“We’re heading downhill. We’re picking up speed! Did you get your PhD online?” I cried.
“Hey, don’t yell at me because you’re panicking!”
“I’m not panicking!” I yelled.
We came to a particularly nasty turn, almost forty-five degrees overlooking a deep ravine. My heart thumped in my throat the closer we rolled. I pumped the brake furiously, hoping for some last-minute Hail Mary solution. I tried to turn the wheel, but the curve was just too sharp. “Hold on!” I shouted as he braced his arms against the dash.
The truck careened down the embankment, side-swiping trees and bouncing us back against the rear window separating the cab from the camper top attached to my truck bed. The truck pitched left, and my head cracked against the driver’s-side window. I closed my eyes, letting the pitch and roll of the cab flop me around like a rag doll as I concentrated on not throwing up. We finally slid into a bank of trees and skidded to a stop.
“Shit! Shit! Shitshitshitshit!” I yelled, my eyes squeezed shut.
A few moments later, careful fingers pried my fingers loose from their death grip on the steering wheel.
“Maggie, the truck’s stopped. You can stop murdering the English language now,” Nick said. He gently turned my head to examine the rather impressive swelling on my temple. I winced and hissed as his fingertips brushed the throbbing skin.
The passenger side was wedged against a pair of trees at the bottom of a ravine. Frankly, it was a miracle the truck hadn’t flipped. God bless solid, pre-plastic American auto engineering.
“Are you OK?” I asked, gripping his wrists. “How’s your ass?”
His lips quirked. “I’m fine. I’m worried about you.”
“And I’m worried about your ass,” I told him, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over me. “I’m really sorry about that,” I said, tracing my hand along his cheek. I smiled, feeling sort of loopy. “You have such a nice ass.”
He chuckled as I leaned my forehead against his. “You cracked your head pretty good, huh?”
I nodded, cringing at the pain that spiraled out of that small motion. I dug into my pocket for my newly recharged cell phone. I had a healthy battery but no bars. “No cell-phone reception out here. You?”
“I paid an obscene amount of money for 3G network coverage.” He shook his head.
I carefully stuck my head out through the shattered window, staring up the steep rock and earth wall that separated us from the road. Nick could barely walk. There was no way I was making it up that incline in human form in this rain. I considered knocking him out and phasing so I could run for help. But knocking someone unconscious sort of made rescue efforts irrelevant. Plus, the last time I ran with a concussion, I woke up in Juneau, naked in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven, with no clue what day it was. I could forget where I was running, and he could end up stuck out there for who knew how long.
“We’re not getting out of here anytime soon,” I told him.
“So, what, we wait for morning or for the weather to break?” he asked, looking back into the truck bed.
I nodded. “Whichever comes first. There’s some blankets and stuff in the back. We’re going to need to cover the window. It’s still fall, technically, but it’s going to get cold tonight.”
I pushed the back window, which Sam and Cooper had custom-installed. It was just wide enough to shimmy through, though Nick was going to have some trouble with his injuries. I was glad that I’d recently cleaned out the truck bed. The camper top wouldn’t allow us to stand or move around much, but at least we had shelter from the wind and rain. I passed the blanket and some duct tape through to him and started putting together a pallet. I’d insisted that everyone in the valley keep emergency kits in their cars, for situations like this. But I’d been expecting something more along the lines of a blizzard or a zombie invasion, rather than failed brakes and an impromptu slumber party with my human crush.
I gnawed my lip and considered the situation. My truck was old, but it was well maintained. Samson took a look at it every few months, inspecting the rebuilt engine, the aging axles, and the brakes, which he’d replaced last winter. It didn’t make any sense for the brakes to crap out like that. Samson was goofy and lazy, but he was a solid mechanic. Also, as far as I knew, he didn’t want me dead. Of course, that might change after I went home and put a boot up his ass.
“Well, this is cozy,” Nick said wryly after struggling through the camper window. He pulled one of the blankets off the pallet and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Maybe I should have you redecorate Susie’s place for me.”
“Funny,” I muttered.
“I know this is going to sound like a line, but I think we need to get you out of those wet clothes,” he said, pulling my boots off. I pushed his hands away and yanked them off myself. “It’s going to get cold in here, even with the blankets.”
“I have an extra set of sweats in here, just in case,” I told him, not bothering to add that they were there “just in case” I woke up naked in a strange place after a run, which was sort of an occupational hazard.
“I’ll turn around,” he said.
I arched my brows, then laughed as he dutifully turned his back and covered his eyes.
When you spend so much time around people who pay no attention to nudity, you forget niceties like modesty. It was sort of strange, but a refreshing change from guys who paid no attention when my boobs were exposed to God and everybody. It was nice to have a little mystery about me . . . you know, beyond the furry issue.
I peeled the wet shirt over my head and slid into the warm, dry sweatshirt. It felt absolutely delicious against my skin. It took a bit of effort to fight my way out of the wet jeans, but it was worth it to pull on the dry sweatpants.
Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and I was seventy-five percent sure we weren’t going to die, I was suddenly so tired I felt as if I’d just run a marathon. I pulled my hair into a messy bun on top of my head. I wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, but I was comfortable and warm. I couldn’t want much else.
“You decent?” he asked.
“Depends on who you ask,” I retorted.
He turned, pulling the emergency bag open. “And for dinner, we have our choice of protein bars that taste like peanut butter or protein bars that taste like chocolate and dirt. Paired with a lovely domestic bottled water.”
“I think I’m going to go with the peanut butter,” I said, shuddering. “The chocolate and dirt one lives up to its reputation.”
“Excellent choice,” he said, tossing the packet to me.
I stripped off the foil and shoved most of the protein bar into my mouth. Between the run and keeping warm, my body was starved for calories. His eyes went wide, and I swallowed. I tended to forget my table manners when I was hungry.
“I eat when I’m nervous,” I told him.
“How’s your head?”
“Feels like there’s a drunk marching band in there,” I said, gingerly rubbing my temple. “And the tubas are way off-key.”
“Well, your pupils look good, but we should probably keep you awake for a while, just in case you have a concussion,” he said. “Talk to me. Why’d you run off like that earlier?”
“You couldn’t think of something a little more small-talkish before diving right into the deep end?” I griped.
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.
“Blue.” I sighed, staring up into his eyes and hating myself for being such a sappy masochist.
“What do you think of the Red Wings’ chances this season?”
“They’ll be fine until the Avalanche take the ice,” I muttered, biting off another hunk of protein bar.
He snorted. “OK, then, why did you run off earlier?”
“I don’t like how you make me feel,” I said, my lips somewhat loosened by exhaustion, warm dry clothes, and the weight of the protein bar in my belly.
His eyes widened in alarm. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean—”
“No, I mean I like you, too much. You make me forget. You make me feel like you’re more important than anything, and I can’t let that be.”
