Page 10 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)

Sensing I might’ve touched on something personal, I switched gears. “Hey, how about we give this thing a bath? Might be a small town, but folks around here keep their cars spotless.”

A glimmer of approval flickered in her eyes—sweet, for once, yet still as disarming as ever. “Sure, why not.”

“Great! Drive it over to the shed; there’s a hose we can use.” I hopped in beside her, guiding her as she maneuvered the car toward the wash area.

“I’ll handle it,” she said, grabbing the hose before I could. “I don’t trust you not to spray me with this thing.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. This little Miss Chili Pepper never stopped surprising me.

After giving the car a quick rinse—just enough to keep it from looking like a total disaster—she sprayed her muddy sneakers and shook them dry. Then, with a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes, she turned to me and pulled me into a light hug, her arms wrapping around me for just a moment.

“Thank you.” Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.

I just nodded. “Be careful, all right? Not everyone’s as nice as me,” I quipped, trying to keep it light. “And hey, don’t kill anyone.”

Her hand slipped out of the driver’s window, sending me a wave. And just like that, she was gone.

I watched her car disappear down the long, muddy driveway, the hollowness in my chest spreading. My working dogs were barking from their kennel, waiting to be let out, probably grumbling that I was late. Weekend or not, it didn’t matter to them.

Back inside, I stripped off my mud-streaked jeans. But it was the oil stains that made me pause in the laundry room. How had I ended up offering her my jeans as a rag? Seriously, what just happened?

Not ready to unpack that bizarre moment, I crammed my mind with chores and whatever else a farmer needed to do on a Sunday. I changed clothes and headed toward my bedroom. On the nightstand, the bullets from my rifle sat neatly in a pile.

I smirked. That woman was something else—unpredictable, impossible to figure out. And yet, I kind of wanted to.

Koda slinked into the room, guilt written all over him. He knew better than to sneak onto the bed last night.

“Yeah, just look at all those hairs,” I grumbled, yanking the sheets off. Still, I couldn’t help but chuckle as I swapped them out.

The pillowcase lingered with a faint trace of her. Technically, it was just the scent of my soap from the shower she’d taken, but somehow it felt like hers now.

I sighed, wishing I’d thought of some clever line to keep her around just a little longer. Maybe invite her out for lunch in town. But nothing brilliant had come to mind, so I let her go. Guess I should be proud of myself for not pushing it.

I started vacuuming the carpet, only to spot it—a necklace caught in the fibers. I bent down and picked it up, the metal chain slipping between my fingers.

Batgirl Forever.

So, Miss Chili P was a fan of the superheroine. It made sense. Maybe she had more in common with Batgirl than I’d thought. She seemed tough, someone who could survive in her own world, whatever that world was.

A pang hit my chest, snaking its way down until it jabbed at my gut. Why was I suddenly thinking that even a superheroine could get in over her head? And why did I feel like I should’ve been the one to protect her from whatever dangers were lurking out there?

Claire had her secrets. That much was obvious.

Part of me wanted to stay out of it, leave her to them.

I wasn’t in the business of chasing after mysteries.

Hell, I had enough of my own. But there was something about her, something beneath those layers of secrets, waiting to be uncovered. If I dared to look.

And that was the real problem. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to know.

Her license plate said Chicago, but she could’ve been from anywhere.

Cincinnati? Philadelphia, maybe? She had that city vibe, but she could handle herself out here, no question.

She knew cars inside and out, and hell, I didn’t doubt for a second she knew how to use her gun.

She wasn’t overly tall, but there was a sturdiness about her, as though she’d seen her share of tough days.

I couldn’t tell if those muscles were built from some fancy city gym or actual hard work.

Probably the first. But then again, she wasn’t like anyone I’d ever known.

Hell, for all I knew, she could’ve been from Detroit.

I dropped the necklace into an old tin, the kind of place where forgotten things end up. She had left without a backward glance—no chance she’d ever come back. I snapped the lid shut, the metal giving a hollow click, and the contents rattled as I slid it back on the shelf.

The silence swallowed the room. It was the usual stillness that filled this house every Sunday, but today, it felt off.

That’s the paradox of people—you need them, even knowing that closeness invites loss.

Claire hadn’t stayed long, and by most measures, it wasn’t even what you’d call “closeness.” But she had left a mark.

My stomach broke the stillness with an earthquake-level growl.

Good thing Claire wasn’t around to hear it.

Even by ranch standards, it was loud. Boy, it was not even lunchtime, and I was already starving.

I’d held back this morning, keeping my rancher-sized appetite in check.

Didn’t want to look like a fool in front of her.

I wandered to the kitchen and threw together a sandwich. But something tugged at me. Before I knew it, I was back in front of the tin.

“Dammit,” I grumbled, digging through the odds and ends until I found the Batgirl necklace.

I stashed it in the coin pocket of my wallet—a spot as forgotten as the old tin.

Who even uses coins these days? Still, I clung to the hope that I’d see her again, and when that day came, I’d return it.

Koda watched from the corner, his head tilted in that all-too-familiar way.

Probably thinking, Yeah, good luck with that!

“All right, pal,” I said to Koda. “Let’s get that walk in.”

He perked up, already looking like he was plotting how much mud he could collect.

As I laced up my boots, I decided. Claire wasn’t mine to figure out. But damn, if I didn’t already regret watching her drive off.