She glared at him. To think that she'd been having warm and fuzzy feelings about Lancelot, Ronan, whatever the hell he wanted to call himself! "I can imagine full well what they'd do, but I don't intend to be caught!" It took an effort to strangle her ire down to something manageable. "Fine," she hissed, "I'll leave but that damned pipe needs to be gone soon. There are people and animals downstream depending on that water. If it's not gone by the time that creek get dry-spell low, I will by God find myself a quarter stick of dynamite and blow it to kingdom come." She stared up at him with fierce, flashing eyes.
Then she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down into the brush as the glitter of light off metal and heavy, crunching footsteps heralded someone coming their way.