Page 41 of Pink and Country

The man swiveled to look at her.

Before he could say anything, a man in his late forties, with a salt and pepper goatee, wearing a brown trucker hat and corduroyed jacket, jumped out of his old must-have-been-red-in-another-life pickup and swaggered, spitting anger toward Cookie-Eater. “You better move your car, old man, or I’ll move it myself.”

Cookie-Eater turned his head to face him but said nothing, his chubby cheeks now a dark shade of red.

Without a warning, Fairy climbed out of my truck and bounced in the bald man’s direction. I rolled down my window, a mix of surprise and wariness simmering inside me, ready to intervene if I needed to. Adrenaline coursed through my bloodstream, all my senses on high alert. I hated the idea of her inserting herself in an about-to-explode face-off. However, I also knew Bubble Gum could take care of herself. Words were her weapon of choice. I held my breath, not wanting to miss anything they said.

Trucker-Hat continued, “I know you’re hungry, and you can’t wait to fill this belly of yours with empty-calorie-refined-sugar treats that look oh so yummy, but I’m sure you can manage to shut your stomach for a mile or two and do all of us a favor. Stop being a jerk and move your not-of-this-decade piece of junk out of the way.”

My hot as fuck neighbor neared the older man and placed her hand over his shoulder in a protective gesture. Round at the waist and short on legs, Cookie-Eater was only an inch —or two—taller than her. “Sir, do you need help?” Cotton Candy asked in the sweetest possible voice.

“That’s it, sweetheart, ask him to move his woody wagon off the middle of the road,” Trucker-Hat said. I gulped down a breath. Poor guy. Trucker-Hat had no idea what he just did. Goddess Neighbor’s little hands clenched at her sides, and a blood-red flush crept along her neck and cheeks. She pivoted on her heels to face the cocky bastard who just called her “sweetheart.” I cringed, my eyes glued to the scene before me. My stomach filled with a handful of pebbles. Would they merge into a big giant rock, or would they turn into fuck-I’m-so-proud fireworks?

“Don’t ever call me sweetheart, you jerk. You better shut your dirty mouth, or my boyfriend over there will shut it for you. If you want a lady’s help to control your temper, all you need is to ask. But don’t get on my nerves, because I’m in labor right now, and you’re about to assist in delivering this nine-pound bundle of joy. I’m sure you’d like to be on the receiving end of my placenta. Hope you played football in college. Could end up being useful. By the look of it, you probably won’t be a big help. Unless you have something smart to say to this man, I suggest you go back to your dump and mind your own business.” Pixie rested her fists on her hips and glared at Trucker-Hat.

“Don’t be a smart-ass, lady. You can’t be pregnant, you’re like child-size. What are you, twelve?” Underneath her loose sweater, Fairy could be hiding a pregnant belly, and nobody would know.

“Are you willing to bet on it?” Fury crossed her usually peaceful face. Trucker-Hat eyed her for a moment. Part-spooked and part-confused, he climbed back behind his wheel, giving my neighbor a long stare. Fireworks. Yeah, the whole show.

Peaceful Woman turned her attention back to Cookie-Eater and whispered something that made him smile. They exchanged a few words, and she hugged him before he hauled himself back into his car and resumed his drive.

Pixie flashed me a proud smile as she opened the door. “That’s how it’s done, HN. You’re welcome.”

I clamped my mouth shut, my eyes wide, unblinking.

Who’s that girl, and where did she come from?

When I finally found my words again, I side-eyed her. “Impressive. But not very ladylike. You called Trucker-Hat a jerk.” I winked as my passenger punched my upper arm and stuck her tongue at me with a wrinkled nose. The air thickened in the car. “Boyfriend, huh? Something I should be aware of?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, HN. Would you have preferred husband?”

Fairy cocked an eyebrow, challenge in her blue eyes. Bluer with the mascara coating her long lashes. Yeah, I noticed.

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

The girl snorted, and we stayed silent for the rest of the drive. Pink Girl fidgeted with the ring on her right hand, looking through the window, her face unreadable as I parked on Main Street.

“Was the baby mine?” I asked.

“Why? Did you want it to be yours?” She studied me with her ocean-deep gaze, and after a minute, I shrugged. I swallowed, my throat working a double shift, all my hair standing on end at the way her stare burned a tunnel to my soul.

I turned the upper half of my body and stretched my arm to grab a cap from the back seat and placed it on my head. Without removing my shades, I made my way inside the grocery store.

“Wait for me.” Pixie jumped out of the truck, and with her small strides, she followed me inside. “Stop acting like you’re being chased by paparazzi, HN. Oh, dear God, you look ridiculous with your sunglasses indoors.”

If only she knew.

June texted me in the morning that she’d received over fifty phone calls, offering to pay her a lot of money if she revealed where I was hiding. She’d never betray me. That, I knew.

“The fluorescent light. My eyes are sensitive.” Lame. I’d lied better in the past.

“Do you want me to unfold the red carpet for you? Perhaps you’ll feel more in your element.” I poked her arm, and her giggle went straight to my dick. “Hollywood is this way,” Fierce Neighbor said, pointing toward the front of the store with her thumb. She grabbed a bottle of barbecue sauce from a shelf on her right. “I can even present you with an Oscar if you like and give an emotional feel-good speech, complimenting you on your tear-jerking performance.” I bit the inside of my cheek, refraining from spoiling my identity by revealing I’d much prefer a country music award.

“Come on, woman, let’s do this.” My fingers knitted with hers, and I led her toward the back of the supermarket, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention to us. Locals knew I owned a house around here. They rarely cared. However, tourists were unpredictable for the most part. I couldn’t risk them recognizing me.

A little girl, with white-blond hair and big, doll-like honey-brown eyes, stopped us in our tracks.

“Hi, my name is Alicia. Can I get a picture with you?” My heart hammered in my chest. The air froze in my lungs. Fuck. Here I was, fearing tourists, when I should have been wary around kids. Were they the new weapon used by the paparazzi to get closer to their victims? I swallowed the rock in my throat. Relax, man. It’s just a kid.