Chapter Three

Amie felt like she'd been put in a dryer and spun around for hours. There wasn't a spot on her body that didn't hurt. She was sure it was from hitting the floor of the cave where the Wendigo kept its victims and then getting kicked across said floor several times. She carefully sat up, hoping she didn't pass out from the pain.

"I probably should have taken some Advil," she thought to herself. "Maybe a hot shower will help."

Amie pulled herself off of the bed and began peeling off the filthy clothes she still had on. She glanced at the clock and took note of the fact that she had slept for about three hours. "That must be some kind of record," she thought sarcastically. "Stupid insomnia." Amie longed for the days when she had been able to sleep a full night, the days before her husband and son had been—

"Stop it," she said out loud. "Do not go there."

Finally out of her dirty clothes, she grabbed some towels from the pile on top of her luggage and moved into the bathroom. She checked her reflection in the tiny mirror while the water in the shower worked its way toward warm. Whoa, she looked a lot worse than she had a couple of hours ago. She had a black eye, a huge scrape down the left side of her face and a substantial cut on her lower lip. Checking out the rest of her body, she noticed that most of the bruises and abrasions were on her left side. When Dean shoved her out of the way, she must have fallen on that side. And stayed on that side while she was kicked around. Nice. At least all of the achiness would be contained to one part of her body.

Once the water was warm enough, Amie stepped under the pulsing stream of the shower, right side first. She turned slowly, until she could get her hair wet. As she closed her eyes, enjoying the heat and pounding of the water, Dean's face made an appearance in her head.

"Dammit! Can't I get a minute's peace? I wish my brain had an off-switch" she thought to herself.

But unfortunately, when it came to Dean, especially in the last few months, there was no off-switch. He was constantly on her mind. Every single thing reminded her of him. Amie scrubbed roughly at her hair, not caring that it hurt. Thanks to Dean and his macho, "I'm the man, get out of my way" attitude, every part of her body hurt. And thanks to Dean and his "keep away, I don't get involved emotionally and relationships aren't my thing" attitude, she felt like her heart was breaking.

Amie finished cleaning up, shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped a towel around her head and one around her body and moved back to the bedroom. She rummaged around in her suitcase for undergarments, her yoga pants and a tank top. She pulled on the clothes, carefully, and then ran a comb through her long, red hair. Once the mundane act of cleaning up was done, she sat back on the bed, her thoughts again drifting toward Dean. She looked toward the wall separating their rooms, imagining him sleeping in that unbelievably sexy way of his.

God, how had she gotten to this point? How had her every thought become consumed with Dean? She remembered when she first met him, how up until that point, she'd only heard rumors about the Winchesters—Sam, the bookworm and Dean, the handsome ladies' man. The rumors didn't even begin to do Dean justice.

When Garth called her and told her that the Winchesters needed help, she thought he was joking. The Winchesters never needed help. But, apparently they did, and she was literally the only hunter in a 500 mile radius. And as luck would have it, she was in the same town as them, thanks to her nostalgic need to see the ranch her husband grew up on. Amie agreed to meet them at a tiny bar on the east side of town.

She purposely got to the bar a few minutes early, ordered a beer and secured a table at the back, facing the door. Never let anything sneak up on you. She had learned that the hard way.

She'd been at the bar about 45 minutes and was seriously considering leaving when the door opened for the first time all afternoon. She glanced up, but all she could see was two really tall figures backlit by the bright afternoon sunlight. As they moved into the bar, she figured they had to be the Winchester boys. They paused for a minute, clearly discussing something, then started toward her table.

Amie quickly sized up the boys. She was pretty sure Sam was the taller of the two, from the stories she'd heard. That meant Dean was the one with the very surly look on his face. She moved her right leg up so she had easy access to her gun, just in case they weren't who she thought.

The boys stopped in front of her table and the taller of the two said, "Excuse me ma'am? Are you Amie?"

She glanced up, way up, and responded, "Yes. And you are…?" She waited for an answer, tensing slightly.

She was rewarded with what she figured was his best panty-dropping grin. She couldn't help but smile in return as he introduced himself and his brother. She'd been right, Sam was the taller one.

Amie put out her hand, and invited the boys to sit. It was funny how her mind immediately adopted the term "the boys" for the Winchester brothers. Even though they were both obviously in their late 20s, early 30s, her mind insisted on referring to them as boys. First Sam and then Dean shook her hand. She noticed Dean looking at her nails and her callus-free hands and grimacing, like he wasn't happy about it. Well, screw him. Her late husband had loved her hands and she kept them in top shape, sort of as a tribute to him.

Dean fixed his face into what Amie would come to call his "grumpy cat" look and skeptically said "So, you're a hunter?"

"So that's how this is going to go," Amie thought unhappily. "Yet another sexist, jerk hunter who thinks I'm not capable of doing anything because I'm short, thin and a woman."

Amie put on her best smile and turned it full-force on Dean, looking him right in the eyes for the first time. Shit, he was gorgeous. Like, really gorgeous. But Amie didn't think he knew it. Or at least not the extent of it. She was sure he knew the effect he had on women, but there was no way he realized just what his green eyes did to a girl. She stopped and took a deep breath. "Well, this just got a lot harder," she thought.

She took another deep breath. Time to turn on the attitude, or she would end up another notch on the notorious Dean Winchester's bedpost, her heart broken. It wasn't too hard since she was already irritated by his question.

"Yes, I'm a hunter. And I'm good. And I'm not going to sit here and try to prove it to you either. You either believe me or you don't. I don't care." Amie quickly grabbed her beer and took a swallow, hoping it would help her calm down or at least keep the boys, Dean in particular, from noticing her shaking hands.

Sam was saying something about being equipped to handle the case, but Amie wasn't really listening. She was trying not to look at Dean, but it wasn't working. She kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She needed to get out, now, or she would be lost.

"Oh, I'm equipped," she laughed nervously. "Just give me the info and you boys can be on your way. From what Garth tells me, you have more pressing matters to attend to." Amie glanced at Dean, hoping he didn't see. He was smiling slightly as Sam looked at him for approval. Dean shrugged. Sam seemed surprised, but he slid the address over. She grabbed it quickly, stood up and shoved it in her back pocket. She turned to leave. Finally.

"Wait," Dean said.

"Shit, so close," Amie thought. She fixed her best, flirty smile on her face and turned back to Dean. Her stomach was rolling with nerves. What the hell? He was just a guy with a pretty face for crying out loud.

"Umm, why don't you give us your number, in case, you know, you need anything?" Dean asked.

He wanted her number? That couldn't end well. Her brain flew through the options, obviously taking too long to answer, because Dean finally said, "Or we could give you our number?"

Inwardly, Amie breathed a sigh of relief. She could take the number and then promptly lose it. Her heart would remain intact. "Now that makes more sense. If I need anything, I'll call you." Amie pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and prepared to put the number in. Then she said something she never thought she'd say, "Shoot, handsome." Really, she was flirting? She was trying to get away from him, not encourage him. And then, instead of walking away after getting Dean's number, she winked at him. She freaking winked at him. God, what was wrong with her? She turned and made her escape.

Amie's mind returned to the present. She smiled sadly to herself. Well, she had managed to end up a notch on Dean's bedpost after all, and he had definitely broken her heart. Over and over again. Not because he was trying, but simply because he was Dean Winchester.