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Idiot.
Now she was face down on the floor with her hands above her head while some asshole robbed the place.
What the hell?
This sort of stuff never happened in Wanton, Wyoming. Heck, the last bit of excitement was when Mrs. Matchett’s dog, Tiny, had stolen a leg of lamb from Mrs. Grown’s kitchen and run off with it. With Mrs. Grown chasing him. Dressed in only a towel since she’d just gotten out of the shower.
When she’d tripped and fallen, the towel had slipped and well . . . yeah, that had been the talk of the town for months.
But nothing like this had ever happened. It was just her luck that she was in the store at the time someone decided to freaking rob it.
Shit.
Trent could never find out about this. Not just because she’d told him she would rest and stay at home today. And not just because she was supposed to text him whenever she left the house.
Those reasons were both good ones. But mostly, she couldn’t tell him because he would completely freak out and would never leave her on her own again.
Although, at this point, she was starting to think that might be a good thing. That being alone again was the very last thing she wanted.
“Here you go.”
She glanced up as she heard poor Bev speak. The older lady had owned this store for at least twenty years. April had lived here three years now, and Bev had always been kind to her. She didn’t deserve this asshole coming in and stealing from her.
“There’s barely anything in here!” the guy roared.
“There aren’t a lot of cash sales anymore,” Bev tried to explain before letting out a squeak of fear as he kicked the counter.
April whimpered. She really wished she could grab hold of Scruffy Dog for comfort, but he was in her handbag which was stuck under her stomach.
“Fuck! Fuck!” the guy roared. “You! Get your wallet. Empty it!”
It took her a moment to realize he was screaming at her.
“It . . . it’s under me,” she said. “There isn’t anything in it!”
“Get it!” he yelled.
She quickly moved, pulling it out from under her. He snatched it up and turned it upside down, spilling everything.
Someone else let out a small cry and she turned her head to see Jess Rogers lying on her side on the floor a few feet behind her. Tears were streaming down her terrified face. Shit. Jess was five months pregnant. She didn’t need this sort of stress.
Fuck this guy. Who the fuck did he think he was? Where did he get off scaring an old lady and a pregnant woman?
And he’d just chucked her stuff around. Poor Scruffy Dog was now on the floor, looking at her accusingly.
“Fuck! Why the fuck don’t you people have any money!” he screamed.
He turned to Jess, grabbing her bag and throwing everything out.
That’s when it happened. His rage exploded, and he drew his foot back as though he was going to kick Jess.
Not today, asshole!
Without thinking, April lunged and grabbed the foot that was right in front of her and tugged. It could have gone horribly wrong. His gun could have gone off. He could have landed on Jess, who somehow had the presence of mind to scoot backward.
But it didn’t. He slammed to the floor, and the gun went flying from his hand. Getting up, April jumped on top of him, pummelling and screaming. Jess got up on her feet. April hoped like hell that she was getting help.
The guy pushed her off, and she slammed into the metal shelves with a cry of pain. And then he was looming over her.
