Taz watched her from the open door of his kitchen, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. Dirt shot like it was geysered out of the ground, hitting her face, hitting the ratty-looking things in her gardening basket. She dropped her trowel and began tunneling into the earth with her bare hands, more dirt whipping out, shooting onto the neatly kept grass. “Fuck this,” Taz growled. He reached her in seconds. Stood there, trembling. Closed his eyes. Don’t touch her, asshole. You can’t touch her. But it was hard, so freaking hard not to yank her off the ground and into his arms. “Jenny?” His voice was rough. He cleared his throat, balling his fists. Don’t scare her. She kept on digging. She probably hadn’t heard him. “Jenny, look at me, sweetheart.” A memory of a female voice mocking him for using the word ‘sweetheart’ came to him. Dharma, his friend Fred’s smoking new girlfriend. Yeah, she’d pointed out that using that word hadn’t suited him at all since he was such a bastard with women.
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