Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and I was seventy-five percent sure we weren’t going to die, I was suddenly so tired I felt as if I’d just run a marathon. I pulled my hair into a messy bun on top of my head. I wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, but I was comfortable and warm. I couldn’t want much else.
“You decent?” he asked.
“Depends on who you ask,” I retorted.
He turned, pulling the emergency bag open. “And for dinner, we have our choice of protein bars that taste like peanut butter or protein bars that taste like chocolate and dirt. Paired with a lovely domestic bottled water.”
“I think I’m going to go with the peanut butter,” I said, shuddering. “The chocolate and dirt one lives up to its reputation.”
“Excellent choice,” he said, tossing the packet to me.
I stripped off the foil and shoved most of the protein bar into my mouth. Between the run and keeping warm, my body was starved for calories. His eyes went wide, and I swallowed. I tended to forget my table manners when I was hungry.
“I eat when I’m nervous,” I told him.
“How’s your head?”>Behind me, I heard my truck’s engine rumbling. Shit. I wiped at my eyes. Considering his butt-cheek injuries, I hadn’t expected Nick to come after me. I’d expected to have to call Cooper to pick up my truck.
“Maggie, stop!” he yelled out of the driver’s-side window. I slowed to a crawl, for me, and eyed him warily through the window.
I could just keep running. Hell, part of me wanted to phase right there and make tracks for Canada. But Grahams didn’t shirk away from problems. We didn’t run. Well, Cooper did, that once, for a few years. But he eventually came back.
None of this inner coaching was helping, as Nick was still staring at me through the rain.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I’m fine!” I told him. “I’m halfway home. Just leave me alone.”
“Are you crazy?” he yelled. “It’s pouring. It’s going to be dark soon. Get in the truck!”
I tipped my head back, blinking as I watched the dark clouds swirling overhead. The rain wouldn’t be letting up anytime soon. And I didn’t relish the idea of jogging all the way home with Nick trailing me at idling speed, yelling through my window.
“Damn it,” I grumbled, stomping toward the truck. He leaned over and popped the passenger door open, wincing in discomfort.
“Oh, you must be kidding. This is my truck. Scoot over,” I told him, opening the driver’s door. He carefully moved over to the passenger seat. I watched him settle against the bench, his face contorting, and I felt that twinge of guilt again.
“Why in the hell did you take off like that?” he yelled, pulling me close. My clothes slapped wetly against his, and he dug his hands into my snaggled hair. “What the hell was that? If I move too fast, you tell me. You don’t run off.”
I frowned. I’d been yelled at before. And I’d been hugged, but not at the same time. Weird.
“And how did you get so far?” he asked, pointing the truck’s heat vents toward me and cranking up the thermostat. “What are you, a champion sprinter?”
“Well, you gave me a pretty good head start,” I told him.
“Yeah, I couldn’t get your truck started,” he mumbled. “And it’s hard to steer . . . and slow down. Your brakes are making really weird noises.”
“The clutch is kind of tricky,” I confessed as he pulled at the sleeves of my wet jacket and made me shrug out of it before I slipped the truck into gear. “I think Cooper and Sam rebuilt the transmission a few too many times.”
“Why not just get a new truck?” he asked.
“It was my dad’s,” I said as I pulled a careful U-turn and pointed the truck downhill toward Nick’s place. “He died when I was really little. I barely knew him. And I just like the idea of having something that used to be his.”
The rain was pouring now, sheeting down the window in rippling waves. We rarely had what you’d call heavy rainfall, so the roads were slick with a layer of newly rehydrated oil and dust. I could hardly see through the windshield for the rain flowing down the glass, but I could tell that the landscape was moving by faster than it should be. I tapped the brake, but the truck didn’t respond. It rolled along faster, building speed.
Nick cleared his throat. “OK, Maggie, I know you want to get home, but you need to slow down.”
I pushed the brake with more force. “I’m trying.”
“If you were trying, the truck would be going slower,” he insisted.