shoulder. “It’s dead, now.”
“You… litterbug! ” She scowled fiercely at him, but as her own words sank home she couldn’t keep it up and the corner of her mouth twitched even as he let out a mild guffaw.
“Yeah,” he said. “And we’ll talk about that later. Now how about we get you out of here? I’ll give you a boost. Once you get started, it’s an easy climb.”
“And why do I have the feeling this boost business will involve more of you putting your hands on my ass? ”
“Waste no opportunity,” he said, straight-faced. “You ready?”
More than. She turned around in still-careful increments, reaching to get a good grip on the tire chain, one-handed or not. He crouched, wrapping his free arm around her hips; Karin gave a little bounce and jumped even as he pulled her up. They worked in tacit accord to repeat the procedure, silent except for their panting and Karin’s gasp as she hit her wrist and Dave’s grunt of effort as he finally did get his hand on her bottom to push —
And then she was over the little jut of rock and damned if the guardrail wasn’t practically within reach. She scrambled up, gaining enough momentum to lurch right along on all threes, and then crawled under the guardrail, rolling over to stare up at the bright blue sky and the vultures circling overhead.
If only she was in the sun, she’d never move again.
“Okay?” Dave called up to her.
Oops. Yeah, she probably should have let him know. “Okay!” she shouted back, still not moving.
Someone snorted, followed by a clanking at the guardrail, a grunt of victory and the rattle of tire chains coming up. She sat straight up, wrist cradled to her chest.
Barret’s errand geek.
Oh my God. He was back, his car jammed in against her truck; he must have arrived while she was busy grunting and breathing and climbing the cliff. He was back and he’d pulled the tire chains up from Dave, who even now called to her. Karin could only stare. “Oh, no-o,” she said to the gangster mullet. “You had your chance. You left. It’s not your turn anymore.”
But when he turned to face her, she knew just why he’d come. She’d played him with that Mad Sheep story and in the end she’d gotten to him. Or rather, the poison ivy had gotten to him, blooming profoundly along the side of his face and over his hands.
“Ellen!”
“Company!” she warbled back down at him, a false June Cleaver note that ought to let him know in one word or less that she’d run into trouble.
Trouble with looming intent. “You said you could help me.”
“Sure.” She scooted backward a bit to lean against the side of the truck, trying to visualize how’d she’d left things inside. She frowned at the jumbled memory of the night before, of the rifle caught in the steering wheel. No easy access there.
But behind her, in the half cab…
The man loomed over her now. God, he looked terrible. The side of his face was bright red and weeping less than twenty-four hours after he’d gotten into the poison ivy, when most people were just realizing they had a problem.
She didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. “It’s too late.”
Always best to play someone based on the truth. And truth it was; he’d have had to wash that oil off within twenty minutes of exposure to stop the course of the poison ivy rash.
“No,” he said, and his fear came out in anger. “It’s only been a few hours. It can’t be too late.”
“A few hours? ” She snorted expressively. “Trust me, I was out on that cliff for more than a few hours. More like a lifetime. For you, too, it seems.” She pulled herself up the side of the truck, startled by just how quivery her legs had turned. Don’t show it. With as much nonchalance as she could muster, she reached for the door handle. Maybe Dave had freed the rifle…maybe she’d find something else of use.
“Don’t turn away from me,” he snarled, yanking her away from the truck. She’d had her fingers under
“You… litterbug! ” She scowled fiercely at him, but as her own words sank home she couldn’t keep it up and the corner of her mouth twitched even as he let out a mild guffaw.
“Yeah,” he said. “And we’ll talk about that later. Now how about we get you out of here? I’ll give you a boost. Once you get started, it’s an easy climb.”
“And why do I have the feeling this boost business will involve more of you putting your hands on my ass? ”
“Waste no opportunity,” he said, straight-faced. “You ready?”
More than. She turned around in still-careful increments, reaching to get a good grip on the tire chain, one-handed or not. He crouched, wrapping his free arm around her hips; Karin gave a little bounce and jumped even as he pulled her up. They worked in tacit accord to repeat the procedure, silent except for their panting and Karin’s gasp as she hit her wrist and Dave’s grunt of effort as he finally did get his hand on her bottom to push —
And then she was over the little jut of rock and damned if the guardrail wasn’t practically within reach. She scrambled up, gaining enough momentum to lurch right along on all threes, and then crawled under the guardrail, rolling over to stare up at the bright blue sky and the vultures circling overhead.
If only she was in the sun, she’d never move again.
“Okay?” Dave called up to her.
Oops. Yeah, she probably should have let him know. “Okay!” she shouted back, still not moving.
Someone snorted, followed by a clanking at the guardrail, a grunt of victory and the rattle of tire chains coming up. She sat straight up, wrist cradled to her chest.
Barret’s errand geek.
Oh my God. He was back, his car jammed in against her truck; he must have arrived while she was busy grunting and breathing and climbing the cliff. He was back and he’d pulled the tire chains up from Dave, who even now called to her. Karin could only stare. “Oh, no-o,” she said to the gangster mullet. “You had your chance. You left. It’s not your turn anymore.”
But when he turned to face her, she knew just why he’d come. She’d played him with that Mad Sheep story and in the end she’d gotten to him. Or rather, the poison ivy had gotten to him, blooming profoundly along the side of his face and over his hands.
“Ellen!”
“Company!” she warbled back down at him, a false June Cleaver note that ought to let him know in one word or less that she’d run into trouble.
Trouble with looming intent. “You said you could help me.”
“Sure.” She scooted backward a bit to lean against the side of the truck, trying to visualize how’d she’d left things inside. She frowned at the jumbled memory of the night before, of the rifle caught in the steering wheel. No easy access there.
But behind her, in the half cab…
The man loomed over her now. God, he looked terrible. The side of his face was bright red and weeping less than twenty-four hours after he’d gotten into the poison ivy, when most people were just realizing they had a problem.
She didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. “It’s too late.”
Always best to play someone based on the truth. And truth it was; he’d have had to wash that oil off within twenty minutes of exposure to stop the course of the poison ivy rash.
“No,” he said, and his fear came out in anger. “It’s only been a few hours. It can’t be too late.”
“A few hours? ” She snorted expressively. “Trust me, I was out on that cliff for more than a few hours. More like a lifetime. For you, too, it seems.” She pulled herself up the side of the truck, startled by just how quivery her legs had turned. Don’t show it. With as much nonchalance as she could muster, she reached for the door handle. Maybe Dave had freed the rifle…maybe she’d find something else of use.
“Don’t turn away from me,” he snarled, yanking her away from the truck. She’d had her fingers under
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