Page 19 of Hard To Fall
He catches up in three strides, and his hand clamps around my wrist, yanking me toward him just as a gust of wind comes and almost knocks me sideways.
“You shouldn't be running like that. Are you trying to die?” he barks.
I laugh and tip my head back, letting the rain hit my mouth. “Is yelling your love language?”
“This is me keeping you from being stupid.”
“You keep saving me, and I’ll start thinking you like me.”
He pulls me forward again. “Not a chance.”
We hit the truck at the same time. He hauls the door open, shoves me inside, then climbs in after me, slamming the door to keep the weather out.
Rain drums the roof so loud it sounds like rocks hitting it, and the wind rocks the cab. We’re wet, muddy, and Colt’s chest heaves as he catches his breath. I watch as rain runs down his jaw, disappearing into the shadow of his beard. His shirt clings to his shoulders, and my brain does something unhelpful.
I clear my throat. “Well. This is cozy.”
He glares. “You’re soaked.”
“So are you,” I say.
“That’s your fault.”
“How?”
He points at me like I’m evidence. “You ran.”
“Then imagine if we were still out there walking. I was moving with purpose.”
He rolls his eyes, adjusting himself in the cab, pulling at his wet jeans. “You were sprinting like an idiot over uneven ground.”
“Tomato, tom-ah-to.”
He drags a hand down his face, rainwater and frustration mixing together. “You ever listen to anybody?”
“No,” I say honestly. “Do you?”
He huffs a laugh. “Hell no.”
I smile. “See? Compatibility.”
His head swings to me so fast I think he may have sprained his neck. His eyes are focused on me, and then he says in that same tone he had with the animals, “We are not compatible.”
“Right,” I whisper, leaning back against the seat. “That’s why you keep grabbing me as if you own me.”
His eyes flash. “That’s not?—”
“Isn’t it?” I cut in with my sugary sweet tone. “You grab my wrist, my elbow. You pull me behind you like you’re trying to protect me. It screamsPrince Charming, Mr. Callahan.”
“If you got hurt, my mother would have my ass,” he bites out.
I laugh. “Wow. Romantic.”
His jaw ticks. “There ain’t nothing romantic about it.”
“No? Not even being caught in a rainstorm? I think there’s a song about that.” I hum thepina coladasong, but then thunder cracks so loud the whole truck shakes, and I jump, letting out another squeak. His hand moves automatically, settling on my thigh just above my knee, and the contact is instant heat.
It’s not sexual. It's as if he’s trying to ground me, let me know I’m safe.
