Bella refused to back down. Her gaze slid to Natasha's teddy-bear socks.
"Very cute. Really suits you."
Natasha flashed all her teeth like a little wolf, hands raised like she was about to strangle Bella. Bella just shrugged, shoulders shaking with laughter. Completely unfazed.
The abandoned waste barrel yielded little info. Contents were thick, sticky, slime-green.
Samples collected. Sent to a lab in Phoenix. As a small-town sheriff, Samantha could only do so much.
Leaving the follow-up to her balding deputy Pete, Samantha brought Charlie and Bella to a local bar.
In the US—makeup at fourteen, dating at sixteen, carry a gun at eighteen. But no alcohol until twenty-one.
So the two sheriffs drank beer. The two girls got stuck with soft drinks.
Natasha shot Bella a look. See? Your treatment is the same as mine.
Casual chat. Atmosphere wasn't bad.
Partway through, Samantha switched into "stepmother mode" and asked Bella about school.
"How were your grades in high school? Will Stanford be too much pressure?"
Bella was secretly proud. She'd gone to university in her previous life. American high school coursework? Please. Child's play.
"I did pretty well. All A's."
Natasha mimicked her tone, dragging out the words. "Yeees... all A's."
Samantha swatted her daughter, then looked at Bella warmly. "That's excellent. Better than this one—her exam scores are always a mess. I never know what she's thinking. Since you're good friends, help me keep an eye on her."
Bella grinned, slipping into big-sister mode as she slung an arm over Natasha's shoulders. "I'll supervise her. You two talk—we'll step outside."
Being a third wheel was boring. Time to escape.
The moment they pushed open the bar door and left their parents behind, they immediately reverted.
"You dared call me small!"
"You dared laugh at my socks?!"
"Hmph. I won't stoop to a child's level."
"Who are you calling a child?!"
"This is the Prosperity you were bragging about? God." Bella pointed at a cactus about half a person tall—dry, shriveled, looking utterly depressed. "What part of this town is prosperous?"
"It used to be prosperous."
"And when I asked if I should dress nicely, you said sure! Now look—everyone here is staring at me weird. If I'd known, I would've changed!"
Natasha burst into delighted laughter. Earned another glare from Bella.
As they bickered down the street, a fair-skinned middle-aged man walked toward them. Simple plaid shirt, jeans, leather shoes. Nothing about him screamed "wealth."
"Hi, Natasha," he greeted gently.
Natasha flicked him a brief glance and nodded. Her version of hello.
His eyes drifted to Bella—puzzled by the unfamiliar face—but he stayed polite. Nodded and walked on.
"That's the pretty-boy you were talking about?" Bella whispered once he was far enough.
"Yep. Supposedly my mom's first love. Failed in the big city, came back for her."
Bella turned to look at him again.
This was the guy from a "family with a mine"? Didn't look rich at all. His looks couldn't even beat Charlie's—her dad was steadier, more reliable, and honestly more handsome.
Full confidence in her bargain-bin dad.
She wasn't worried about Charlie. Wasn't worried about Samantha. She was worried about... her clothes.
Glance at the dusty ground. Then at her high heels and short skirt. This outfit was tragically out of place. If she drove back to Phoenix to change, would there still be time?
"Don't say no. Hand me your keys." Natasha held out her hand.
Given how often she needed the truck lately, Bella had already reached an agreement with Shaw. The Truck Lady behaved well—aside from sneaking out at night to enjoy the breeze, she mostly slept quietly.
Bella tossed the keys and climbed into the passenger seat.
Natasha's driving was terrifying. Smooth—and fast.
"How exactly is this truck modified? And is that Jacob still in Forks?" Natasha asked.
Bella shook her head violently. "Nope. Not anymore."
Thank goodness Jacob had run off. If these two ever met... she'd be exposed for sure.
They passed a group of boys on motorcycles. They shouted greetings at Natasha, but she blasted past them.
"Your boyfriends?" Bella teased.
"No way. Just a bunch of kids."
They circled the town once, then handed the truck back to Charlie. What could two girls accomplish by driving around? Total waste. This masterpiece of a vehicle belonged with someone who actually needed it.
Charlie drove off happily, taking Samantha's mother around town.
"Let's ride a motorcycle. You know how?" Natasha asked once the girls were left without wheels.
Why did Americans love motorcycles so much? Jacob loved them. Natasha loved them. Even heroes she'd never met—Captain America, Cyclops, Wolverine—probably loved them too.
Bella didn't want to admit she couldn't ride. Made an excuse. "I'm wearing high heels. You expect me to ride like this?"
Natasha didn't think twice. "Then I'll take you. There's a canyon outside town—I like practicing there."
Bella climbed onto the back seat. Wrapped her arms around Natasha's slim waist.
Five minutes later, she understood everything.
"You did this on purpose! You're jealous of how pretty I am!"
Her hair was whipping everywhere in the scorching sun. No amount of skincare could fix this. She was furious.
"Aren't I getting blown around too? Feel the adrenaline!" Natasha pushed the motorcycle to its limit, blasting out of town.
If Natasha's car-driving skill was a five, her motorcycle skill—fueled by a slightly wild personality—was a perfect ten.
Hot wind slapped Bella's face. Collar filled with air. Dust flew everywhere—she ended up with an entire shoe full of sand.
To keep from falling, she had to cling tight to Natasha's waist.
Girls' clothes tended to be minimal—bare arms, bare midriffs, skin against skin. Natasha didn't seem to mind at all.
And just like that, the two of them shot out of town like a streak of lightning.