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Ihatefeeling vulnerable. I’ve never been a damsel in distress.
All this escapes Chance because he knows I’ve had some pretty good altercations in the past due to the nature of being a bounty hunter. Some guys and girls just don’t want to come along peacefully.
“Awww… poor Pixy,” I whisper, then let go of the door frame when I feel steady. I’ve not eaten in far too long.
“See… look what you did to my goat; he’s gone and lost the plot.”
Did I mention he can be a cocky bastard when the opportunity presents itself?
“We are going to have to ease CJ into seeing his Auntie O—Ham-let.” His deep voice dips into a singsong as though he meant to all along. It covers up his near faux pas in front of Shamus, who by now must think those of us with Aussie accents are a little cray-cray.
The Scotsman has an incredulous look on his face as he looks between the goat flat on his back, stiff legs up in the air and my cousin.
“Am I the only one concerned for yer goat?” Shamus cocks his head to the side, examining Pixy’s paralyzed form.
“Give him a few more seconds, and he will be right as rain.” Chance shrugs off Pixy’s dilemma.
Surely, they have fainting goats in Scotland. Cripes, what a good save on Chance’s behalf. When I messaged him earlier, I asked him to call me “Hamlet” or refer to me as “cuz” when he arrives. We’ve known each other all my life; any of my requests he adheres to without question and vice versa. He trusts in my crazy moments.
“Shamus, please thank Tucker for me. Maybe one day, when I am in a better place, our paths will cross again.” For want of a better thing to do, I move forward and give him a friendly hug.
“I’m counting on it, lass. Tucker’s a good guy with a heart ye haven’t got to witness yet,” he says softly against my neck.I bet Shamus has a generous heart too.
“What can I say? The 365-day policy I can’t break. I owe it to myself,” I say softly.
“Aye. It’s not so long.”
“Aye,” I repeat. “You’re a good guy, Shamus MacDougall.” Over Shamus’ shoulder, I can see Tucker through the rest stop window lining up to pay for an armful of items. I feel a blast of guilt settle underneath my skin, setting the fine hairs on my arm at attention. I’ve come this far—
“Aye. You best be going, lass. My boy will be hard to shake otherwise.” I pat his back and pull away. “Feel better soon.”
“You can count on it.” I can’t help looking back at the rest stop window. Tucker is watching me, shaking his head slowly.
Oh, shit, he’s on to me.
“Chance… get Pixy in the back. He will have to sit on a few things of mine.” My voice has turned urgent.
“On it.” Pixy is up on his feet and trotting after Chance on his blue leash.
I’m back in Manny, seatbelt on, and ready to be out of here.
Chance is reversing. He brought Manny’s spare key with him, but we didn’t need it in the end. I always knew my plan would come together.
But why am I overflowing with guilt? It’s almost to the point of being painful.
“Baaaaa,” Pixy bleats, nudging my shoulder with his face.
“It’s okay, little guy.”
Tucker walks out of the rest stop door without his purchases.
I perform a sloppy salute as we drive past, which is supposed to equal “I win,” but it falls flat when he gives me a look of disappointment on his face.
“Motherplucker,” I murmur. I just got served a mountain of guilt for bailing on him.
Back on the road, my cousin says, “Spill.”
“Not now, cuz.” I curl up on my side again; this time, I am trying to hold in the uneasy feelings I have for sabotaging Tucker’s plans.
