Seventeen Days (3 page)

Asshole, even if he does have exquisite gray eyes.  

“Yeah well, you trying being all sunshine and rainbows after being startled nearly to death. I highly doubt you'd be all smiles, bud. I may have heard twigs snapping, but they stopped by the time I managed to open my eyes. You. Scared. Me. And who the frick said Mac doesn't like me? I called him a mutt; it's not like he actually
knows
what I called him.”

The nerve of this guy astounds me. Granted, I’m pretty sure Mac
does
hate me but what right does he have to basically call me a bitch? After scaring me nearly to death! 

Deciding to ignore him, I get up, gather Mac’s leash, and attempt to leave. Only Mac won't frickin’ budge. Not one damn inch. It seems he likes this guy.
Figures.
Assholes tend to stick together. Plus, there’s the insignificant issue of me being lost. 

“Morgan, right?” After staring at him in silence for a few seconds, he adds, “Morgan
is
your name, right?” 

As if he doesn’t know who I am. He said my aunt warned him of my attitude. 

“Yeah, it’s Morgan. And you are?” Bet a hundred dollars his name is as country as his cowboy hat. It’s probably Colt, or Jameson. Which are oddly hot names, now that I think about it.

“Name’s Harrison, ma’am. I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, but my mama taught me not to lie.”

She’s a pistol. I’ll give her that. But holy
hell
she’s attractive. I’ve been trying to come up with a word that’s fitting to describe her beauty, but one has yet to come to me. 

All her scarlet hair—it’s redder than Savannah’s. Shades of fiery reds and oranges seem to be mingled together, and when the sunlight hits it?
Shit.
It’s like glimpsing into the flames from a thousand fires. Don’t let me get started on her eyes. Stunning doesn’t begin to cover it. It’s a color I’ve never in all my life had the pleasure of seeing. It’s like God took all the green jewels and threw them together to make her eyes. They’re emerald in one light, jade in another, malachite when the sun shines down on them. And her body? Yeah, we’re better off not going there at the moment. Or ever.

Her vibrato is all a ruse; one glimpse into her emerald gaze gave her away. Too bad I find it sexy, which isn’t anything I need to be thinking about. I’m far enough over the edge with only thinking of her hair tousled up on my pillow. In other words, I know I’m fucked when it comes to Morgan. Because from seeing her for one second, I know,
I fucking know,
I’ll get myself all tangled up in her troubles. I’ll end up getting caught in the wake of her tide and the mess left over from the hurricane she’s bound to cause in my heart. It’s those fucking eyes, man. They sing to me. 

She’s full of secrets, that much is certain. She seems almost … sad. Maybe even a tiny bit lost. Hopefully, she’ll learn who she is here in Alabama. Although, from what I’ve heard of her, it’ll take a lot longer than one summer to straighten her out. 

Drugs
. 

Typical behavior for an ignored spoiled rotten—for lack of a better word—bitch. All of which landed her spoiled, rich ass in a foreign jail. I didn’t lie when I told her I wasn’t pleased to meet her. I’m not. She’s a distraction I simply can’t afford to have. 

Trouble with a capital T. 

This summer, I have big plans. Those plans sure as hell don’t include getting tangled up with a red-headed, emerald-eyed, uptight beauty from the city. My plans include expanding my business and adding in an overnight charter.
That
is what I should be focusing on. Not the way her hair shines like garnets glittering in the sun.

This sudden need to be near her needs to go the fuck away. 

“Come on, Spitfire, let’s get your spoiled ass home.”
Why the hell did I give her a nickname?
 

“Spitfire? Sorry, bud, the name is Morgan. Let’s get one thing straight before you lead me back to my aunt’s. You and I are never going to be friends. I’m not here for friends; I have plenty back home in New York. Trust me when I say I won’t be here long enough for you to remember me. I’ll only be one tiny blip on your radar. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. One tiny blip. Got it?” Her voice is full of disdain.
Wish I could say the feeling is mutual.
 

And she wonders why I called her Spitfire. One gaze and her eyes seem to ignite. She’s got fire in her, for damn sure, it’s like she’s been struck by a match. Sadly, it only makes me want to be near her more. I’m not entirely sure what this feeling is, but it can only lead me in the wrong direction. Ignoring it seems like the only logical solution.   

“Well, you did get one thing right. You and me? We’ll never be friends. But, you are a spitfire, that is crystal clear, so you’re wrong about the nickname, it fits, and you fucking know it.” It’s then that I make the mistake of looking straight down into her eyes again. Fuck, they’re amazing and my expansion plans are flying right out the window. Her gaze holds mine, and I find all the answers I never knew I was looking for.
Shit, shit, shit.

Why does she have to be the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen?
Besides my mother, I’ve never encountered such beauty. 

And why the hell did Savannah send me out to find her when she clearly could have herself? Turning away, I start to walk toward the ranch. She either follows or she doesn’t. The sun will be setting in about an hour, and she’ll truly be lost once it does. It shouldn’t concern me; Savannah can come back for her.
Fuck.
If I didn’t feel like I owe Savannah my life, I wouldn’t have come to find her spoiled niece at all. I probably wouldn’t have answered the damn phone. And instead at this moment, I’d probably be at home drinking my third beer, relaxing on my couch, and watching the baseball game with Dog.

“Come on, Mac, let’s get you home.” He quickly follows along like I knew he would. 

After a couple minutes, I turn around to make sure she’s following. She is. Like Mac, I knew she would be, too.  To my dismay, my manners also kick in—a little.

“Hey, Red, are you thirsty?” 

“No, thanks. And the name’s Morgan. Let me spell it for you, M-O-R-G-A-N, remember it. Not Red or Spitfire.” Mumbling to herself she says, “I’ve heard about cowboys being slow, but Jesus, this is getting ridiculous.”  

That’s at least the second time she’s insulted me. Maybe the third … Who’s counting? 

“Insults aren’t called for,
Morgan,
but I can take whatever you have to dish my way. I’m a big boy, please don’t worry about hurting my feelings.”

What the hell is wrong with me that it turns me on when she mouths off? Maybe I need to get laid. I should give Jess a call and see if she can come out tonight. Thing is, she doesn’t have auburn hair or green eyes. She does, however, know exactly what I like. It’s been awhile since I scratched that particular itch. I am a twenty-two-year-old healthy young man who enjoys female companionship from time to time. Nothing wrong with enjoying sex as far as I'm concerned. 

Yeah, Jess will be exactly what I need tonight. 

“I’m only stating the fact that if you were smart, you’d stick to calling me by my name.” 

This woman, I swear.
Choosing not to dignify her remark with a response, I keep walking. What I actually should do is lay her over my knee and spank her behind. Seems like a good spanking would do her a world of good. If her mother did that when she was growing up once or twice, she probably wouldn't have found herself in a jail cell. 

“What, no smartass comeback? Or is it taking you a few minutes to come up with one?” 

Her words cause me to stop abruptly and turn around, which in turn brings her crashing right into me. Instinctively, I bring my arms up to steady her.
Fuck, touching her is far from ignoring her.

Shit, I didn’t know she was so close.

Her hands grip my arms to keep from falling. Delicate, soft hands. Inhaling, I breathe her in. Jesus, she smells of cinnamon.
Even her scent is spicy.
Quickly, I push her away. I don’t need her getting any ideas; I’m having enough of them on my own. Besides, she’s too young for me. Too damn entitled and spoiled. Too
everything
. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were so close. And no, I didn’t respond because I didn’t feel like it deserved a response from me. A college
graduate
. A graduate who happens to own a successful business. Be more careful who you insult in the future, Red.” Yes, I used the nickname on purpose. She’s pissing me off; I may as well piss her off more. Tit for tat and all that. “You’re barely eighteen and hardly lived your life at all. Come talk to me when you’ve lived not under the protection your mother's money provides for you.” Pausing, I add, “When you’ve actually lived life for yourself. And answered to no one but yourself.”

Suddenly, I can’t get her home fast enough. Good damn thing we’re only about a quarter of a mile away from Savannah's house. I should let the damn dog lead her the rest of the way. We both know he can do it now. Fuck, he could’ve led her home from the crick. 

Fucking thorny, emerald-eyed, auburn-haired goddess.
 

I’m a sick, sick man. Sparring with her has turned me on more than any woman before. Not to mention having her pressed up against me for one measly second. All she’d have to do is glance down, and she’d know how much she’s affecting me. 

“We’re almost there. Do yourself a favor and try to keep up.” 

Not caring if I leave her behind, I start walking again. 

Faster
. 

Waking up to the smell of cinnamon and coffee, I’m positive my dream about Starbucks has come to life. Yeah, I dreamt about coffee and cake pops. A girl could live on those things alone. Don't judge me. 

Last night after my unfortunate meeting with the stormy-eyed cowboy, I called Celene. Finally getting ahold of her after a full week of trying. She’s at the shore with her cousin, Gabe. And she’s worked it out so that I can stay there for the remainder of the summer. Long enough for me to get up off the ground and stand on my own. Who needs Sienna? Not this chick. All I needed was a friend with a horny male cousin who probably thinks I’ll be paying him in sex.
Um. No thanks.
I’m done sinking low to get what I need. 

Granted, it’s in Jersey, but it’s still better than Alabama, and it’s a helluva lot closer to New York. Her cousin may be a womanizing prick but he has an extra room and it’s free. 

Logically, I know it’s not the best solution. But it
is
the solution that takes me closer to the city. Back to my friends. My life
.
What’s left of it, anyway.

Celene said Gabe may have a lead on a job for me as a spokesmodel for his dad’s car dealership or some shit. Truthfully, I wasn’t fully paying attention. All I heard was the words
room
and
free.
After that, I zoned out and started making travel plans in my head. Only problem I came up with was how I’ll manage to
pay
for an actual flight ticket. They’re not cheap. And … I have exactly twenty-seven dollars in my wallet.
Twenty-seven dollars.

Shit. 

Guess that means I should search for a job around here. One that’ll pay me enough—fast—so I can get back to living my so-called life.