the haunting echo of I won’t let the way I feel about you affect my performance out there . And he could only wish that instead of risking her life in spite of her feelings, she might be willing to risk it because of them.
Which made him the very worst person of all.
Chapter Six
Ace snored like a pig with three snouts. Max tossed and turned on his cot so many times it was a wonder the bearings held. Only Scott slept quietly in the wee hours before dawn, snuggled up on the floor with a golden retriever possessed of the most gorgeous eyelashes known to human- or dog-kind.
Lucky dog.
Carrie got up from her own makeshift bed as quietly as she could, fearful of waking the three slumbering men who would be her only safety net for the next few days. Sleep, always elusive after seven cups of coffee, was even more of a tease when her nerves were on such high alert. Even though they had another hour or so before their crack-of-dawn departure time, there was no way she was getting any rest.
There wasn’t much privacy down in the church basement, so she slung her pack over her shoulder and made for the hallway, where she could at least stop staring longingly at the culvert of Scott’s body. She missed being the one to curl up in that spot, basking in his warmth and hoping for a belly rub.
With a sigh, she dropped to the hallway floor and rooted around in her bag until she extracted Voodoo Scott. He was looking a little worse for wear as of late, his smile now halfway across his face and his vest starting to unravel at the edges, but there was no denying this little guy had power.
Not only had she managed to get the real Scott to apologize and kiss her with this doll, but she’d also managed to wrest him into the red vest again. That was some freaky shit right there. When she’d seen Scott come down those basement stairs earlier, looking lost and scared and wearing the signature red flannel she’d thought he’d die rather than touch again, she’d realized there might be more to this cursing stuff than she previously thought.
Besides—she could either sit here believing in something , or she could picture the many ways her life was about to take a turn for the irretrievable worse. And they needed all the luck they could get out there. It couldn’t hurt, right?
She took a deep breath and offered an apology to the sanity she once possessed.
“I am going to fly in a helicopter,” Voodoo Scott announced in a deep, gravelly voice. “I am going to come out of it unscathed along with my entire team of compatriots.”
She marched Scott along the carpeted floor, but the voodoo action didn’t seem as effective without some kind of stage set around him. Unfortunately, there were no toy helicopters hiding in her SAR pack, and unless she wanted him to feast on trail mix or get busy with a rubber band, she didn’t have much in the way of playacting supplies.
Her hand hit the spikes of her travel hairbrush, and she pulled it out with interest. Her thick head of hair had a way of casting off the excess in disconcerting amounts whenever she brushed it, and there was more than a healthy handful waiting in the teeth. Since she had nothing but time while her boys slept in the next room over, she gave herself over to pulling the hair out of the brush and shaping it into a makeshift dog. It reminded her of those Little House on the Prairie books, when Laura Ingalls Wilder had to twist straw to burn for fuel during the long winter.
Nothing to see here, folks. Just a couple of tough-as-nails women, facing the bitter cold, trying to survive on straw sticks and hair dolls. Move it along.
“What a sweet doggie you are,” she crooned to the lump of hair as soon as she was done. It had legs and a head, which was good enough for her. “You must be very cold and tired out there, but I want you to hang on for a few more days. Can you do that, girl? Can you be brave for just a little while longer?”
The dog whimpered its
Which made him the very worst person of all.
Chapter Six
Ace snored like a pig with three snouts. Max tossed and turned on his cot so many times it was a wonder the bearings held. Only Scott slept quietly in the wee hours before dawn, snuggled up on the floor with a golden retriever possessed of the most gorgeous eyelashes known to human- or dog-kind.
Lucky dog.
Carrie got up from her own makeshift bed as quietly as she could, fearful of waking the three slumbering men who would be her only safety net for the next few days. Sleep, always elusive after seven cups of coffee, was even more of a tease when her nerves were on such high alert. Even though they had another hour or so before their crack-of-dawn departure time, there was no way she was getting any rest.
There wasn’t much privacy down in the church basement, so she slung her pack over her shoulder and made for the hallway, where she could at least stop staring longingly at the culvert of Scott’s body. She missed being the one to curl up in that spot, basking in his warmth and hoping for a belly rub.
With a sigh, she dropped to the hallway floor and rooted around in her bag until she extracted Voodoo Scott. He was looking a little worse for wear as of late, his smile now halfway across his face and his vest starting to unravel at the edges, but there was no denying this little guy had power.
Not only had she managed to get the real Scott to apologize and kiss her with this doll, but she’d also managed to wrest him into the red vest again. That was some freaky shit right there. When she’d seen Scott come down those basement stairs earlier, looking lost and scared and wearing the signature red flannel she’d thought he’d die rather than touch again, she’d realized there might be more to this cursing stuff than she previously thought.
Besides—she could either sit here believing in something , or she could picture the many ways her life was about to take a turn for the irretrievable worse. And they needed all the luck they could get out there. It couldn’t hurt, right?
She took a deep breath and offered an apology to the sanity she once possessed.
“I am going to fly in a helicopter,” Voodoo Scott announced in a deep, gravelly voice. “I am going to come out of it unscathed along with my entire team of compatriots.”
She marched Scott along the carpeted floor, but the voodoo action didn’t seem as effective without some kind of stage set around him. Unfortunately, there were no toy helicopters hiding in her SAR pack, and unless she wanted him to feast on trail mix or get busy with a rubber band, she didn’t have much in the way of playacting supplies.
Her hand hit the spikes of her travel hairbrush, and she pulled it out with interest. Her thick head of hair had a way of casting off the excess in disconcerting amounts whenever she brushed it, and there was more than a healthy handful waiting in the teeth. Since she had nothing but time while her boys slept in the next room over, she gave herself over to pulling the hair out of the brush and shaping it into a makeshift dog. It reminded her of those Little House on the Prairie books, when Laura Ingalls Wilder had to twist straw to burn for fuel during the long winter.
Nothing to see here, folks. Just a couple of tough-as-nails women, facing the bitter cold, trying to survive on straw sticks and hair dolls. Move it along.
“What a sweet doggie you are,” she crooned to the lump of hair as soon as she was done. It had legs and a head, which was good enough for her. “You must be very cold and tired out there, but I want you to hang on for a few more days. Can you do that, girl? Can you be brave for just a little while longer?”
The dog whimpered its
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