Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
‘My . . .’ She seems to lose her voice as she shakes her head, looking past me, and I follow her stare to the bushes, seeing the wheel of a bike poking through the branches.
Oh.
I quickly rise, giving us both space, and pace over to tug the bike free, standing the mangled mess on the road. The bush is a vibrant mix of every colour under the sun, and I notice various containers scattered everywhere. Paint. I go to ask what it’s for, but when I look back, I find her pouting solemnly at her ruined bike. She shouldn’t pout. She definitely shouldn’t pout. Those lips . . .
‘I loved that bike,’ she murmurs.
My admiring is interrupted, and I quickly feel like even more of an arsehole. Being a knight in shining armor isn’t usually my style. Then again, I’ve never nearly killed a woman. Though I can’t deny I’ve imagined strangling some. Or one in particular.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say sincerely, feeling like total shit. ‘I’ll replace it.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘But I want to.’
Her head cocks as she studies me, like she’s trying to figure me out. And silence falls again. Awkward, again. I lay her bike – which is certainly dead – on the ground and head over to my truck to escape the odd atmosphere. The smoke has calmed, no longer billowing up from the engine.
‘Is it bad?’ she asks, joining me. I tense, her arm nearly touching mine where she stands beside me.
‘Just a popped valve.’ I pull down the hood, grimacing at the tidy dent on the bumper. ‘I think the tree took the worst.’ I collect her bike and put it on the back, then open the passenger door. ‘Hop in.’
She’s hesitant, looking back down the road. ‘No, it’s fine, I’ll walk.’ Approaching my truck, she reaches for her bike, and I immediately step in to help. And quickly pull back when she jumps out of my way like a skittish kitten.
I motion to the bicycle and slowly reach for it. ‘I was just going to help you get it down.’ As I set it on the ground for her, she closes her eyes briefly, exhaling, and I’m sure it’s to gather herself.
‘Thank you,’ she breathes, claiming her bike. She offers me a small smile, one I can tell is forced.
This isn’t sitting well with me at all. She’s bleeding, she’s clearly hurt her shoulder, her bike is obliterated, and it’s getting dark. Hampton may well be the safest place on earth, but an injured woman shouldn’t be roaming around on her own. Not anywhere. And especially when I’ve offered to give her a ride. And especially when I’m the damn fucking cause for her having to walk home in the first place. I move forward but come to an abrupt halt when she takes a step back.
‘I’d feel a lot better if you let me drive you home,’ I tell her.
‘Honestly, I’m really fine.’
‘Your knee disagrees.’ I point to the bloodied mess, and she peeks down. ‘Let me at least clean it up.’
She doesn’t answer this time, and instead turns quickly and pushes her bike down the track a bit too hastily for my liking. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she calls as she goes.
I step forward, instinct telling me to go after her and insist on sorting that knee and taking her home, but I stop myself. She doesn’t want my help, and I’m not the kind of man to force myself on anyone.
So reluctantly, I let her go, watching as she tries to disguise her limp in a lame attempt to convince me she’s okay. ‘Nice to meet you,’ I say quietly, slowly reversing my steps and ripping my gaze away from her fleeing form.
Let her go.
I head for my truck, looking over my shoulder a few times, seeing her getting farther away, until I glance back for the last time and find she’s gone. I stop, laughing under my breath. Well, that was . . . weird.
Shaking my head clear, I realign my focus, grimacing when I take in the damage. ‘Motherfucker,’ I breathe, kicking the tyre. ‘Welcome home, Ryan.’ I jump in and take it steady up the rest of the dirt road, trying to ignore my whirling thoughts. Let her go. Let her go. I press the brake and come to a stop, my fingers tapping on the wheel, my mind tangled. But it’s getting dark. She’s hurt. ‘Fuck it.’ I quickly turn my van around and race down the road to find her, dead set on taking her to wherever she’s going. Where was she going? And where the hell did she come from?
I scan the darkening road in front of me as I drive, searching for her. Nothing. ‘Where’d you go, sweetheart?’ I muse, pulling to a stop when I reach the junction that’ll take me back to the main road into town. I look up and down. It’s empty. And I sit there for a few minutes, thinking. Who is she?