anyone. The rearview had been clear. Where had that monster truck materialized from? Thin air? She wiggled her toes, then her fingers, ears ringing, heart racing. At least nothing was broken, although she wouldn't escape without a headache. She pinched her temples, blinking back tears. Wasn't this the cherry on the shit sundae? Cecilia sucked in a harsh breath. Tears wouldn't help her right now. Cautiously, she opened the door and slipped out, clutching the top to steady her shaking knees. She hadn't drunk that much of Dottie's crisis bottle.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel and a pair of obviously custom-made ostrich snip-toe boots partly covered by blue denim frayed at the seams crossed into her vision. The rough baritone slid over her in the same manner Dottie's whiskey had slid down her throat. Warm, with just the right amount of burn. "You okay?"
"No thanks to you," she snapped, exhaustion getting the best of her, in spite of the panty-melting quality of the voice that belonged to the boots. She dragged her gaze up, covering a gasp when for the second time that morning, brown eyes locked with hazel. Up close, they were even more magnificent - shades of green and gray surrounding a gold center that when mixed were heart-stopping, thanks to the so-sexy-it-should-be-illegal dark fringe of lashes. Again, she was overcome with the distinct feeling she knew him, or had at least crossed paths with him. The question was where? And how? Because she'd never seen a cowboy this fine in or outside of Prairie. And what was up with his perfectly straight nose? How did a cowboy get to be his age without a broken nose? Every guy she knew in Prairie had suffered a broken nose at least once. Whoever he was, this guy wasn't a cowboy. She'd bet her demolished car on it.
His eyes flickered with surprise then narrowed. "No thanks to me?" he countered, taking a step forward. "You were the one gunning it like you were in the Indy 500. I was already backing out."
"Like I could see around any of these dick swingers." She waved a hand at the truck next to her, eyeing the damage to his equally enormous truck.
His mouth barely tilted up. "I don't need to swing my dick, sweetheart."
"Oh don't you sweetheart me." Her voice shook as she stepped around him to survey the damage. Broken glass scattered across the gravel, fully half of it inside her car. The back end had accordioned, and the rear driver's wheel bent at an odd angle. It was so much worse than she'd imagined. A wave of nausea rolled through her. Insurance would total it, and because the car was so old, she'd be lucky if they gave her five-hundred-dollars. Her vision blurred. "Ohmygod, you ruined my car. What am I going to do?" she muttered to herself as she wobbled back to the driver's seat and reached for her phone.
"Call for a tow?"
"You're full of great suggestions." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but she was beyond caring at the moment. Right now, she just wanted to get home, crawl under the covers, . Maybe when she woke up she'd realize this was just a really bad dream.
"Of course I am. You can't drive it," he said, a note of exasperation entering his voice.
His voice had no business being that sexy when he was irritated. "Which is exactly why I'm calling the station." She punched in the number for the Prairie dispatch and tapped her foot impatiently as it rang once, twice.
"Police, this is Jeanine," a cheery voice answered.
"Now hold on a sec," he started. "There's no need to-"
Cecilia held up a hand, and fighting to keep her voice even, she spoke. "Hey, Jeanine. It's CiCi."
"CiCi?" Immediately Jeanine's voice went from happy to concerned. "Are you okay? Did something happen to your mom and gran?"
"No. No, they're fine. I... can you send Weston or somebody over? I need to make a police report."
"We can settle this like adults." He shot her a glare of pure frustration.
She glared right back. "That's exactly what I'm doing."
"What happened?" Jeanine pressed. "Are you okay? Who's that I'm hearing?"
Oh lordy, word of this would be all over town by lunch. "Just a fender-bender in Dottie's parking lot."
"That you caused," he pointed out.
"Did not."
"I wasn't the one driving like a bat out of hell."
"Bat out of hell?" she screeched. Ooh, the nerve of him. "I'll have you know, I'm a damn good driver. I've had this car since