BooksBarbecue
Back The Runaway
Chapters (80)
  1. Cover
  2. TITLES BY NICK PETRIE
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  79. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  80. What’s next on your reading list?

“My car stopped working.” She gave him a hesitant smile. “I don’t suppose you can give me a ride to town?”

5

She wore a faded print dress that fell below her knees, reminding Peter of a dust bowl photograph from the 1930s. She wasn’t full in the face and body in the way of most pregnant women. With those skinny legs below and birdlike collarbones showing above the open neck of the dress, she looked like a teenage girl who had swallowed a beach ball on the way to the junior prom. Either she had the metabolism of a hummingbird or she didn’t have enough to eat.

“Uh,” Peter said.

She walked toward him around the upturned tree. She wore clunky untied winter boots that looked huge on her feet, but she stepped over the rocks and dirt with a careless, unconscious grace. Over the dress, she wore an off-brand canvas barn coat, faded blue, with the torn cuffs and collar that came from long use. The coat was much too big for her, but she still couldn’t close it around her belly.

“I wasn’t hiding from you,” she said. “I was peeing. When you’re pregnant, you pee a lot.” Unembarrassed, she gave him a frank, appraising look that seemed strange on her young face.

She wasn’t beautiful, not in any conventional way. But even vastly pregnant, with her tangle of straw-colored hair, the pale blush of her skin, the ripe swell of her body, there was something hopelessly, urgently desirable about her. It seeped from her pores and scented the air around her, mixing with and amplifying the rich wet tang of the swollen river and the slick fertile mud of its banks and the heady perfume of the ancient grass. Peter felt stunned at the sight of her, like he’d been kicked by a horse on the first day of spring.

She put her hands in the pockets of the coat and watched his face and waited.

The dress was so tight on her torso that he could see her bellybutton. The swell of her breasts strained the thin fabric, her nipples like gumdrops in the cold. Startled by the hormonal tide that washed over him, Peter made himself look away. He had met many beautiful women in his life, had committed himself to one of them, but he’d never experienced this kind of reaction to a stranger.

Even in that moment, he somehow knew no good would come from this.

But he couldn’t just leave her there in the cold.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He brought June Cassidy’s face into his mind, the amused intelligence in her eyes, the spray of freckles across her cheeks, that wicked smile. Then he exhaled and the strange desire fell away as if he were an upright ape somehow suddenly granted the power of reason.

“Happy to give you a lift, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “I’m headed your way. Hop in.”