as he doesn’t find me, that’s fine with me.”
Chapter 11
The truck hit a bump, jarring Lacey out of her memories. She realized she’d been staring unseeing at the road ahead while she slid down the slippery slope of memory lane. It was a miracle they hadn’t ended up in a ditch.
Maybe that’s what they needed, though. The air in the cab shimmered with tension from all they’d left unsaid. Maybe she needed to shake things up a little.
Cranking the wheel to the right, she bounced onto the rocky shoulder and pitched the truck down onto the weedy strip bordering the road. Chase slapped one hand on the dashboard and held on, turning to her with a wide-eyed stare.
“Hey, you’re so hot on this four-wheeling thing, I figured I’d try it.” She steered along a barbed wire fence, then fishtailed around a corner, letting the rear wheels slide until they gripped the dirt and heaved the truck forward. “This is kind of fun.”
“Get back on the road,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, come on. You said she was made for rocky terrain, right?”
“Not this rocky terrain. You need to get out of this hayfield.”
“Hayfield?” She laughed. There wasn’t a scrap of hay where she was driving—just an occasional tangle of thistles and clumps of spiky yucca sticking up from the bare, cracked dirt. “This isn’t a hayfield. This is a desert.”
“Fletcher Galt thinks it’s a hayfield,” Chase said. “And since he owns it and he’ll shoot anybody who trespasses, you’d better turn left.”
“He’ll shoot us? You’re kidding.”
“He shot one of my cattle.”
“Holy crap. You’re not too civilized out here in Wyoming, are you?”
“Fletcher wouldn’t be civilized if he lived in Buckingham Palace. He’d probably shoot the queen if she crossed him.”
He grunted as she veered left onto a dirt two-track that was almost invisible under a cloak of grass and weeds. The truck lurched over a washout and plunged into a wooded area scattered with boulders.
“That better?” Lacey shot him a grin. Back when she was a kid she’d loved to have outdoor adventures—swimming at the quarry, building bonfires, creating all those teenaged memories—but she hadn’t done anything like that in years. She’d been hovering like a ghost in the air-conditioned confines of Trent’s big house for so long, she’d forgotten what it was like to be real, to do things. Cranking down the driver’s-side window, she propped her arm on the track and enjoyed the heat of the sun on her skin.
The truck took every obstacle in stride, heaving over the rocks like a lumbering beast. Stray limbs from the trees bordering the long-abandoned road thwapped the doors as they passed, and the sound reminded her of running onto the field at the Lions games with the cheer squad, the team in their pads and helmets high-fiving them as they bounded onto the field. She could almost hear the cheers of the crowd. It made her feel like the old Lacey again—her perky, confident self.
The pickup humped over another washout, and she returned her attention to the road and downshifted. The front end heaved upward and crashed down, then repeated the motion as the rear tires topped a massive rock. Easing out the clutch, she pressed the accelerator, frowning when their forward motion failed to resume.
“What the…” She pressed the accelerator again, harder this time. The truck roared, tires spinning uselessly as mud spattered the rock behind them.
“Ease up,” Chase shouted over the racket. “Ease up!”
She let up on the pedal and felt the truck inch forward, then dip. There was a harsh grating noise as the rock scraped the truck’s undercarriage, and the tires spun again. Looking left and right, she realized they weren’t in a washout; she’d driven into a creek. Ahead was a muddy bank; beyond that, a swampy morass of mud and tufted grass. She turned and looked behind her.
“Oops.”
The rock she’d driven over loomed
Chapter 11
The truck hit a bump, jarring Lacey out of her memories. She realized she’d been staring unseeing at the road ahead while she slid down the slippery slope of memory lane. It was a miracle they hadn’t ended up in a ditch.
Maybe that’s what they needed, though. The air in the cab shimmered with tension from all they’d left unsaid. Maybe she needed to shake things up a little.
Cranking the wheel to the right, she bounced onto the rocky shoulder and pitched the truck down onto the weedy strip bordering the road. Chase slapped one hand on the dashboard and held on, turning to her with a wide-eyed stare.
“Hey, you’re so hot on this four-wheeling thing, I figured I’d try it.” She steered along a barbed wire fence, then fishtailed around a corner, letting the rear wheels slide until they gripped the dirt and heaved the truck forward. “This is kind of fun.”
“Get back on the road,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, come on. You said she was made for rocky terrain, right?”
“Not this rocky terrain. You need to get out of this hayfield.”
“Hayfield?” She laughed. There wasn’t a scrap of hay where she was driving—just an occasional tangle of thistles and clumps of spiky yucca sticking up from the bare, cracked dirt. “This isn’t a hayfield. This is a desert.”
“Fletcher Galt thinks it’s a hayfield,” Chase said. “And since he owns it and he’ll shoot anybody who trespasses, you’d better turn left.”
“He’ll shoot us? You’re kidding.”
“He shot one of my cattle.”
“Holy crap. You’re not too civilized out here in Wyoming, are you?”
“Fletcher wouldn’t be civilized if he lived in Buckingham Palace. He’d probably shoot the queen if she crossed him.”
He grunted as she veered left onto a dirt two-track that was almost invisible under a cloak of grass and weeds. The truck lurched over a washout and plunged into a wooded area scattered with boulders.
“That better?” Lacey shot him a grin. Back when she was a kid she’d loved to have outdoor adventures—swimming at the quarry, building bonfires, creating all those teenaged memories—but she hadn’t done anything like that in years. She’d been hovering like a ghost in the air-conditioned confines of Trent’s big house for so long, she’d forgotten what it was like to be real, to do things. Cranking down the driver’s-side window, she propped her arm on the track and enjoyed the heat of the sun on her skin.
The truck took every obstacle in stride, heaving over the rocks like a lumbering beast. Stray limbs from the trees bordering the long-abandoned road thwapped the doors as they passed, and the sound reminded her of running onto the field at the Lions games with the cheer squad, the team in their pads and helmets high-fiving them as they bounded onto the field. She could almost hear the cheers of the crowd. It made her feel like the old Lacey again—her perky, confident self.
The pickup humped over another washout, and she returned her attention to the road and downshifted. The front end heaved upward and crashed down, then repeated the motion as the rear tires topped a massive rock. Easing out the clutch, she pressed the accelerator, frowning when their forward motion failed to resume.
“What the…” She pressed the accelerator again, harder this time. The truck roared, tires spinning uselessly as mud spattered the rock behind them.
“Ease up,” Chase shouted over the racket. “Ease up!”
She let up on the pedal and felt the truck inch forward, then dip. There was a harsh grating noise as the rock scraped the truck’s undercarriage, and the tires spun again. Looking left and right, she realized they weren’t in a washout; she’d driven into a creek. Ahead was a muddy bank; beyond that, a swampy morass of mud and tufted grass. She turned and looked behind her.
“Oops.”
The rock she’d driven over loomed
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