Page 55 of River Wild

“Fine.” I sigh. Then, I slip my feet in his sneakers. They’re massive, as expected. “I look like a clown.”

“You do look ridiculous.”

I scowl. “I never said I looked ridiculous. I said, I look like a clown.”

“Same thing.”

I don’t even bother arguing.

“Well, thanks for the loan of the sneakers.” Although I didn’t actually want them.

I turn back to the door when his voice once again stops me.

“You have something against front doors? Or just my front door?”

I eye him over my shoulder. “Just going back the way I came.”

“Ah, yeah. The gap in the fence. Never did get around to fixing that.”

Why? I want to ask. But, of course, I don’t.

He wouldn’t tell me anyway.

I head through the door, grabbing the handle to close it behind me. But he’s there, right behind me, in the doorway.

Letting go of the door, I step aside. “Are you going somewhere?” I ask.

His brow goes up, revealing his dark eye. “I’m walking you home.”

“I live right there.” I point at my house.

“And?”

“And I think I can make it there just fine.”

“You think bad things don’t happen to people, even in the shortest of distances?”

“No, I don’t think that.” I know for a fact they do. I wasn’t safe in my own home for seven long years. But I also don’t need a man looking out for me. I can take care of myself. “But I got over here just fine. So, I can make it back just as easy.”

“Oh, yeah? With your trusty garden fork for protection?”

I realize then that I don’t have the fork with me. It’s still on the floor where I dropped it when I stubbed my toe. But I really don’t want to go back in his house to get it. So, it can stay there.

“You’re a real jerk sometimes,” I tell him.

“I know. And yet, I’m still walking you home.”

I sigh. “Suit yourself.”

I stomp through his garden. It isn’t easy, walking in shoes that are about five sizes too big for me.

“What size shoe do you wear?” I ask him.

“Thirteen.” His voice comes behind me in the darkness.

Correction: seven sizes too big.

“I wear a size six.”