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“Brenna, wait…” I hurried after her.

Mark howled at the sight. Normally, I might have taken the time to flip him off, but a sense of urgency came over me when she failed to respond to my request.

“Ms. Brenna, wait.” For a woman with such short legs, she sure could move. My breath began to come a little quicker, my voice betraying the evidence of my exertion, “Brenna, please. I– I heard about what happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I– I was in the hospital.”

I reached for her wrist, finally making it within a few paces of her. She whirled around like she was ready to swing, and much to my humiliation, I flinched and visibly recoiled.

Banshee joined the chorus of chuckles at the other end of the diner parking lot.

“You really think I’d slap on you?” Brenna asked, her big, beautiful eyes searching my face for an answer before I could give it.

“Wouldn’t be the first woman so inclined.” I quietly admitted.

“You’re one of them.” She shook her head like it was the worst blow I could have dealt her.

“‘One of–‘”

“Them,” she condemned, her finger jutting out like a witching stick toward Mark and the guys.

“What makes you think they’re so terrible?”

Her eyes narrowed like I’d questioned her mental status. “They’re outlaws.”

I choked a laugh back, unable to keep the smile from reaching my eyes, “You sound like Daisy.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No. You’re both good women. She’s just a little more abrasive is all.”

“‘Abrasive.’” Brenna’s lips pinched into a thin line. “Well, pray tell, Disciple Henshaw, what do you think I am?”

“Refined,” I instantly spat, “Polished.”

I stammered, before whispering, “You’re the prettiest, kindest thing I’ve ever seen or met.”

Her features slowly softened. Her lashes fluttered a time or two as the seconds ticked by.

“Say something…” My voice cracked.

Her lips parted, but there was no hailstorm of curses, or rejection, only the shakiest truth I’d ever heard, “I don’t know what to say.”

She turned and shot across the street, all but fleeing again.

Chapter Eight

Winning Her Over

Brenna

I couldn’t say if he trailed after me or not, my world became a blur long before I reached my front porch and took sanctuary behind the heavy door. I leaned against it, eyes clenched shut as I tried to draw the strength to put my emotions in check.

I took a deep breath and followed the sound of children’s voices to the backyard. The Winehopper girl was sitting on the edge of the porch watching Oakland twirl aimlessly on the tire swing his father had fashioned for him.

“Hello, Ms. O’Brien,” she politely greeted me.

She was such a well-mannered girl, her father was a preacher locally.

“Hello, Sasha. Everything go well today?”