“There wasn’t any in there. I opened the fridge lookin’ for a water pitcher.”

“That damn boy must have drank it all while I was gone.”

“You know,” I said carefully. “I suspect you shouldn’t be drinking Coke with your diabetes.”

“My diabetes can go straight to hell,” he spat. “I want a damn Coke.” But to my relief, he swallowed the pills and set the glass on an end table with a hard thunk.

I pushed out a sigh, suddenly worried my new landlord was going to be more difficult than I’d expected.

“You’re out of most of your groceries,” I said. “How about I go get some before I head to my shift at Max’s?” I wasn’t exaggerating. The only items in his fridge were bottles of ketchup and mustard and a nearly empty jar of strawberry preserves, but I also had an ulterior motive for leaving.

He rattled off a list of junk food that he wanted me to pick up.

I started to protest, but I knew how he’d respond. He’d tell me it was none of my business, and in a sense he’d be right. At the same time, I couldn’t help but think it had become my business the moment I’d accepted this role.

“Wyatt’s not back yet,” I said, my anxiety increasing. “Do you think he has the keys to Ruth’s car with him?”

“Nah. Around here nobody takes the keys out of the ignition when they’re at home,” he said. “The keys’ll be in there.”

Why did everyone think this town was so damn safe when everything I’d encountered proved it was anything but?

“Where do people go grocery shopping around here?”

“At the Dollar General in town. It’s a block north of Max’s Tavern.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The moment I grabbed my jacket and walked out the door, it struck me that my purse was in the truck and Wyatt hadn’t returned yet.

Maybe he hadn’t planned on coming back. Maybe he’d just gone to the shop after chasing the truck down. Or maybe he was lying on the side of the road with a bullet in his forehead.

One way or the other, I was finding Wyatt.

Of course, that had been my plan all along.

Chapter Seventeen

Caroline, the rule follower, was horrified to be driving without a license, but Carly had realized that following the rules sometimes wasn’t an option. So I started Ruth’s car and took off down the mountain, driving slowly while on the lookout for Wyatt’s truck. I hoped that I’d find him at his garage, oblivious to the way he’d made me worry. But before I could start formulating a speech about his rudeness, I saw something that made my stomach plummet: a flash of red on the right, down a sharp incline.

I pulled as close to the edge as I could get and threw the car in park, leaving the engine running as I ran over to the side of the road.

Wyatt’s truck was about twenty feet down a fifty-foot hill, the left side smashed nose-first into a tree.

My mother had died in a car accident. She’d run off the road and hit a tree. Her body had been thrown from the car. I hadn’t seen the accident—either in person or in photos—but panic coursed through my veins, and I started to cry. “Wyatt!”

“Carly?” he called back.

I pressed a hand to my chest and slumped over my knees as relief swamped my head, making me dizzy.

“Are you okay?” I asked, realizing it was a stupid question. His truck had crashed into a tree, which had uprooted on impact and was starting to fall over from the weight of the truck.

“I’m fine” was his muffled response. “My truck door won’t open, and I can’t get my seatbelt undone. If I can cut the seatbelt, I can get out the other side.”

“Give me a second.” I stared at the embankment, wondering if I’d be able to get back up if I crawled down. The snow from the day before had melted, but it looked wet and muddy in places. There were a bunch of scrub trees—although a six- or seven-foot-wide path had been cleared out by Wyatt’s truck—but we could use the small trees on the sides to pull ourselves back up. Assuming he was fit enough to make the climb. What if he’d just told me he was fine so I didn’t freak out?

I popped Ruth’s trunk and searched around until I found a tire iron along with some yellow nylon rope, but there weren’t any blades or sharp objects. Nothing I could use to cut his seatbelt. Then I remembered my purse was inside the cab of his truck. I had a small pair of scissors inside it. Having a rescue plan and the tools I needed to carry it out helped subdue the worst of my terror.

The truck released a metallic groan.

“Wyatt?” I yelled in panic.

“What the hell’s takin’ you so long?” he shouted up at me.

“What do you expect me to do?” I called back even as I was tying the rope to a tree about six feet to the right side of his path.

“Go for help!”

“You expect me to run to town and just leave you here?” I pulled hard on the rope to test the knots. It held. “It would be a good twenty minutes before anyone showed up to help!”

“I was alone before you showed up,” he said, sounding pissed, but I suspected he wasn’t mad at me. He was pissed to be in this situation.

“Yeah, and look how well that’s working for you.”

Holding the tire iron in my left hand, I tossed the end of the rope down the hill and then scooted down on my butt, grunting when a stump poked me in the leg, my jeans getting muddy in the process.

When I reached the truck, I balanced precariously on the hill as I reached for the passenger door. The front end of the truck was about six feet above the ground, which put the door handle around the height of my head given the grade of the incline. I unlatched the handle and opened the door enough to get my shoulder wedged into the opening, then pushed it open even more.

The truck groaned and shifted closer to me.

“Carly, back up!” Wyatt shouted, sounding panicked. “What the hell are you doin’ down here?” He had a cut on his forehead and blood had trickled down the side of his cheek. His mouth quirked as he took in the sight of the tire iron. “Here to finish me off?”

“Shut up. I’m rescuing you,” I said, scanning the floor for my purse. “I can see how it might be confusing to you, what with your caveman attitude and all.”

“Who said I had a caveman attitude?”

He had a point. Acting like an ass and offering to carry my suitcase didn’t exactly qualify him for caveman status. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have made the presumption.”

“Stop talkin’ nonsense and get away from this truck. If you try to climb inside, it could fall and smash you or take you with me.”

I glanced down and realized there was plenty more hill for the truck to fall down, with a bed of large rocks and boulders at the bottom of the thirty-foot deep ravine. I briefly wondered if I should go for help after all, but then the truck groaned again and slid a couple of inches down the length of the tree, which was bowing dangerously close to uprooting completely or snapping off from the weight of the truck.

I jumped back, losing my balance and nearly tumbling down the slick hill.