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“Thanks.” She gripped the bag close.
He spun around, peering into the dark. “Probably feral pigs. Dad thought it was javelinas, so I set up a game camera—to see their comings and goings. Damn sons-o-bitches have made short work of our back-pasture fences and damaged two of the water tanks.” His fingers threaded with hers as he led her to his truck. “Probably caused less damage to your truck swerving than hitting ’em. Got a picture of the pack. The male was big. Probably weighed between three and four hundred pounds.”
Her father had mentioned them a few weeks back. They’d had a sighting on one of their trail rides and decided to reroute the ride to be safe.
“Are they dangerous?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Can be. But they’d rather run than fight.” He opened his passenger door. “Still, I’d rather not stick around to chance it.” He winked and slammed the door.
She watched him walk around the hood of the truck. He was searching the dark—alert and ready. When he climbed into the cab beside her, she let out a long, low breath and relaxed.
He must have heard her. “You okay?” he asked, glancing at her in the dimly lit cab.
She nodded. “Better now.”
“Not feeling adventurous this evening?” He chuckled.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve never been adventurous, Brody.”
“That is a lie.” He shook his head. “I went to school with you, remember? Sneaking toads into that mean ol’ substitute teacher’s purse. Punching Johnny Gill in the throat for cutting off your sister’s pigtail. Oh, and there was that little incident with the vapor rub in a certain athlete’s cup.”
She grinned. “All deserved. I was young. I’m a much more...grounded adult.” She laughed. “Being adventurous is part of being young, don’t you think?”
He was grinning. “I guess it is.”
“For a minute I forgot who I was talking to.” She turned in her seat. “You are running for mayor, Brody Wallace. I’d say that’s pretty adventurous.”
He nodded. “Maybe a little.”
“A little? I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” She shook her hair free from the drooping bun at the back of her head, then started twisting it up again.
“What am I getting myself into?” he asked, glancing her way.
“My father, for one.” She tried to secure her hair, but the hairclip slipped from her fingers and fell to the floorboard.
“Your hair is pretty, India. Leave it down.” The words were low and deep, making the air between them hum. “If you like.” A charged silence filled the truck.
When he parked, he turned to face her. “Speaking of your father.”
“We don’t have to—”
“I’d say it’s pretty adventurous to sneak out in the middle of the night to meet me. Considering how fond he is of me and my family.” He grinned.
“We’re a little old to be asking for approval on who we can and can’t be friends with.” She looked at him, and he was looking at her. Instead of getting lost in his gaze, she studied the line of his jaw and the angles of his face. He had a handsome face—a good face.
She’d never reacted this way to him before. But now, there was a spark here. It was real and potent, flooding the space between them and drawing them closer. And she was curious to see where this could go.
That was one of the reasons she was here. For his friendship, yes. His great sense of humor, too. But she’d be lying if this new push-and-pull between them hadn’t also factored into it. It had, far too much.
Brody cleared his throat and slipped from the cab, walking around to open her door. She smiled, stepped down and stumbled—falling out the door and into his arms. She gripped his shirtfront, steadying herself and holding on.
His heart pounded beneath her hand. His hands stayed at her waist long after they needed to. But she didn’t mind. He was shaking, ever so slightly. And his breath was unsteady. It eased her to think she wasn’t the only one struggling with this new awareness. If that was why he was reacting this way.
There was only one way to know. She really wanted to know. Shoving all doubts and fears and logical arguments aside was easy, and so was sliding her arms around his neck. He was tall, tall enough that she was on her tiptoes. But that was okay—he had her. She welcomed the strength and support of his arms around her. And the slight hitch in his breath as he bent his head toward hers. She didn’t know if he kissed her or she kissed him—it didn’t matter.
His lips were firm. His hands were strong. And she held on for dear life.
Chapter Seven
