Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(66)

“Is it better than this?”

I stick my tongue in my cheek. I can’t wait to see her face when we get back there.

“Maybe,” I say. “We’ll see what you think.”

I start the engine again and stick it in reverse. Gravel and dirt go flying as my tires dig into the ground. Dylan is all smiles.

My spirits are high. Things are just … good. Damn good. Better than I ever imagined things could be.

A part of me doesn’t want to think about it too much. Acknowledging how great things are going will undoubtedly jinx it, and I just want this to last as long as it can.

“Okay, Hawkeye,” I say. “You ready?”

“I mean, I don’t know. Am I?”

Excitement flickers in her eyes as she takes in our surroundings. I veer off onto a path that only locals would ever see. It meanders through a patch of woods, the limbs scraping the paint on my truck, before opening into a field.

A field of mud.

“Oh, shit,” Dylan says. “Can you back out of here?”

“Nope.” The last syllable pops.

“Um, then what are we going to do?” She looks around. “I mean, there are trees on three sides of us and a giant field of gunk in front of us. I don’t think you really have any other options.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course we do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Buckle up, baby. And hold on.” I grin, my heart beating hard in my chest.

She looks at me warily. “Peck …”

“Five … four …”

“But you aren’t buckled up,” she says, grasping for the seat belt.

“Because I’m an expert. Three … two …”

“Wait!” she exclaims with a nervous laugh. “Is this even legal?”

“One. No. Here we go.”

I wait until I hear the click of her seat belt before I stomp the gas. She clutches the handle above her head, her eyes as wide as saucers.

The engine roars to life as our speed increases. I move the truck a few feet to the left of center. From experience, I know that the mud pit isn’t quite as deep there, and we can rip through it a little easier.

“Peck … Ah!” She screams as we hit the mud.

Thick, brown gunk flies over the truck and coats the windows. I flip on the windshield wipers even though it won’t do any good. It’ll only smear it. Still, it’s good for the experience.

We’re midway through and blind from the mud. I keep the engine roaring as we plow through the wet muck. Dylan giggles beside me, her hand on the ceiling as she tries to keep herself pressed in the seat. I take every chance I can get to take a quick peek at her. The excitement in her eyes is worth every bit of time it’ll take tomorrow to clean this fucker.

“This … is … awesome,” she says, her voice vibrating with the movements of the truck.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

I maneuver the truck through the last bit of mud and coast up the other side.

Adrenaline races through my veins. I’m not sure if it’s from the mudding or because Dylan is beside me. … In the mud.

She unlatches her belt and spins to face me. “That was so much fun,” she says. “What is that called?”

“Um, mudding,” I say. “That was mudding.”

“Mudding. Right. Can we do it again?”

“It’s not as fun going back from this side,” I tell her.

“But wouldn’t it be the same thing?”

I flash her a look. “No, you wannabe country girl. The ruts ride differently. Take it from this side and get stuck out there. Sound fun?”

“Maybe?” She winces. “Yeah. Kind of.”

I laugh. “Okay. How does calling Machlan and Walker to come get us out sound?”

She makes a face like she sucked on a lemon.

“Exactly,” I say. “So grab the paper towels under your seat and lets clean off the glass.”

“Um, what?”

“How else are we gonna see to get home?”

She gives me a strangled laugh. “Um, I don’t know, but that’s a lot of mud.”

“Yup.” I hold out my hand. “Towels, please.”

She digs under her seat and finds a roll of paper towels. They land in my palm. I crack open my door to see her still sitting in her seat.

“Hey. You gotta help,” I tease.

“But …”

I raise a brow.

“Fine,” she huffs playfully.

We climb out of the truck. Soft dirt that’s not quite mud squishes under my boots. On the other side, Dylan groans.

I head to the front when a set of bright red and blue flashing lights ripple across the field. Kip, the county sheriff and a distant cousin, gets out of his car.

Dylan races as fast as she can around the front of the truck. She grabs my hand and stands beside me.

Her breath comes out in quick rushes as she watches Kip walk closer.

“What are you two kids doing out here tonight?” he asks.

He damn well knows the answer. Hell, he probably saw me pass by Goodman’s Gas Station on the way here and followed me. Fucker.

“Oh, I don’t know, Officer,” I say. “Just looking for a picnic spot.”