Page 82 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

My hand came to my chest, rubbing my sternum to try and erase the sting.

I pushed the Cadillac faster. Snowy roads or not, it was time to rip off the bandage and get the hell off Greer property.

A billow of snow rose up behind me as I picked up speed and ahead, the highway came into view. The pressure in my chest was nearly crippling, but I breathed through it with both hands locked on the wheel.

Then a black streak caught my eye.

I blinked, once, then twice, and tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

There was a man on a horse, racing along the barbed wire fence that bordered the highway. He was flying.

I gasped, a hand flying to my mouth as my foot lifted off the gas pedal.

Jigsaw was running flat-out, his legs stretching in front of him as he galloped. And on his back, Easton rode with a fluid grace that was so stunningly beautiful, I barely noticed that I’d brought the Cadillac to a full stop.

Easton turned Jigsaw as he neared the road but didn’t ease off the pace. He didn’t slow until he was close enough for me to see his flushed cheeks, his panted breaths, and that he wasn’t wearing a coat.

He leapt off Jigsaw, the animal breathing as hard as his owner, and while the horse stood by waiting, Easton strode to the Cadillac and ripped open the door.

His face was a storm. His eyes blazing.

He was livid. Fantastic.

The reason he’d run me down was probably because I’d stolen his shirt.

Easton jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Out.”

Okay, not livid. Murderous.

I eased out of the car, watching as he fisted his hands on his hips and hauled in a few deep breaths.

Easton ripped the cowboy hat off his head and tossed it on the ground. There was sweat at his temples and the temperature was below zero.

“Where’s your coat?”

That question earned me an icy glare. “I saw you in the parking lot. Crying.”

“Oh.” I should have traveled farther to hide my tears. “So?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve been waiting over a month for you to figure it out. And you still haven’t.”

“Figure what out?” That he didn’t want me enough to ask me to stay?

He took a step closer and I had the perfect view of his ticking jaw. “Where do you fit, Gemma?”

“Why are you doing this?” Was he trying to hurt me? How could he ask me that question when he knew I didn’t have the answer?

“Where do you fit?” he repeated.

Nowhere. I clamped my mouth shut and lifted my chin. Hadn’t we done enough of this last night? Did he really need to pick a fight when I was seconds away from leaving him to his life?

Easton stepped forward, closing the distance between us and lifting a hand to my cheek. Then his voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Where do you fit, Gemma?”

The gentleness of his touch melted away my anger. “I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

I shrugged. “On the ranch?”