Page 2 of Rush Turner (Seals on Fraiser Mountain #6)

Jessa

I saw the steam coming from the hood. Then the temperature gauge slammed into the red. Then, because the universe hates me, the entire car made a wheezing sound that should never come out of metal.

I coasted onto the shoulder — again — and slammed my forehead against the steering wheel. “I hate you, Ethel. I hate you so much. I’m sorry, I don’t hate you.”

A rumble behind me. A knock at my window. I didn’t have to look. It was him. Mr. Tall, Not A Murderer.

I cracked the window two inches. “What? ”

Rush leaned down, eyes sparkling in the dusk. “I warned you. Pop the door, Jessa.”

“No. I’m fine. I’ll call someone.”

He didn’t move. Just braced one arm on the roof, a patient hulk who knew he’d win eventually. “You said you don’t have AAA.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Another knock. “Jessa. Door. Now.”

I opened it a crack, then squeaked as he swung it wide and crouched beside me. Up close, he smelled like cedar and diesel and late-night trouble I absolutely did not want to think about.

“I am not getting in your serial killer truck,” I whispered.

He bit back a grin. “You’d rather wait for mountain lions?”

I folded my arms. “Depends. Do mountain lions ask personal questions and look at me like that?”

Rush leaned in so close that I felt his warmth seep right through my stubbornness. His voice dropped to a murmur only I could hear.

“Sunshine, I’m gonna look at you however I damn well please. Now get in the truck. I’m going to tow your car to the shop.”

RUSH

I didn’t know what I had done in a past life to deserve her — but apparently karma wanted me to earn every mile of patience tonight.

She refused to sit in the middle seat, so she perched by the passenger door, one hand on the pepper spray in her hoodie pocket, eyes flicking to the locks every time I hit a pothole.

I pretended not to notice.

“Relax,” I said, adjusting the heater so she’d stop shivering. “I’m not gonna sell your kidneys on Craigslist.”

She snorted. “Kidneys don’t go on Craigslist. They go on the dark web.”

I glanced at her, one eyebrow lifted. “How do you know that?”

She glared at the dashboard. “I read a lot.”

She was adorable. Absolutely, royally, pain-in-my-ass adorable.

Twenty Minutes Later

We pulled into a rundown garage on the edge of town — mine. She stiffened when I killed the engine and hopped out first.

“Stay here,” I said, opening her door a moment later. She was already halfway across the seat to the other side.

“Oh no, you don’t—” I caught her ankle mid-escape. She squeaked, twisted, and bonked her head on the ceiling.

“Ow!” she hissed.

“Serves you right.” I tugged her gently until she slid out into my arms, still swearing under her breath.

For a heartbeat, she was pressed against me, all warm curves and indignant huffs. Her eyes flicked up, wide and suspicious — but her fingers curled into my shirt before she caught herself.

I set her down. Slowly. Maybe a second slower than necessary.

“Your car stays here tonight,” I said, ignoring the part of me that wanted to kiss her just to see if she’d bite. “I’ll get you a ride home.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re not my type, you know.”

I leaned in, dropping my voice to the dangerous place that made grown men shut up and listen. “Sunshine, you don’t even know your type yet.”

Her mouth parted. Then she snapped it shut and stomped after me into the garage.