“Thank you.” She touched his chest lightly.
His words from the day before came rolling through her mind, about how they couldn’t go back to pretending they weren’t affected by each other. And he was right. This attraction between them only increased. His hand enfolded hers.
“Stop thanking me,” he said gruffly. “What can you do? I need… food.”
She laughed. He was such a man. “Anything in particular you want?”
“Want?” His eyes flamed for an instant, before he squeezed her hand once and let go. “You choose. Just be sure to keep a low profile.”
He leaped from the Jeep by the gas pump.
Low profile. Okay. She could do that.
She plucked at her shirt, the heat of the day sticking her clothes to her back. She’d gotten a fresh change from Sunny—a tee and jean shorts. Generous and definitely welcome, although the shirt was a little snugger than the looser clothes she wore for comfort when working—not to mention, it was hot pink. Not exactly a blend-in color.
Low profile, low key, she chanted mentally with each step. Easier said than done, when she was used to charging through life rather than fading into the walls. At least the place was pretty much deserted, other than an older couple parked in a corner booth and another guy outside walking his boxer.
Stopping in front of the cashier, she peeled off enough twenties so the guy with a Miami Dolphins shirt would turn on the pump. He flipped the switch, collected the cash, and passed her a laminated menu without pulling his attention off the game on television.
She eyed Liam, who was still filling the Jeep, Disco’s leash securely in his other hand. Of course he could handle taking care of her dog. She was acting like a nervous mom, for Pete’s sake.
Still, as she placed her order for three shrimp po’ boys and two orders of fries, she studied the trees and marsh around the diner, wondering where he would choose to walk Disco. The parking lot only had a few cars—an old Cadillac, a Land Cruiser with surf boards on top, and a truck with fishing poles across the back window. Not many vehicles overall, but that area still might invite traffic—and attention.
The campground was deserted, other than a Porta-Potty. Lots of grass, but someone else had the same idea about using it for a dog walk.
Would Liam know to keep her Lab away from the other dog, a boxer puppy—maybe seven or eight months old—walking over by the creek? The pup seemed more interested in pawing at a rotting log than taking a bathroom break, to the frustration of his owner, a young man who appeared to be around twenty or so. The dog was painfully thin. Probably looking for something to eat, poor pup.
Judging by the owner’s loud board shorts and the cut-off sleeves of his shirt, he was probably on his way to the Florida Keys. And he was likely driving the Land Rover in the lot with surfboards strapped to the roof. Definitely on vacation.
Liam replaced the gas nozzle and she paid the rest of the tab to the indifferent cashier. She pivoted back to get her food…
Her eyes snagged on the picture window view of the guy with his boxer. Tugging his boxer, who very definitely didn’t want to leave. Shouting at the dog until even the cashier glanced up briefly.
Her stomach lurched at the escalation. She could already predict where this was going even as she hoped otherwise.
Low profile. Low key. Low profile…
She paid the cashier, reached for her bag of food, and tucked it to her chest. Her lips pressed tight as she shouldered through the door.
Just as the shouting jerk kicked his dog right in the head.
***
Shit.
Keeping Disco on a short leash, Liam ran full out toward the jackass kicking his puppy. Rachel was nearer and closing in fast, with steam coming out of her ears. He was twice as far away.
Still, he pumped harder, faster, racing to close the gap and make it there before Rachel. He needed to stop the jackass, while defusing the situation before anyone got hurt—or drew undue attention to themselves. His pulse hammered in his ears. Hell, his heart was in his throat.
Yeah, he would have said something to the jerk even if Rachel hadn’t been around. But he suspected if she got to the guy ahead of him, this wasn’t going to shake down peacefully.
“Rachel!” Liam shouted, batting at a low-hanging pine branch, needles showering free. Disco raced alongside in step.
The college-aged guy looked over sharply, his eyes visibly bloodshot even from a distance. He stumbled drunkenly. Intoxicated and violent? It wasn’t much of a leap to think the guy would turn that rage from an animal onto a woman.
Onto Rachel.
“Hey!” Rachel shouted. “Wanna lay off your dog there, dude? He’s just a curious—hungry—puppy.”