Page 5 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Chapter Four

Gabby

O f course it broke down. Of course it freaking did.

One moment, I was cruising down a nearly forgotten state road, watching the GPS wheel spin in futile circles. The next moment, I heard an angry hissing noise, and steam erupted from under the hood as if the car were attempting to launch itself into low orbit.

“Nononononono—”

I swerved off onto the gravel shoulder, slammed it into park, and jumped out like it was on fire—which it might well decide to do. My boot caught on the edge of the frame, and I stumbled sideways, arms flailing like an idiot as more smoke puffed out from the engine.

“Okay,” I sighed, hands on my knees, “so this is how I die. Car explosion. It’ll be tragic and mildly ironic.”

Realizing I was accepting that fate instead of avoiding it like a sane person would, I backed up until I was in the weeds, just in case the thing actually blew. Thankfully, it didn’t. It just hissed and groaned like it was tired of being underappreciated.

Same, buddy. Same.

After a full minute of crouching behind a tree like I was in some low-budget spy movie, I crept toward the Camry. Slowly, like I expected it to leap out and bite me now.

“Okay,” I told it, pointing at the hood, “I don’t know what your problem is, but we are in this together now, and I need you to not kill me.”

It gurgled in response. Cool. Great. Totally fine.

The engine still steamed like a hot spring in hell, but the important part was that it wasn’ton fire .

Then again, that was good in most situations.

There was no way it was moving again, though, so I popped the trunk, grabbed my bag, and cursed immediately.

Because I’d packed for survival, not stealth.

I had three days’ worth of food, two burner phones, backup drives, a change of clothes, and.

.. why the hell had I brought three paperbacks?

The bag weighed at least thirty pounds. I adjusted the strap on my shoulder and shut the trunk, tossing the red wig back on my head and jamming a cap over it. The glasses, the pains in my ass usually, but especially now, were starting to slide from the sweat.

I checked my phone again. The little SOS icon mocked me from the corner of the screen.

“Great,” I muttered. “No car, no bars, and I look like a Target-brand Veronica Mars.”

I started walking.

The road ahead curved through endless stretches of trees and fields, with no signs in sight to indicate where I was.

I had no clue if I was even heading in the right direction.

The GPS had died an hour ago when the signal dropped, and I hadn’t memorized enough to be sure of anything. But sitting still wasn’t an option.

If Colin Maddox’s people were behind me, I wasn’t going to wait around for them to catch up.

I didn’t trust that they didn’t have a way to track the car, even an old junker like mine could be tailed with the right gear.

So, I pushed forward, Toms crunching on the shoulder gravel, trying not to think about how hot it was or how much heavier my bag had become.

And then something else became very apparent—my Toms were a huge issue.

They were normally amazing for when you didn’t want to go out in flip-flops in the Florida temperatures, but on rocks on the side of the road?

These things were freaking hell on earth.

Why were the soles so thin? I could feel every single rock, stone, tiny pebble, and whatever else I stood on.

I swear I even felt that cigarette butt I’d just stood on.

With the pain in my feet and the hot sun hitting me full-on, it occurred to me that, for the first time since this whole thing started, I was really alone. Alone, on foot, in the middle of nowhere.

And no one knew where the hell I was. I was so screwed, and now in a new way to the ways I was already screwed.

Three hours later…

The second I climbed into the truck, the blast of blessed AC made me want to cry actual tears.

My knees stuck to the seat, my shirt clung to my spine like a needy ex, and I was vaguely aware I probably smelled like despair and overheated upholstery, but that had made hopping into this potential axe murder's vehicle worth it.

Call me dumb, but my car had tried to kill me, and a weird, psychotic, but well-respected businessman was after me.

What's the worst a stranger could do at this point?

I was probably better off not asking that question, given how my day was going.

The driver extended a calloused hand, taking me by surprise. “Name’s Drew. I’m one of the ranch hands up at the Townsend-Rossi ranch.”

Right, that was Marcus’s ranch. I’d only ever heard about it in passing — mostly in stories that involved livestock escaping, someone getting kicked, and the occasional unlicensed flamethrower.

I shook his hand. “Gabby. I’m, uh… a relative-ish of one of the Townsend-Rossi’s.”

His eyes flicked to my hair, then back to my face. “Yeah, I remember you. You were a brunette last time. Gotta say, the red wig doesn’t suit you.”

I blinked, pretty sure I'd never met him before. “Wow, okay. And where about did we meet?”

He grinned, unbothered. “The glasses are cute, though, and that sunburn's impressive. Did you know it matches your hair now?”

I winced and touched my cheek. I couldfeel the skin tightening every time I moved my face, like nature’s way of saying, “Good job, dumbass.”

“I was hoping it wasn’t that bad,” I sighed.

“Oh, it’s bad.”

I groaned. “Some tan lines are cute, right? Like the accidental bracelet line or whatever.” I glanced down at my shirt—one of those trendy ones with cutouts on the shoulders and tiny holes down the back.

“I’m going to look like I fell asleep on a grill, red dots and all.

On top of that, it'll look like I’m still wearing this thing even when I take it off. ”

Drew laughed. “At least it’s a look. You might start a trend.”

I sighed, leaned my head back against the seat, and mumbled, “My life’s fucked.”

He snorted. “Whose isn’t? You just gotta deal with the fuckery and make it work for you.”

That actually pulled a weak chuckle out of me. “Pretty sure this much fuckery would drown an actual professional. But thanks for the wisdom, I’ll write it on a sticky note to get it put on a cup.”

We bumped over a pothole that probably doubled as a wildlife watering hole, and my head thunked lightly against the window.

I could feel my brain rattle in my skull.

“What's this road made of, craters? Broken dreams? If my car hadn’t died when it did, it would’ve exploded the second I hit this stretch. ”

Drew shrugged. “That’s why we use trucks out here. The cars can’t handle the sass.”

“Sass? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

He winked. “Townsend-Rossi Ranch motto: Built tough for high-stress horses and emotionally unstable visitors.”

I chuckled just as the ranch came into view—sprawling fields, stables, and a couple of properties with massive wraparound porches that looked like they’d been built for dramatic speeches and surprise pregnancy reveals. Jesus, I needed to get off social media.

As we pulled up, I spotted a familiar figure stepping out of the barn.

Marcus. Tall, broad, and serious as hell. He squinted at the truck, yanked off his hat, and looked straight up at the sky like he was asking the universe for a refund.

I winced.

“Great,” I muttered. “He’s doing the sky thing. I was hoping he’d be in a normal mood.”

“You’re new to this family, huh?” Drew snickered, putting the truck in park. “There’s no such thing as normal with the Townsends. It’s just different shades of 'ready to lose their shit' in a multitude of ways.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed my bag. “Yeah, I’ve met enough of them to know their DNA’s got a built-in self-destruct button.”

Drew opened his door. “You’ll fit right in.”

That was what I was afraid of.

Marcus didn’t ask me what was going on. He didn’t sayhi, didn’t ask how I was, didn’t even look surprised to see me wobbling out of Drew’s truck looking like the before photo in a desert survival documentary.

He just walked straight to the passenger door and opened it like it washis truck, pulled out his phone, and muttered into it. “Is the reason you hightailed it out of here a relative of Sasha’s, by any chance?”

I bit my tongue—literally bit it—because I could feel the smartass bubbling up, and while I wasn’t opposed to going toe-to-toe with a Townsend, I also wasn’t in the mood to pass out mid-argument from dehydration.

Also, really, he didn’t even remember my name? I let out a tiny sniff. It was dramatic and only just loud enough.

Marcus barely glanced at me, still listening to the person on the other end. Then his eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly.

“Because she’s just pulled in with Drew,” he replied flatly, “her hair matching her skin.”

Okay, that was it. “ I didn’t expect my car to explode or to have to walk through the temperatures and suns of hell to find you people,” I snapped, throwing my arms wide. “So, forgive me if I’m the one suffering right now.”

Marcus didn’t blink as Drew sighed beside him.

“Yeah,” Marcus said into the phone, tone dry enough to make toast. “I’ll keep an eye on her ‘til you get here.”

From the other side of the truck, Drew snorted. “Not like you canmiss her. Pretty sure she’d glow in the dark at this point.”

I turned my head and glared at him, my voice like gravel. “It hurts , Drew.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he shrugged with zero remorse, hauling my overloaded bag out of the truck bed. “We’ve got aloe, so you should probably bathe in it. Hourly.”

And off he went, strolling toward the massive house like this was just another Tuesday. Which, knowing this family, it probably was.

I sighed, dragged my feet out of the truck, and turned to face Marcus. He’d ended the call and was just standing there, watching me like I might start smoking at any second.

“Webb’ll be back in a few hours. You can hang tight here with Adrienne, Santana, and the kids until he gets here. Apparently, he's got a lot of questions for you.”

I was shocked at that, and then it clicked that my cousin's husband had probably contacted his family for help when she couldn't reach me. Not wanting to play my hand, though, I asked, “Santana’s here?”

“She and Adrienne are wrangling small children, and whatever animal has escaped the barn today.”

Of course they were. I nodded and started following him toward the house, my limbs protesting every step like they’d unionized on the walk over.

“And we’ve got shit tons of aloe,” he added, glancing over his shoulder. “So definitely start lathering it on before you combust.”

I groaned. “That’s the plan.”

If this didn’t kill me, the embarrassment might. But at least I wasn’t alone anymore. I was sunburned, dehydrated, and being shepherded toward a house full of chaos and judgment, but at least I was safe.

I hoped.