Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(71)

The vehicle lurched, nearly stalled, but she managed to steer it to the starting line where Addie was already waiting. Mollie was the last to get her pitching Jeep into position.

“Remember,” Griff said, “once the mud starts flying, you won’t be able to see much. Just keep going straight until you feel the incline as you come out. Don’t worry; I’m here if you need me. You can do this.”

She gave him a grateful look for his reassurance. Trent, who was perched on a stand in the back of a truck, gave them another thumbs-up.

As Griff had instructed earlier, she returned the gesture. Once the other two women did the same, Chase stepped up to the line, raised his hand, and brought it down.

“Easy does it,” Griff said.

She eased the gas pedal down instead of punching it, and the Jeep slogged into the bog. Mud flew everywhere, from their tires as well as the Jeep on the right. Cool splats of it landed on her arms, her cheek, and everywhere inside the vehicle.

Griff touched her elbow. “Relax. You’re going to strain your joints.”

She focused ahead, finding less and less clear glass as mud covered it. In her peripheral vision, she saw the mobile cameraman racing along capturing it all. The Jeep tilted but righted itself just as a scream escaped her mouth. Then she reached the incline and rolled out of the bog.

“You did it!” Griff said with that amazing, crooked smile. “And you won!” He held up his hand, and she slapped it, sending more bits of mud everywhere.

Their palms connected, and so did their gazes. His face was so mud-splattered that she could hardly tell he was scarred. Only his mouth showed any evidence, and when he saw her gaze zero in on that, his smile vanished again.

She reached out, and he inhaled when her fingers made contact with his cheek. She rubbed her thumb at the corner of his mouth. “Please don’t stop smiling. It’s—”

“We have our winner!” a voice shouted from beside her. She jerked around to find Trent shoving the lens her way. “How was it?”

“I, uh…dirty.” She wiped the mud clinging to her cheek. The memory of touching Griff’s face, his surprised expression, flashed into her mind. “And amazing.”

“Good. Let’s do it again. I need to make sure I have plenty of footage.”

For the next two hours, they raced. Griff’s guidance, along with his gentle corrections, helped her manage the course over and over.

“We don’t have a lot of light left, so we need to go on to the next event,” Trent said.

“What’s that? I thought this was it for the day.” She glanced at Griff, who was obviously in on this by his sheepish smile.

Trent positioned his camera to catch her reaction. “You and your competitors are slogging through the mud bog…on foot this time.”

? ? ?

“That was utterly humiliating,” Kristy said as she trudged out of the mud thirty minutes later. She jabbed a finger at the gathered men, ending at Griff. “And you all enjoyed it.”

“Was it the guffawing that tipped you off?” Addie had her blue eyes narrowed at her man. “The snorting laughter?” She advanced on Risk, who realized she had nefarious intentions concerning his dry and relatively clean person and her muddy one. And when she gave him a full-body hug and big kiss, everyone laughed. Even Risk.

Mollie gave her man the same treatment, which left Kristy facing off with Griff and feeling awkward with all that loving going on. And a tiny bit naughty, too.

Griff took her in with faux wariness and a spark of that same impishness. “You gonna get me back, too?”

“Was this your idea?”

He grinned. “Yep.”

He was daring her! Kristy had given up enough in her life, forgone parties and events and jobs. She was not giving this a pass. She stomped closer, deciding how far she’d actually go. He tucked his fingers in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. No, he definitely didn’t think she’d do it.

So she did. She smeared mud all over his clean face, down his neck, and into that soft hair.

His hands automatically clamped down onto hers as he ducked his head and squirmed. “I don’t mind the mud, but I’m ticklish as all get out.”

The sound of his laughter nearly undid her. Deep, full laughs not unlike the ones she’d heard when she’d been a mudbug for his amusement. Those scratchy, rusty laughs filled her chest like helium. So she bent down, scooped up a handful of bright orange mud, and threw it at him like a snowball.

He didn’t duck fast enough, and it hit him in the chest. His face flared in mock indignation, and he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. Her screams weren’t exactly mock, even if they were peppered with laughter. He sloshed into the bog and moved to drop her in. She’d been plenty familiar with that bog, thank you very much!

“All right, I give, I give!” she shouted, clutching his shoulders. God, she hoped she didn’t hurt him. She had no idea how sensitive his skin was.

He was breathing heavily, his face inches from hers as he leaned over her. “I didn’t hear an ‘I’m sorry I got mud all over you’ in there anywhere.”

He was having fun with her, teasing her, giving her a glimpse of the man he’d been before…she pushed the rest away. “It’s your fault I have mud all over me!”

“Hey, it’s all for the show. You looked great out there. Lots of those hook moments they’re after. Say you’re really, very, terribly sorry, and I might not drop you.”