When breakfast was over, Georgie excused herself to make some phone calls and Ed mumbled something about going back to bed. Brandon let them go, wanting some time alone with Amy. He ran water in the sink for the dishes.
“You don’t need to help,” Amy said. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do.”
“You’ve been cooking and caring for all of us,” he said. “The least I can do is help clean.”
She flushed and continued to clear the table. “All right. Thank you.”
Knowing more about her past explained things he’d noticed about her. Her posture was rigid straight, the same kind of posture drilled into soldiers from day one. Her movements were quick and efficient, grabbing all the cupboard items at once, before reaching for the fridge items. She had food on the table without anyone having to wait so her instincts and organisational skills were second to none. Had her mother taught her, or was it training from her father?
Major Hammond had a reputation for being a hard arse and a stickler for order. Sherlock had been much the same, not a thing out of place. His fastidious nature was one reason for his nickname. If that was Amy’s upbringing, he didn’t envy her.
He washed the dishes, placing them on the drying rack to drain and when the table was clear, Amy towelled them dry.
He was out of practice with small talk. Most of the past ten years he’d been surrounded by teammates and on the odd occasion he dated, talking wasn’t what he’d got up to. His mother would be appalled at how bad his skills were. She’d always insisted they knew how to converse, from making them call and submit orders, to sitting at the table when her friends came to visit and volunteering them for various activities at the annual fund-raising events.
“Is cooking for the family part of your job?”
“No, but I used to help Beth. The guest liaison wasn’t busy with only six campsites, so I wanted to do more to earn my keep.”
Integrity. He liked that. “Did Darce show you around the station?”
She glanced at him. “Are you trying to figure out how well I know the property?” The accusation was light, a little uncertain and he grimaced.
“No. Just making conversation.” He sighed. After last night he doubted she was the culprit. “I don’t think you were involved in my parents’ deaths.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Darcy showed me all the key areas, told me how to get to the beach, and Bill was teaching me how to ride since my car wouldn’t handle some of the dirt tracks.”
“Horses or motorbikes?”
“Both.”
“I could take you out some time. Continue the lessons.” What on earth possessed him to offer? He wasn’t sticking around. Speaking of which, he needed to call his Lieutenant Colonel and ask for more time off.
Her hesitation was brief. “That would be lovely if you have time.”
He’d make time. He dried his hands on the towel. “I need to make a couple of calls, but if Darcy isn’t back by the time I’m done, maybe we can go riding this morning.”
“Sure. Thanks for your help.”
He grabbed his baseball cap from the hook and headed outside where the sun rose well over the horizon, warming the land. He ducked under the shade of the machinery shed and dialled his commanding officer.
“Brandon. How are things?”
“I’d like to request some more time off, sir,” he said.
“Something wrong?”
Dobby would understand. “The police believe my parents’ car was tampered with,” he said. “I need some time to figure out why.”
Dobby was quiet for a long moment. “Got any ideas?”
“A few.”
There was some shuffling of paper in the background. “I can give you until the end of the month.”
Three weeks. Hopefully that would be long enough. “Thanks, sir.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
