Page 70 of You Chive Me Crazy

No kiss this time, but I was perfectly fine with that since I just wanted to console her at that moment.

I hugged her back tightly, feeling the weight of this drama lifting from my shoulders. “Hey, hey, everything worked out.”

Zoe pulled away from the hug, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” I said. “They found the truck, not me.”

“Yes, but you saw his shoes in the video. I completely missed it, so yes, you dida lot.” She squeezed my arm softly.

Sheriff Townsend cleared his throat. “Do you two need a ride over to the Dollar Tree?”

“We’re good, but thanks for the offer,” I said. “I have my car across the street. We’ll meet you over there in a few minutes. And thanks again.”

He tipped his hat. “Always at your service.”

Fortunately, Zoe’s truck was in perfect shape when we got there, except for the unexplainable dirty tires. I suggested to her we take it over to Splashy Scrubtown, a manual car wash for oversized cars and trucks down the street. Rolando and Savannah were on their way to join us.

“I’ll rinse, if you don’t mind scrubbing the tires, since you have all the muscles,” Zoe said.

I grabbed a sponge. “Using me for my body, I see how it is.”

“Keep dreaming, mister.”

The sign said to hold the nozzle open before inserting the quarters because the pressure there builds up quickly. Zoe missed the sign and once she had popped the payment in and realized she was supposed to squeeze the nozzle, she squeezed it too tightly and the pin flipped down to hold the nozzle open with the industrial-strength pressure. The hose got away from her and became this turbocharged snake, whipping out of control in every direction—and soaking me.

Zoe had the sense to get out of the way and was hiding on the other side of the truck. I was the joker trying to catch the crazy hose.

I looked like I’d taken a swim in my clothes.

“Oops.” Zoe’s bottom lip quivered.

“Oops? That’s all you’ve got to say?” I glanced down at my drenched shirt clinging to my skin. “You did that on purpose.”

“I. Did. Not!” She inspected the hose. “That thing is powerful.”

“Whatever,” I said, then in a sudden burst of inspiration, I whipped off my shirt and chucked it at her.

In a move right out ofKung Fu Panda, Zoe leaped forward, twisting her body in mid-air to snatch the shirt with one hand before flinging it back in my direction and smacking me in the face with it.

I stared back at her in shock.

“You’re like part-ninja,” I said, impressed by her quick reflexes.

Zoe flashed me a proud smile. “When I was a young girl, everybody wanted me to be on their dodgeball team.”

“No doubt,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief as I hung the shirt on the bench to dry in the sun. I grinned when she eyed my chest. “I saw that.”

Zoe groaned. “You have a serious problem keeping your clothes on.”

“You keep mocking, but your eyes are doing all the talking.” I swatted her arm with the sponge, sending suds flying.

“Hey—watch it,” she said with an amused smile.

I scrubbed the first tire, and when I was finished, Zoe rinsed it.

When we moved onto the second tire, I said, “You never told me . . . does Dr. Bonebrake still think you have a concussion?”

“No,” Zoe said. “He said I’m fine now, and most likely what I was experiencing was coming from stress, not necessarily a concussion.”