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Man, he even remembered Rory’s name. I cleared my throat and crossed my arms over my very see-through dress. “Do you have a jacket in the car?”
“No.” Rory frowned. “But I have something.” He rushed to the trunk and Jared followed.
“I’m not quite sure who you think I am, sir. But I’m no criminal. The only thing you’ll find in my trunk are instruments and a few bags.”
“Ever seen Desperado?”
Rory laughed. “Actually, I have. Cool movie. No impressive guitar case for me though. Unless you count the signed slider from B. B. King inside mine.”
Jared hooked his thumb in the belt loop in front of his gun. “Wouldn’t mind seeing that.”
“Freezing,” I called out.
“Right.” Rory popped the trunk and rummaged in a small suitcase. “Here.” He flashed the cream sweater at Jared then brought it over to me. “I’ve been trying to find a way to give this to you.”
It was cloud-soft and intricately patterned in a way that only a handmade sweater could be. I recognized it because every woman in a cold climate like Crescent Cove lived for a cozy sweater. Especially the famous Irish fisherman’s sweater that wasn’t easy to find or afford. “Oh, Rory.”
“My ma made it for you.”
“What?” I brought it to my face, then instantly pulled it over my head. It felt like a dream. While I was still soaked, at least my purple bra wasn’t on display anymore.
Rory’s phone chimed again, and he took it out to look. “Ian’s in full meltdown status.”
“Is it okay if we go, Jar—Sheriff Brooks?” I burrowed my face into the neck of the sweater.
The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Just get out of here.”
Rory opened the door for me and got me settled before rounding the hood and opening his own door.
“Slowly, Mr. Ferguson.”
“Of course.” He got into the car.
“I can seriously go home with Jared.”
Rory turned to me, his hand already on the gear shift. “I’d like you with me if you’re not too tired.”
“Oh.” The comforting sweater and his little confession warmed me right up. I swallowed against the knot in my throat and turned up the heat. “Yes. I’d like to go with you.”
“Good.” He leaned over and kissed me hard on the mouth. “Good. Thank you.” He handed me his phone. “Now can you text Ian that I’m on my way so the sheriff doesn’t send out the state cops?”
I laughed. “Yes, I can do that.”
It felt far too easy to do such a relationship-ish thing for him. Not the least bit scary at all.
Maybe I could do this.
I slid a smile at Rory before sending the text. Maybe we could.
Twenty-Five
It felt like it took forever to get to Happy Acres, and of course the storm seemed to be chasing us out there. From the information relayed by each successive rant and panic induced text from
Ian, Zoe had decided to use a doula and have a home birth.
Without machines and doctors and drugs.
Horrific.
