his fuckin’ face in.”
“Damn. You’re really diggin’ this chick, huh?”
Preacher shook his head, about to tell Joe that it wasn’t like that when Debbie appeared on the grass, and his words died in his throat.
She’d gone swimming in her T-shirt and shorts, but she might as well have been topless. Preacher could see everything through the thin material—the outline of her full, firm breasts, the shape and size of her rock-hard nipples.
And he wasn’t the only one noticing, either. For a girl who thought no one noticed her, she sure was catching a lot of looks.
“Nice,” Joe muttered under his breath.
Growling, Preacher elbowed Joe in the ribs. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”
Debbie approached them, wringing out her wet hair, drops of water cascading down her sun-kissed skin, utterly oblivious to the half dozen erections she’d just caused.
“Are you going swimming?” she asked.
Beside him, Joe snorted. “He can’t swim.”
Preacher slowly faced his brother. “This ain’t exactly the ocean. I think I can handle myself.”
Joe smirked at him. “Don’t change the fact that you can’t fuckin’ swim.”
“And you wet the fuckin’ bed until you were twelve, either,” Preacher shot back. “But who’s askin’, right?”
