Fun times.
“The battery. Um, I think that’s it,” I rattle off, having to clear my throat to continue. “The light just started flashing while I was on the road, but then it stayed on and my truck up and died. Now there’s just...nothing. Not even the battery light. No power at all.”
He nods and glances around me like he’s heard it a hundred times, gazing into the cab of the truck before he makes a sympathetic grimace.
“Sounds like the alternator.”
“Oh, of course!” I say, just a little too eagerly because I’m that hard up for good news. “Uh, how’d you know?”
I wonder if his sympathy is for the broken-down truck or the fact that I’m alone.
I’m not alone, though, nor am I afraid. Hurt paw or not, Bruce is the best protector a girl could ever have. He’s been as defensive of me as I’ve been with him since day one.
Call it a twisted kinda love at first sight.
“Well, don’t know for sure till I take a closer look,” he tells me, “but what you described sounds like what happens when an alternator craps out.”
“An alternator,” I repeat, nodding as if I totally get what that thingamajig is.
“The alternator,” he corrects, amusement sparking in his eyes. “There’s usually just one unless you’ve got a real special ride.”
I nod again like I knew that. “I guess I’ll have to fix it. No big deal, right?”
“Replace it,” he says, reaching up to stroke the dark scruff on his chin. “You’ll need a new one, or a rebuilt unit, possibly, if we can dig one up for you.”
Uh-oh.
Something tells me all this talk about digging and fixing means I’m gonna be here awhile.
Not. Good.
“Where were you headed?” he asks.
“Wyoming. Close to Sheridan.” I flinch as soon as the word falls out.
It’s not quite a lie, but it was a half-baked plan at best.
Yes, there’s another big cat refuge there. A legit one with zero ties to Exotic Plains that I need to get Bruce to before infection sets into his paw.
But I sure as heck don’t need to be broadcasting it to a complete stranger. I don’t even know if this guy is an employee here, though his shirt is a pretty good hint he is.
“Hmm. I’d offer you a jump to charge up your battery, but that would only give you enough juice for a short hop. Not all the way to Bowman, which is a few towns over before you cross the state line.”
“It wouldn’t, huh?”
“Nah, but I know a damn good mechanic. He could probably replace your alternator tomorrow, if you can handle staying in this little town overnight.” He offers me an easy smile I wish I could return.
“Tomorrow,” I whisper, holding my breath.
He might as well have said next month or next year.
By tomorrow, Priscilla and Niles will definitely know I’m gone. They’ll have the hounds out in force looking for me and the wonderful creature they consider their property.
“Yep, he’s good at what he does, won’t take him long once he gets the part,” the stranger continues. “You got stock in that trailer?”
With my mind spinning with all the reasons why tomorrow will be a total disaster, I nod.
“Is it a two-inch ball with your rig?”
“Excuse me?” I bat my eyes, trying to unhear him talking dirty.
What ball? Did he mean bull? In the trailer?
His question ignites my greatest fears—like facing major jail time for stealing an exotic animal without ironclad proof I had to. Seeing him looking at me expectantly, I do the only thing I can.
“Yeah, it’s a bull,” I lie.
“Bull?” He cocks his head, adorably confused.
Isn’t that what he meant? If I had a bull? Or did he say ball? That wouldn’t make any sense.
Gah, I’m confused.
“That’s what I’m taking to Wyoming,” I continue, biting my tongue. “A bull.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I’m closer to a straitjacket than he knows.
“You misheard me. I asked if it was a two-inch ball on your truck,” he says, fighting back a chuckle. “The hitch, I mean. They’re usually a two-inch, but some are bigger. Two and five-sixteenths.”
Oh. Well, at least I’ll have plenty of time to relive this embarrassing conversation when I’m sitting in prison.
I’m a flipping zoologist and still don’t have a clue what he’s talking about.
“I don’t follow. Why do you want to know?” I venture.
“Because I have a two-inch ball on my truck. We can unhitch your ride, pull it out of the way, and then hitch my truck up to the trailer to get that bull moving.”
It’s official. My brain is a stress-fried omelet.
He might as well be speaking a foreign language.
“Come again?” I whisper.
“Miss, you sure you’re okay?” For a moment, he sighs, giving me a long look. “So I can give you a ride to Dallas. There’s a bed and breakfast here where you can spend the night. They also have an exercise area for stock when needed.”