Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
"Alright. I'm going to need you to get out from under there. Or at least explain what you are doing."
"It's okay," a sweet, milk and honey voice called, low and soothing, making my brows crease. "Come on, honey."
Again, what the fuck?
"Babe..." I tried again, voice a little more firm.
"I know! I know. It is so chilly out here, right? Ow, no need to do that, pretty baby."
Okay.
Either she was off her fucking meds, or there was some creature under my truck that she was trying to console and catch.
"Need some help?" I asked, sticking my hands into the pockets of my jacket, the cold making them redden and sting as the steadily falling snow wet my hair.
"With that big, scary, manly voice?" she called, still using the 'soothe the scared animal' tone, "I think not. Right? We don't need help from the big, scary man, right? You are going to stop ripping up my arm, and let me catch you, right honey? So we can get out of this snow. Oh, nope! No, don't do that!" she begged, her legs pressing under the car and disappearing as she seemed to go horizontal, trying to chase what I could only assume was a cat toward the back of the truck.
Figuring I was going nowhere until she got her cat, I moved toward the end of the truck as well, figuring that I could grab it if it slipped away from her and tried to bolt.
The sooner I could get her out from under my truck, the sooner I could go back to the compound and take a shower to get the chill out of my bones.
"Oh, hi. That's it. This is much better, right?"
My head tilted down, seeing one of her legs cock up onto my back tire, using it to propel her body out from the back of the truck.
Then there she was.
I wasn't sure what I had been expecting.
But I think it was safe to say I could never have expected the prettiest fucking woman I had ever seen before.
She had one of those faces. The delicate ones. The one that would likely mean she would get carded well into her forties. With peaches and cream skin with barely noticeable small freckles over the tops of her cheeks and her nose, a somewhat pouty mouth with a larger lower lip that was just begging to be kissed, and honey brown sleepy-looking eyes with tiny whiskey-colored flecks in the center. Her wheat-colored hair was free around her shoulders, her bangs swept a bit to the side, all of it wet from the snow.
I hadn't been wrong about the dress either.
She was wearing a patchwork colorful spaghetti strapped dress over her black leggings and pink long-sleeve shirt.
It was hardly more than twenty-five degrees out, and all she had on over that thin getup was a giant maroon sweater that looked like it had maybe belonged to a great great grandmother.
But still super, ridiculously pretty.
"Little help here," she said in that sweet voice of hers as she struggled to push herself out further without using her hands which seemed to have a bit of a deathgrip on a tiny little kitten, soaked to the bone, underfed, but still throwing an epic fit at being held.
I felt myself pause for a moment before leaning down, grabbing her under the arms, and dragging her out and up onto her feet, finding in doing so that she was a slip of a thing. She couldn't have tipped the scales over a hundred pounds, her body as delicate as her face.
"Can you turn it over and warm it up?" she asked, stroking the kitten's head as it mewled loudly.
"What?" I asked, sure I misheard her.
"Your truck. Can you turn it over and crank up the heat?"
"Why would I do that?"
"He needs to get warm. He's trembling."
Was she serious?
She didn't know me from Adam.
This was fucking Navesink Bank, criminal empire central.
And she was going to willingly climb into my truck?
I mean, true, I wasn't in my cut since I had been dragged out of bed to come out here and fix the electrical. And I didn't have my bike because it was snowing, so, first, that was impossible, and second, I needed a place to store my tools.
But even if she didn't know I was an outlaw biker, I was still some random guy on the street at two in the morning.
Then again, better me than some other rando coming out of Chaz's or some shit, all too happy to let her in, and then prove to her why being so blindly trusting is a terrible idea.
"Alright," I agreed, reaching for the tailgate and flipping it closed.
"Oh," she declared looking at it. "Ford. Well, that's a good a name as any, right buddy?" she asked, trying to pet the squirming kitten's head as I moved toward my door to open it up, turn it over, and blast the heat. I moved back out, finding her still standing at the back of my truck, small body trembling just as bad as the cat's. "Here," I said, shrugging out of my old warm, worn, tan work coat, and wrapping it around her shoulders, seeing how it fell nearly halfway down her thighs, her body swallowed up in the fabric that was warm from my body. "Come on," I called, moving toward the passenger side to open the door for her, watching as she fumbled up without her hands free to grab the rail, falling backward, making me reach up to half-push her into the cab.