Free Bitch Factor by Chris Rogers Page B

tongue, but the second felt good going down. She finished a third of the coffee before opening the panel and passing the cup to Dann. When he took it, she relocked the pass-through.
    “Parker Dann, I don’t have to be civil to you,” she said. “I’m not a cop—”
    “No, you’re a goddamn bounty hunter!”
    “—and you’re no longer a man. You’re chattel. The bondsman owned your ass the minute you skipped bail.” She opened the glove box and removed a first-aid kit. The single-wrapped alcohol swabs and Band-Aids slipped easily through the mesh.
    “I could have waited out this storm in a nice warm bed back in Grandin,” Dixie said, pulling on the heavy gloves. They were too big for her hands. “You’d have spent the nightin the trunk. Maybe you should be thanking your lucky stars that I’m reasonably humane.”
    Outside, Dixie swallowed a surge of shame for being such a badass bitch. She hated doing it. But with a burly male prisoner, a 120-pound female couldn’t afford to relinquish control, even a little. She was already showing weakness in her ability to handle the storm. If she and Dann were stuck with each other overnight, he could become a threat, not only to her, but to others. Dann had to believe she’d shoot him rather than let him escape.
    She kicked at the snowbank, wondering how far she’d have to dig to find gravel. The air felt colder than before. The driving snow felt wetter, clinging to her hair, clotting her lashes. Visibility had closed to a few feet. Using the lug wrench, she chipped through packed snow and ice until she hit a road sign that had been knocked down. Underneath it, she found a gravel shoulder. Hunching against the cold, she laboriously filled the makeshift scoop with dirt and rocks. Although the clumsy gloves impeded her, they kept her hands from stiffening up. Her ears felt cold enough to snap off.
    She carried the scoop of gravel to the car and spread it out, barely covering the ice behind one tire. As she watched with sinking spirits, the wind picked up the smaller pieces and scattered them.
    Another numbing gust knocked her sideways. Rocking on her heels, she braced her fall with one hand. She’d weathered a hurricane once, and the winds hadn’t felt much stronger than the one blowing now. Despair curled in a corner of her mind and nested. How the hell was she supposed to keep the car on the road once— if— she got it out of the ditch?
    Sheilding her eyes, she scanned the highway in both directions, hoping for a search beacon, or at least a break in the clouds. As she watched the lashing snow, it occurred to her that no vehicle had passed during the half hour they’d been stranded.
    She turned back to the patch of gravel at the roadside and refilled her scoop.

 

    Chapter Ten
     

    Sunday, July 12, Houston, Texas
     
    “Why can’t we go to the same camp?” Ellie persisted, sorting forks and spoons into separate plastic bins.
    Courtney noticed her sister’s yellow sundress had puckered in front where she’d spilled lemonade. Ellie was still a baby, too young to pay attention to spills and such.
    Smoothing out wrinkles as she worked, Courtney folded a green napkin into a neat triangle, then folded it in thirds. On Sundays, they worked with Mama at the restaurant. The smell of tomatoes and spices drifted from the kitchen, where Mama was cooking spaghetti sauce. The restaurant’s air conditioner hummed, pumping cool air on the back of Courtney’s neck.
    “We can’t go together because I’m nine and you’re barely six,” Courtney explained for the zillionth time—even though she didn’t totally understand it herself. She’d volunteered to go to the younger camp. Going alone her first year, Ellie would be frightened.
    Actually, Courtney wasn’t too keen on trying out a new camp alone, either. She’d never been away from home without Betsy. But Mama had just shrugged when Daddy Travis INSISTED.
    “It’s time you two girls spent some time apart.