Just then a body broke through the water surface. Water droplets flying in all directions, Debbie shoved her sopping hair out of her face and smiled at Max.
Smiled.
At Max.
She fucking smiled at Max-his dirty dog of a little brother.
Frowning, Preacher straightened and shielded his eyes with his hand. Max was gesturing to Debbie, talking animatedly about something, and Debbie was … laughing?
Preacher stiffened, irritation prickling along his skin. Getting Debbie to talk was like pulling teeth, but making her smile was ten times more difficult. And yet here she was, smiling at and laughing with Max.
Preacher's frown continued to deepen as Max drew closer to Debbie. Max pointed at something off in the distance, and when Debbie turned to look, Max casually slid his arm over her shoulders.
Preacher shot to his feet. He was two seconds away from jumping into the water, jeans, boots, and leather vest be damned, and dragging Max out by the scruff of his neck. And he would have if Debbie hadn't immediately shrugged out from beneath Max's arm and swam away.
"What's it gonna be?" Joe asked, standing shoulder to shoulder with Preacher, peering out across the water. "Wedgie? Swirly? Purple nurple?"
"I'm gonna smash his fuckin' face in."
"Damn. You're really diggin' this chick, huh?"
Preacher shook his head, about to tell Joe that it wasn't like that when Debbie appeared on the grass, and his words died in his throat.
She'd gone swimming in her T-shirt and shorts, but she might as well have been topless. Preacher could see everything through the thin material-the outline of her full, firm breasts, the shape and size of her rock-hard nipples.
And he wasn't the only one noticing, either. For a girl who thought no one noticed her, she sure was catching a lot of looks.
"Nice," Joe muttered under his breath.
Growling, Preacher elbowed Joe in the ribs. "Shut the fuck up, asshole."
Debbie approached them, wringing out her wet hair, drops of water cascading down her sun-kissed skin, utterly oblivious to the half dozen erections she'd just caused.
"Are you going swimming?" she asked.
Beside him, Joe snorted. "He can't swim."
Preacher slowly faced his brother. "This ain't exactly the ocean. I think I can handle myself."
Joe smirked at him. "Don't change the fact that you can't fuckin' swim."
"And you wet the fuckin' bed until you were twelve, either," Preacher shot back. "But who's askin', right?"
Someone giggled, a high-pitched girly squeak, and Preacher jerked his gaze away from Joe to find Debbie with her hand over her mouth, a tiny dimple indenting her left cheek.
• • •
Taking a swig of warm beer, Debbie glanced over at Preacher. Seated beside her on the sun-warmed grass, he was alternating between scowling at Joe and outright glaring at Max. He'd been agitated all day, it felt like, but now he seemed even more so, leaving her wondering if he'd gotten into another argument with his father.
She nudged him with her elbow, and he turned his scowl on her.
"Are you okay?" she whispered.
His expression didn't change. "What was so funny?" he asked.
Confused, Debbie shook her head. "What was so funny … when?"
Preacher jerked his chin toward the swimming hole. "You were laughin'. With Max."
"Uh … " Debbie looked to the water, trying to recall what Max had said. "I don't remember," she eventually replied. "He made a joke about something, but I can't remember what." She turned back to Preacher. "So, you really can't swim?"
It was the wrong thing to say. Preacher's brows drew together, his already tense expression tightening further.
"My parents tried to teach me when I was little, but I was scared shitless. Didn't like the feeling of bein' underwater." He rolled his eyes. "Still don't."
Debbie couldn't stop her smile. After watching Preacher take on those men at the truck stop, and stand up to the Road Warriors and that terrifying man from this morning, the notion that he was afraid of something as harmless as water was laughable.
"Somethin' funny?" he growled.
Biting down on her bottom lip, squelching her smile, Debbie shook her head. "I just didn't picture you as being afraid of anything."
That had been the right thing to say. Preacher's mouth quirked and his strained expression began to ease.
"Not afraid anymore, Wheels," he said dryly, "Just don't like it."
She shrugged. "Well, I love swimming."
"Yeah?"