A/N: Yay! Digging the reviews! I love that you guys are still onboard.

Sorry for such a long chapter… I just didn't really know how else to break it down without dragging everything out. And our internet has been funky (hint: It helps if you have your bill-pay set up for the right date and can afford the re-connect fee. And in case you're wondering how I posted without internet? Magic. Or, you know… I drove over to a Starbucks and abused some of their free WiFi. Whatever.) But I wanted to get this one out there so that I can get going with some other story chapters I have planned. Hopefully they're to your enjoyment.

Quick poll though: Keep this thing sweet and easy-going, or throw some angsty-action in there? I can really take this story both ways. Thoughts? Let me know in the reviews!

Enjoy:

Chapter 29

Daryl glanced up from his paperwork when he heard the side door open and voices poured in through the hallway.

Mark paused to wave at him and say goodnight as he passed Ron's office on the way back from the break room. Daryl waved back distractedly, looking up at the clock above the door. Sure shit, the shop was closed already.

A few more guys hollered at him from the lobby as they exited, but Oscar was the next to poke his head in. "You got a minute, Holmes?"

"Sure," Daryl mumbled, yawning as he straightened the stack of repair receipts and tossed them all into a folder off to the side. "What's goin' on?"

Oscar wandered in and seated himself in the chair on the other side of the desk. Daryl, who'd never in his life been in a position of power, felt uneasy being the one in the boss' chair, even if he wasn't actually the boss.

Oblivious to Daryl's unease, Oscar took a deep breath and started. "You've just been, like… such a hard worker lately, y'know? You come in early in the mornin' and don't leave until late after the night shift. Sometimes not even until really fucken late… Ron left you in charge when he flew to Tampa for his sister's wedding, so I know you gotta be all responsible and shit…"

"Get t' your point," Daryl grumbled, eying Oscar from under his unkempt bangs. He probably needed to suck it up and get a haircut.

"I'm just… worried about you, man," Oscar finally blurted out. "We all are."

"You're worried 'bout me 'cause I'm doin' my job?" Daryl asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Man, look," Bob chimed in as he made his way into the room; he'd clearly been eavesdropping in the doorway. "You're a good guy to work with. You always have been. You pull your weight, you know your shit, you get things done, even if it's not yours to do… it's just that lately, you're in this mode… like the Terminator or some shit. I ain't never seen anybody do the work of three men day-in and day-out. You've gotten really intense and numb to the rest of the world, you know? It's getting weird."

Daryl shook his head and then stood from Ron's desk to stretch his stiff muscles. "I don' know what the big fucken' deal is. We're a man down already, what with Steven gettin' fired over his habit. Ron's been MIA a lot lately. There's a lotta shit to do around the shop, and a lot o' extra weight that needs t' get pulled, so I'm pullin' it."

"It's more than that," Oscar said without any of his usual boisterous nature. "You don't even look so good, man, and it's only been a week of this shit. How much longer before you burn out or lose your cool?"

Daryl was surprised they'd noticed anything about the way he looked. He had been working open-to-close in the shop, and then some. Hell, he'd even stayed late a few nights and worked on cars that weren't even scheduled to be touched until the next day. He'd worked until almost two in the morning on Tuesday and finished a car that wasn't scheduled for pick-up by the owner until Friday.

He had felt pretty tired, but that had kind of been the point. He worked his ass off and then by the time he was back to his apartment from work, he didn't have the energy or brain power to think about anything else. He fell right asleep and slept the whole night through, until his alarm went off hours later. It was a better existence for him than the alternative. He just hadn't fathomed that it could possibly have taken a toll on his outward appearance already. It wasn't like his life had been peaches and cream up until this point. He was used to dealing with stress and bullshit.

"Listen," Oscar continued, now that he was confident that he had Daryl's attention. "You need a fucken' break, man. Bertha wanted to take the kids to a carnival or some shit over in Fannon county. A bunch of us are going. Mark, Ian, Bob… a couple of guys from the weekend crew, and even some from the body shop down the block. What do you think?"

A carnival outing with the family? Clowns, kids, rides? Daryl snorted at the idea. "I think tha' sounds terrible."

"Actually…" Bob cut in, "it's not a carnival. It's a festival."

"What's the fucken difference?" Oscar said, throwing his hands up at Bob like he was just being a nitpicking asshole.

"A carnival has rides and clowns and prize booths and stuff. A festival is more like… face painting, pony rides, art booths, pie-eating contests…" Bob listed things off on his fingers as he stared up at the ceiling trying to recall the event.

"Oh, well, in tha' case… I think it sounds like I'd rather stick my balls 'n a meat grinder," Daryl said as he made a face at both of the idiots staring at him, and then walked out of the office.

"Damn, dude," Oscar whined at Bob as they followed him to the service desk out front. "Then why are we even goin' to this shit?"

"You're goin' because you've got kids and your scary-ass wife told you that you were goin'," Bob replied with a smirk before turning his attention back to Daryl.

"Damn, you cold as ice, bro'," Oscar muttered, shaking his head at Bob.

Ignoring him, Bob continued to try and appeal to Daryl. "Look man, there are goin' to be bands there, and beer, and even a car and motorcycle show. But the best reason to come is for the ladies."

Daryl, who'd been doing his best to just lock everything up and shut the systems down so that he could go home and pass out, stopped to smirk at Bob. "You're goin' to a winter festival t' pick up chicks? You got a thing for single moms or somethin'?"

Oscar burst into laughter at Daryl's quip, but Bob wasn't so easy to distract from their uncomfortable conversation.

"No," he said with tightly-controlled patience. "I'm taking Sasha. Because just like Bertha, she wants to go. So does Mark's new girl."

Daryl hadn't realized Mark had figured out how to even speak to the opposite sex yet, let alone how he managed to latch onto a girl, but Daryl's concentration wasn't on that at the moment. At the mere mention of the waitress from the diner, Daryl's mind immediately sidetracked to the very thing he'd been avoiding all week: Beth.

The memory of how beautiful she'd looked the night of her birthday flashed through his thoughts, and he felt his lips tingle in a phantom memory of having them against her skin. It took everything he had to keep his expression neutral while both of his cohorts stared at him knowingly.

"Have you even talked to her since the party?" Oscar asked him somberly. There was no confusion as to which 'her' he was referring to.

Truth be told, Daryl had been avoiding Beth all damn week.

First and foremost, he'd practically dry-humped her at the goddamn river. Then, he'd driven her to the party thinking it would be an excellent distraction from her, only to find that as the night wore on, everything got worse for him. Instead of numbing him, the alcohol he'd consumed had only managed to make him hyper-sensitive to Beth's presence the entire evening.

Everything from the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled at him, to the pink flush on her cheeks, to the way her dress contoured her lithe frame, had made him hard with wanting her. All the alcohol did was made it harder for him to ignore the insane thoughts swirling around in his brain.

When he'd watched her dancing around with her friends, he'd briefly wondered if she moved that well between the sheets, and the idea that he'd even been thinking about her like that horrified him. Before too long, he'd switched over to Sprite, hoping that the unusual flavor and massive amounts of carbonation would help shake him out of his funk and straighten him the hell out.

Then, she'd come over and put her lips on his cup where his had been. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't escape her or the effect she was having on him. Before it was all over, she'd kissed him, and rubbed her hand on his arm. He'd barely managed to get himself out of driving her home; he wasn't sure how that would have turned out. But then the whole time he followed her back in the Jeep, all he could smell was her surrounding him. At that point, he could already feel himself going weak with wanting her.

Once they were alone with nothing but the moon as a witness, Daryl had snapped. He'd grabbed her and nearly consumed her. If he hadn't caught the tail-end of his fleeting sanity, there was a good chance he'd have had his way with Beth right on Sasha's fucking lawn.

The woman made him lose his damn mind.

Then, he'd woken up the next morning and felt ashamed of himself all over again. He hadn't been drunk by the end of the night, thanks to his own intervention, and yet he'd still managed to manhandle her like a fucking asshole. He spent all day trying to decide how to handle the situation, but in the end, he'd just thrown on his work outfit and gone into the shop to tear apart some engines and get his mind off of everything that had happened.

For the last solid week, it'd been working. Then in walked these two clowns. Daryl frowned at their prying.

"It's none of your damn business," he answered, going back to their original conversation.

"That would be a no," Bob remarked, raising his eyebrows at Oscar.

"Call her, you stupid motherfucker," Oscar said, swiping the keys out of Daryl's hands as he was trying to get them into one of the cabinets.

Tired of their pestering, Daryl grabbed his jacket from behind the counter. "Fine, you two lock up then. I'm going t' bed."

"We'll be over to pick you up at 7 tomorrow night! You'd better be ready to go, jerkoff!" Oscar shouted at him as Daryl stepped out of the shop and let the door swing closed behind him. He held one special finger up over his shoulder for Oscar as he made his way across the parking lot to his truck.

There was no way in hell he was going to waste an entire night hanging around a festival full of families and children; even in the event that Beth might be there with her friends.

He wouldn't know what to say to her, and more to the point- she hadn't tried calling him all week, either. She probably didn't want to fucking talk to him after he practically groped her and then ran off like a wuss.

As Daryl parked and trudged up to his apartment, he thought about Beth and what she was possibly up to that evening. He wanted to call her just to hear the lilt in her voice, or to listen to her chuckle breathily into the receiver. He'd like nothing more than to bury his face in her soft hair and inhale her.

Once he'd locked up and kicked his shoes off, he pulled his work clothes off and threw them into the pile of clothing in the corner that he hadn't gotten around to washing all week. Perching on the edge of his mattress in nothing but his boxers, Daryl turned his phone on and scrolled through his call log. Since he'd been at work so much, his call log was pretty desolate. One number was unknown and out of area, and the rest of them were the guys from the shop. In the midst of everyone else, though, Beth's name stared up at him. His finger hovered above the bright green lettering, willing himself to both press the button, and to also throw the phone as far away from him as possible because calling her was insane.

He lay back on the mattress with the phone resting next to him as he contemplated what his next move should be.

Before long, though, he opted to close his eyes only for a moment, and then everything went dark.

X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x

He could not believe he was fucking doing this.

Pulling into the field-cum-parking lot behind Bob's sedan, Daryl walked Merle's bike into a backward parking job and cut the engine. He could feel that his hair was everywhere, and the top half of his face was frozen from the ride over. Dixons didn't fool with such nonsense as helmets, so Daryl was wholly unprotected from the elements, save for the red handkerchief he'd thought to tie around the bottom half of his face to keep it warm from the bridge of his nose on down.

As he swung off the bike, Daryl pulled off the handkerchief and stuffed it in his back pocket.

"I can't believe you wanted to ride that here in this temperature," Bob said as he came around his car.

Daryl grunted at him as they started walking. "Needed t' clear my head."

Oscar had texted Daryl about once every hour all day, with ridiculous, faux-ominous threats telling him he was watching him, and the time was near, and he was going to get him. Daryl chucked each time, but as seven o'clock drew nearer, Daryl's anxiety built. All of his excuses not to go sounded lame, even to him.

He finally received word that Bertha didn't want to backtrack to go get Daryl, so Bob had been elected to drive himself and swing by. With the opportunity close at hand, Daryl did something he rarely ever did in his entire life; he asked Bob for a favor.

Happy to oblige, Bob drove clear out of the way to the next down, where they slowly pulled up the long, gravel driveway to Beth's. Upon entering her property, Daryl was relieved to find that her Jeep was gone and she wasn't home, so he could grab Merle's bike out from behind her house with no complications or hang-ups. However, if her Jeep wasn't home and Sasha was headed for the festival, then Daryl had no more doubts about whether or not Beth would be there.

The notion had him tied up in knots.

"Thanks," Daryl said suddenly to Bob as they neared the noise and light of the festival. "For takin' me to get my bike. I know it was outta the way…"

Smiling at Daryl's unusual display of normal human interaction, Bob replied, "No worries, man. Happy to do it."

Once they paid and entered the festival, Daryl reflected on how many new and different things he'd gotten to experience in the short months since he'd started his new life. The winter festival, with all of its lights and circumstance, was certainly one of them.

As a kid, Daryl had never been taken anywhere that cost money. Zoos, aquariums, carnivals, festivals… you name it, and he hadn't been there. Lonnie Dixon had other things to spend his little amount of money on, and it pretty much consisted of booze and smokes.

Unintentionally, Daryl's mind wandered back to the one time he'd had his heart set on going to see the circus. He'd still been in elementary school then, and had seen flyers up in the hallways, advertising that it was going to be coming to their little town. It had been a shit circus to think their town was worth a stop, he knew, but that hadn't prevented him from wanting to witness it. He'd never seen tigers or elephants in real life, or ladies with beards, either.

He had brought his discounted student ticket home that day, hoping beyond hope that his da' was in a decent mood. The ticket had been crinkled, he'd clutched onto it so hard as he made his long walk home from school that afternoon. He'd walked into the trailer to find his da' no worse for wear, so he'd mustered up his courage and asked, hoping he wouldn't get walloped for doing it. Back then, though, he'd still been too young to yet understand the twisted games that Lonnie Dixon played with his sons. So when he pitched the idea of going to the circus to his da', the man had actually agreed to take him.

The first Saturday that the circus was in town, Daryl hopped out of bed before the sun had even finished rising. He'd tossed and turned all night, excitement writhing in his small, empty belly. His da' had gotten pretty loaded the night before, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary, was Daryl's da' actually willing to take him somewhere for once. Daryl couldn't remember if his mom had ever taken them places, but he'd like to think that she would have wanted to. He felt like this was a step in a new direction for he and his da', though; a chance for his dad to get out of the trailer and maybe be like other normal dads. He only wished Merle could be there with them; he'd been serving time in juvie for throttling a teacher in detention.

Little Daryl had gotten dressed in his nicest clothes, a pair of jeans with only a couple of holes in them, and one of Merle's old button-up flannel shirts that wasn't too faded. His da' finally stumbled into the kitchen mid-afternoon, not bothering to even glance in Daryl's direction, at first. When he finally got done chugging what was left of the expired orange juice out of the container, he looked down and realized how put-together his youngest son looked.

"Wha' tha fuck're you all dressed up fer?" Lonnie had asked him, swaying a little as he tossed the empty orange juice bottle onto the counter, where it rolled off of all of the other shit piled onto the countertop and fell into the pile of trash on the kitchen floor.

Was he joking? Daryl had wondered. He must've forgotten.

"The… uh… the circus," Daryl reminded him. "Remember? You said you's gonna take me to the circus today."

"Ooooh, riiiight!" his da' had exclaimed, grinning down at him. At the look in his eyes, young Daryl had felt his insides grow cold and fear sent tingles prickling up his spine. "Little Daryl boy 'ere wantsta go t' the goddamn circus an' see all o' tha fucken animals. Is that it, boy? You wanna see th' fucken animals?"

Daryl's eyes had pricked with tears, but if there was anything Lonnie hated most in the world, it was seeing one of his boys cry. Not because it made him hurt inside of his dead heart, but because boys weren't supposed to cry; it was a weakness, and Dixon boys weren't allowed to be weak. So, Daryl did his best to keep his features neutral and stared straight ahead as his da' busted out in laughter.

"Or wait," he said suddenly, still laughing at Daryl's expense, "maybe yer wantin' t' go to tha circus so you c'n join all o' tha freaks, is tha' it? You wanna shack up wit th' fucken bearded lady, or the goat boy? Hm? Is tha' why your nancy-ass wants t' go to tha circus, like some little brat still suckin' on his mama's titties?"

Daryl had shaken his head slowly, trying to keep his face impassive; working to keep the tears at bay.

Suddenly, his dad's mood went sour, and he leaned down in Daryl's face.

"You sure do got a' ugly look on yer ugly face, boy."

"No sir," Daryl said, trying to smooth out his features.

"You gonna cry?" Lonnie asked him, tilting his head to the side as he watched a single tear streak its way down Daryl's cheek.

It took a split second for Lonnie to smack Daryl in the face so hard that the whole kitchen chair flipped over with him in it.

It was after that, Daryl had gotten wise to his daddy's games. He'd never asked to go anywhere else ever again. And the next weekend, when Lonnie Dixon found a bag of half-eaten cotton candy under the bathroom sink, Daryl had paid for it dearly. He'd never forget the feel of the belt buckle biting into his flesh and the way the cotton candy had melted when Lonnie had thrown it onto the floor and pissed all over it.

Since then, he'd had a general disliking for all things carnival, and as he threaded his way through the dense crowds as a grown man, he could tell that festivals weren't much further up on his list.

Finally, Bob and Daryl found Oscar and his family mulling around near the fountain in the center of the town square. Bertha was yelling at two of their smaller kids, who were leaned halfway into the fountain and were splashing each other with the freezing water.

"If you don't get your hands out of that water now, I am going to knock both of your heads together!" she shouted at them. Daryl watched as her threat fell on empty ears, and Oscar had to pull them both apart and away from the fountain. But then, Bertha was there to dry off both of their little hands so that they didn't get sick, and one of them hugged her before running off to antagonize a different sibling.

Daryl wondered if he'd ever get used to the way that normal people parented their children; without the beating and the screaming. Hell, if he'd played in the fountain and ignored his da' at that age, he'd probably have found himself held under the water until his lungs were about to burst; Lonnie Dixon's idea of just teaching Daryl a lesson.

Oscar was always so outrageous and overwhelming in nature, Daryl hadn't really ever thought about the fact that he was raising four little human beings. Watching Oscar grin at one of his miscreants as he caught the kid trying to steal money out of his brother's pocket only made Daryl garner a little more respect for the man and his patience, though.

Awhile later, the guys found themselves seated on large logs that had been chopped and arranged around one of many bonfires that had been lit for the occasion. Daryl wasn't sure whose idea it had been to grab food first, but since he'd forgotten to eat all day, he'd been hungry and thankful. He sat quietly, taking a bite of his third hot dog and relaxing against the hot blaze of the flames near him.

So far, he'd been there over an hour, and their ranks had swelled in number as more guys from the shop joined them, some bringing along other friends or clusters of broads; but so far, he saw no sign of Beth or any of her core people.

Daryl was barely aware of the lively, drink-induced conversations being tossed around him as he let his attention roam the crowds, keeping his eyes peeled for a hint of light blonde hair.

Suddenly, a woman's voice called out from next to him, "And who is this we have here?"

He stuffed the last chunk of his hotdog into his mouth and chewed rudely as he turned and glanced at the girl who'd invaded his personal space.

She was actually a woman, he realized, probably his age or pushing thirty, he couldn't tell. Her face was caked in makeup, with dark, heavily-lined eyes and bright red lips; he could actually see where she'd drawn them on outside of her own natural lip shape to make them look fuller. Her hair was blonde and curled, but it didn't even sway when she moved, there was so much hairspray keeping it in line. She bit her lip at him as she grinned, but her expression was suggestive, and it made his skin crawl. This was exactly the kind of girl that he'd walked in on Merle banging a time or two.

"That's Daryl," Ian supplied, grinning. He had his arm around a trashy brunette wearing a skimpy skirt and a shirt that didn't even cover her entire stomach, despite the fact that it was below forty degrees outside. "He don't talk much."

And didn't that just sum him up perfectly?

Daryl scooted away from the broad still leering at him and took a pull from his beer, hoping that'd be the end of it. But then he saw her follow him from the corner of his eye. This bitch couldn't take a hint.

"I don't mind it if ya don't talk much, sugar. Mosta my hobbies don't really have a lotta conversation, y'know what I mean?" She asked, looking him over with that stupid grin still plastered to her face.

"Be careful around Daryl, honey," Ian warned her. "We're pretty sure he bites."

"Well, aren't you quite tha catch," she said, not taking her eyes off of Daryl.

He, meanwhile, choked on his beer as he felt her rub her hand up his thigh. Without forethought, his hand lashed out and snatched her wrist in a vice grip. She squeaked in surprise and pain, and then recoiled a little in fear when Daryl snarled at her, "Do. Not. Touch. Me."

He released her wrist as she was pulling back, and she lost her balance a little, falling off of the log she'd been perched on.

"What's yer problem, asshole?" her friend shouted at Daryl as she rushed over to help the blonde off of the ground.

He glared at both of them and tensed up, waiting for someone to come at him.

Instead, Oscar came over, laughing at the situation. "Ian tried to warn you Daryl wasn't for messin' with. That's your own fault, chicka. Why don't you scamper off and find someone else to fuck with, huh?"

"Fuck you!" the brunette yelled at Oscar, flipping him the bird. But then she and her friend gathered their purses and stomped off, loudly mouthing every swear word they knew under the sun. Ian scrambled off to follow them after shooting a dirty look in Daryl's direction.

"You don't want to be messin' with chicks like that, homie. One prick and your dick is like to fall off. Nasty hoes," Oscar said, waving them off.

For once, Daryl was thankful for Oscar's propensity to get into everyone else's business, despite the fact that he didn't need to be warned about girls like that. They fit his brother's idea of a perfect girl: Loud, leggy and loose.

Over the years, Daryl had grown up and he'd gotten more used to people occasionally touching him. He didn't like it at all, but he'd finally gotten to the point where he didn't flip out over it. As a child, the only time anyone's skin came into contact with his was when he was being slapped, punched, pushed, or beaten. There were no hugs or warm embraces; that wasn't what Dixon's did.

As he grew older, he realized that girls, especially the ones Merle liked, were dumb enough to think that he wanted their hands all over him, and forward enough to do it. Having some dumb broad rub her hand down his arm or across the back of his neck had always made his skin crawl; his adrenaline spiked, and his fight kicked in. It wasn't long before Merle's people knew that you didn't touch Daryl.

He hated being fucking touched.

But still, he'd done his best to temper himself and pause before reacting whenever someone inevitably bumped into him or grabbed his shoulder to get his attention. It happened over the years. Being around Oscar had helped a lot, too. The man was just touchy, even though he never meant any harm. Daryl had gotten used to the occasional slap on the back or tap on the shoulder. Having someone's hand just on him was too hard to handle, though.

Until Beth.

In fact, having Oscar pin Daryl's arms to his sides and swing him around in a hug last week would normally have triggered a fucking meltdown. But it hadn't; Daryl had braced himself against the onslaught of memories, and remembered to breathe as he calmed himself down from it. Oscar meant him no harm; he'd actually been happy to see Daryl after his absence at the shop.

He felt like he had Beth to thank for that.

What it was about her, he wasn't sure, but Beth's skin had never felt wrong against his. He often felt like he wasn't really supposed to be touching her, but only because it made him anxious and dangerous; like an ornery kid picking up all of the glass stuff in a fancy-ass store. Something is bound to get broken.

Ian eventually made it back to their spot with both girls in tow, although they looked grumpy and disgusted when they got within sight of Daryl again. He hadn't mean to grab the girl's wrist or squeeze it so tightly, but he doubted he'd actually hurt her. She was probably more put-out that he hadn't taken warmly to her sexual advances. If the crowd of men she ran in were anything like Ian, she probably didn't get turned down very often.

He ignored their pointed glares from across the flames and continued sipping on his beer. It had already been too long of a fucking night for him.

Just then, he heard a squeal off to his right, and Bob was nearly plowed over as Sasha ran over and jumped on him.

"We've been looking everywhere for you!" She exclaimed, kissing Bob on the mouth.

As Daryl looked passed their uncomfortable display of affection, he finally caught the first sight of her all week.

Beth stood a little apart from Tyreese and his wife, smiling down at Oscar's two little girls, who were squealing and petting a tiny little piglet that Beth was holding in her hands. She laughed as the piglet squealed along with them, and squirmed like he wanted down. Her bangs had fallen over one of her eyes, although the rest of her hair was pinned back in some sort of concoction with twists and braids, with the majority of it falling down her back in waves.

Even from the distance he was sitting, Daryl took in every tiny detail. She'd changed her nails since he last saw her; instead of red, they were painted a light pink. She had on a simple outfit, too; jeans that sculpted to her legs, a pair of black knee-high boots, and a red oversized sweater that hung slightly off of one shoulder. Underneath it was a black tanktop, judging by the strap he could see.

She looked cold with her whole neck exposed to the elements, but Daryl could only assume that the purple material wrapped around the little piglet was Beth's scarf. She'd always sacrifice her own comfort if it helped out someone, or something, in need.

Just then, the trashy girl from before stopped right next to Daryl, crossing her arms over her chest as she followed his line of sight.

Once she spotted Beth, she snorted disdainfully. "Oh, right. You keep right on dreamin', honey."

He felt his face start to burn, and gritted his teeth as she bent down to put her face by his ear. Not touching him, he noticed, but still closer than he liked. "You go ahead an' act like yer better than the rest of us, but I c'n promise you one thang: That little blonde prissy ain't gonna have eyes for no dirty redneck like you."

Daryl glared at the bitch as she stalked off, her long, bare legs nearly blue from the cold. He kind of hoped she froze to death in her stupidity.

He didn't know her from Adam, but he knew that he fucking hated her. He hated the way she looked, he hated the way she thought she could use him, and he hated the way she practically tried to fuck him with her eyes.

But the thing he hated the most, was the fact that she'd been able to voice the very fear that had been bouncing around in his skull from the beginning.

He just didn't see a way in which a spirited, beautiful woman like Beth could end up happy with a damaged redneck asshole like him.

The odds of it were against him, and Dixon's had never been known for their luck.