Page 37 of Hard Rain
Whip stared at him.
Axel frowned. “What?”
“That’s not food.”
“It absolutely is.”
Whip grabbed the truck keys off the nightstand. “You eat like a divorced construction worker.”
Axel pointed toward him. “That feels personal.”
“It’s accurate.”
The night sky looked heavier now, dark clouds rolling in from the west.
Axel glanced at his weather app. The bigger storm was still about twenty minutes away.
Whip locked the motel room and headed toward the SUV.
Axel watched him move through the night a second longer.
Broad shoulders beneath damp flannel. That easy stride that drew the eyes of everyone. With his head dipped against the wind, blond strands lifted.
It was Whip.
The same man he’d spent half his damn life chasing through football fields, military bases, deployment rotations, bars, marshal offices, and now muddy Oregon ranch country.
He shook himself.
“You getting in or planning to stare at me all night?” Whip called.
Axel jerked his attention away instantly. “You wish.”
Whip’s mouth twitched.
The heater blasted warm air through the SUV a minute later while headlights cut across the storm-dark highway outside Paisley.
County Twelve lay somewhere beyond the rain and black timber ahead of them.
Cutter was probably dry.
That alone pissed him off.
Twenty minutes later, headlights carved through the dark and mud sucked at the tires every time the SUV drifted too close to the shoulder.
From the passenger seat, Axel tore into his own double cheeseburger from Jack’s and watched black timber slide past beyond the rain-streaked windows.
Whip adjusted his grip on the wheel as the SUV bounced through another rut.
Axel braced his free hand against the dash. “Oregon roads are bullshit.”
Whip snorted softly. “You’ve lived here your whole life.”
“Exactly. I’ve had years to build informed opinions.”
Axel stole another chili fry from the carton balanced between them and shoved it into his mouth.
Whip’s mouth twitched faintly as he wadded up his burger wrapper one-handed and tossed it toward the floorboards.
