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“Guys,” I interject.
When their heads swing my way, I’m quickly reminded of the third rule in journalism.
Don’t make rash decisions while undercover.
Much like ensuring the facts are straight before submitting a story, every good journalist knows that jumping the gun undercover can lead to dire, sometimes irreparable, consequences.
But logic doesn’t exist when this whole room smells likehim. That woodsy spice seeps through my skin, clogging my lungs and warping my senses until my fingertips burn to be rid of it.
Alice was adamant that I do what it takes to get this story, and am I really going to look this gift horse in the mouth?
“I can help,” I blurt.
They exchange curious glances, but it’s Marcus who stiffens with a cocksure grin. “You’re aware that being a girl scout doesn’t mean you know everything, right?”
I flip Marcus the bird, shocking him silent and Penelope snickers.
“I like her.” She beams at him before turning back to me. “Do you have experience with horses or farm animals in general?”
Um… “Sure I do.”
Marcus’s lips purse, reading right through my bullshit, and by the grace of baby Jesus, I resist sticking my tongue out at him.
Penelope’s smile brightens the room. “Great! Why don’t you ride Sparrow on up to the stable while I get this jerk-face home.”
My toes scrunch inside my slippers. Sparrow? As in that giant gray behemoth who just catapulted a grown man off her back not even an hour ago.
“Absolutely, I can.” I smile a touch too enthusiastically. “I’ll head upstairs for my boots and bring her up in a bit.”
She squeaks happily as she wiggles free of an unappreciative Marcus, and then barrels into me with a hug.
“Oh, um. Yes. You’re welcome,” I ramble with my heart slamming against my sternum.
Penelope, I’m learning, is one of those people with zero boundaries.
Once she leaves to bring the four-wheeler closer, I risk a peek at Marcus.
He broods by the door, leaning against the jamb on his good leg while studying me from head to toe. I wait for him to tell me I don’t know what I’m doing or ask why I offered to help in the first place, but he just stares.
Sharp, yet curious.
I rock on my heels, floundering for control of my nervous system.
Penelope pokes her head in from outside. “Sparrow’s tied to the railing out here, and I already adjusted the stirrups for you.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, though the very idea of mounting that animal makes me want to pee my pants.
I can only imagine what Alice would say in a moment like this.
Don’t let him get the best of you, Sinclair.
So, I straighten my spine and meet him head-on.
The quad’s rumbling engine echoes around the space as they turn to leave, but not before Marcus tosses over his shoulder, “Good luck, slayer.”
CHAPTERSIX
Marcus
