SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,23

up.”

“Raf brought out his guitar and we sang folk songs.”

“You have a terrible voice,” she said kindly.

“You never remember any of the words. It’s not ‘Sheldon row your boat ashore.’”

“Really? It’s Rufus? George? Ringo?”

Laughing, he reached over and ruffled her hair. “That was a good night.”

“It was,” she said, and a sigh escaped before she could hold it back. “And Sawyer Beach is a good place.”

“Ah, Harp.” He reached out, but didn’t tousle her hair this time. Instead he tucked a strand behind her ear, and she was forced to suppress her shiver. “It sounds like you missed it.”

“Of course I missed it,” she whispered, the truth breaking free. “I missed…everything.”

Everything? Mad tried not to hear something more. But…

Everyone? Him?

Ridiculous thought. Ridiculous to want so damn badly to ask. This sudden need to look back, to dig into what they’d once had, wasn’t like him. He had buddies who lived for rehashing high school basketball games—remember when we took the Monarchs by twenty-two points and I fouled out. Shane had one beer too many and went on and on about an epic ride he’d caught at Costa Rica’s Playa Dominical. But not Mad. Mad was forward-looking at all times.

Except right now he was looking at Harper Hill’s beautiful face.

He took in a quick breath and reminded himself they’d been a thing six years before and as good a thing as it had been, she’d left him anyway.

A cool breeze seemed to blow against his neck and he glanced back. Froze.

Through the window, he detected a rustling in the orange trees. Narrowing his eyes, he slid down the bench seat for a closer look.

“What?” Harper asked.

“Shh.” Definitely a rustling in the trees.

“Wait here,” he whispered, then swiped the heavy flashlight he’d left on the floorboard.

“Wait for what?”

“Shh!” With his free hand he reached up to switch off the overhead bulb, then opened his door and slipped out.

It had been a long time since he’d snuck around, but he did his best to creep into the darker shadows made by the mature grove. The sound of leaves rubbing together came again, and he peered into the darkness, trying to discern the direction.

These weren’t avocados hanging from the branches, and he didn’t know the going rate for oranges, but he supposed they could be as valuable. Holding his breath, he slipped another few feet forward.

The noise intensified. To his right.

He leaped that way, at the same time thumbing on the flashlight. The beam washed over glossy leaves but he didn’t see a fruit thief—

Eyes. He saw glowing eyes.

His heart jolted. A strangled cry erupted from his throat.

Something furry landed at his feet.

He didn’t actually shriek.

No, that was Harper, snickering with laughter.

“What the hell?” he asked, playing the light over the gray-brown critter curled beside his toes, eyes closed, completely still. “Did I frighten it to death?”

“Did it frighten you to death?” She was still snickering.

Mad gathered his dignity, despite the fact that the animal’s hairless tail was seriously creepy. “I’ll have you know it emitted a very weird yelp as it tumbled.”

“Oh.” She put her hand to her mouth. “I thought that weird yelp came from you.”

“I think it broke its neck.” He glanced at Harper. “I didn’t mean that to happen.”

“Mad—”

“Shit, Harp.” Guilt stabbed harder as he stared back down at the thing. “I actually killed a defenseless animal.”

She gave a little hum and her hand swept down his forearm.

He felt the stroke from his scalp to his soles. “Give it a nudge with your toe,” she advised, squeezing his wrist.

“Desecrating a corpse is illegal in this state,” he said, telling himself not to grab her hand.

Another hum, more like a chuckle. “Trust a farm girl. Nudge it with your toe.”

Shrugging, he scooted his foot forward, but before making contact the possum corpse reanimated and skittered off, into the darkness beyond his flashlight beam. “Jesus,” he said, rearing back.

With more dignity.

The same way he made it back to the old truck’s passenger seat, his companion still laughing at his surprise over encountering a possum playing possum. Then it was Mad and Harp again. Alone. In the dark.

“I guess some crop loss due to wild animals is to be expected,” he said.

“I forgot you were so tenderhearted,” she replied, more laughter in her voice. “It’s cute.”

“My life’s goal,” he grumbled. “Former girlfriend finds me cute.”

The former girlfriend sounded too loud within the truck’s interior and the ensuing silence too quiet. Though they’d never actually broken up, not really. She’d made plans to leave