THE HUNT

CHAPTER-FIFTEEN

Heather Ann Gray was relatively drunk. But not so drunk that she was foolish. Her mother didn't raise a stupid girl, and even though it was only a few blocks from Steve's apartment to her place, she had her taser gun tight in her hand.

Steve--damn his ugly, two-timing ass--had told her not to go. It's too late, he said. To dark. To dangerous. Like he even gave a shit.

Angrily, Heather brushed the tears away. She promised herself when she moved to Dallas from Oklahoma that she would start acting like a woman of the world and not a little twit from Hoyt, population 221. But she'd failed miserably at that.

A woman that was sure of herself wouldn't get bent out of shape when she learned her boyfriend was seeing another girl. A woman who was sure of herself turned up the charm and convinced her boyfriend that he was an idiot for even looking at any other woman except her.

Heather Gray apparently, wasn't a secure woman, because, all she'd done was run away.

Bastard. Limp dick. Fucking asshole.

She looked up to the heavens and asked for forgiveness. But she was madder than a mama grizzly bear, darn it. She couldn't help it, he really was a fucking asshole

She was lost in her anger and contrition that she wasn't paying attention to the ground, and she stumbled on the sidewalk, where the combination of a tree root and loose gravel on the concrete made it into a mini obstacle course.

Her ankle twisted hard to the right, and the tears started again. Not because of the pain, but because Steve wasn't there to learn on.

Maybe she should turn back. Maybe they could work it out.

The thought propelled her to twist around, and as she did, she saw a sliver of movement behind her. Something almost imperceptible that was gone so quickly it could have been her imagination.

It wasn't, of course. It had to be Steve. He was following her and making sure she got home okay.

She turned back, facing ahead, and smiled. He did love her. He truly did, and when she got home, he was going to follow her upstairs, knock on her front door and beg her to forgive him.

And she would. She'd make him pay first--make him kick that tramp to the curve, and make sure he understood that he was on probation for the rest of his life--but in the end, she'd take him back. After all, she loved him. Limping slightly, she continued down the street, the neatly tended brick and mortar house lined up beside her.

The neighborhood was beautiful--and a far cry from the drafty little shack she'd grown up in. Right now, she lived in a garage apartment and worked as a CNA, for the Bluebonnet nursing home. One day, though, one of these houses would be hers. Or maybe even J.R Ewing's Mansion.

Steve was in medical school, after all. She would be Mrs. Steven Woodson and she'd host fabulous dinner parties and she'd be adorned in the latest couture designs.

Despite her sore ankle, she added a little sway to her hips. She wondered how long he'd wait after she got inside her apartment. Not long, she hoped.

She'd been pissed--really pissed--but now, she was excited and there was something adorable and sexy about him following her home.

A ten-foot-tall privacy fence surrounded Mr. Wesley's property, but she had a key to the side gate. The old man wasn't home--he'd went to Salt Lake City, Utah, for a few days to visit his daughter--so she didn't feel strange about letting Steve come in.

Carefully, she pushed the gate until it was almost shut, but not quite latched. She didn't want Steve to have to call her and ruin her surprise. She headed toward the stairs to her apartment but stopped at the base when she heard the gate hinges creak.