She clears her throat again. “Uhm, just one bag, but it’s not heavy, I can carry it myself.”
Guilt twists in my gut, and I clench my teeth. Kinley tells me all the time that I’m acting like an asshole, but most of the time I ignore her. This is one of those times I can feel her thinking it, and it makes me feel like a prick.
“We’ll wait for you right here,” Kinley says, her voice polite and sweet. As soon as the woman is at the back of her car, opening the hatch, she turns on me like a cat having its tail pulled and whisper-hisses. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Is it too hard to be nice?”
Shifting my eyes to her, I take a deep breath as I lift my cap off to scratch the bill against my head. “I’m sorry, I…” I don’t get to finish because the hatch slams closed in the back of the SUV, and the woman walks to the driver’s side to get some stuff from the inside.
When she steps to the front of her car with a duffel bag over one shoulder and a backpack over the other, Kinley says, “All set?”
She nods and walks past me to the passenger side of the truck. I set my cap back on my head and try to pull the duffel off her shoulder to help, but she clasps her hand around the strap, pulling away from me. Without looking at me, she defensively says, “I got it.”
It’s official. I’m a grade-A asshole.
Opening the back door for her, I stand back as she puts her things on the bench seat and climbs in. I get in the passenger front seat and wait patiently for Kinley to climb up and get comfortable, her big, round stomach barely fits behind the steering wheel.
Every time I go to physical therapy, my leg hurts so much after that I can barely drive back home, so Kinley has been driving me in my truck. She insisted. Her husband, Rhys, told her that when her foot can no longer reach the pedal because of her stomach, her driving days are over until the baby comes. He already doesn’t like that she takes me, but telling Kinley what to do never goes over well.
She gets situated and starts the truck as she looks in the rear-view mirror. “It’s not far, maybe ten minutes.”
We drive in silence for a few minutes before Kinley can’t take it anymore. “So, Nora, what do you do?”
She clears her throat again, and I wonder if it’s a tic. “I’m a freelance copy editor.”
“Oh! I’ve never known anyone who does that. What do you edit?”
Another shot of pain moves up my leg, and I grab my thigh just above the knee with a soft hiss. Grabbing it doesn’t help, but the controlled pain I cause with my fingertips around the muscle somehow feels better than the uncontrollable pain that seems to come right from my bone.
Kinley turns her head to look at me, and I can feel the pity and concern in her gaze. I avoid the look and stare forward as I cup my jaw with my hand and lean my elbow on the door.
There is silence for a moment before our passenger speaks up. “I edit mostly fiction.”
We’re getting closer to town, and traffic is picking up. Kinley signals to turn onto the main street.
“Everything? Or do you specialize in certain genres?”
“My preference is on the romance side, but I get some romantasies. I edit some non-fiction, but it’s usually hard to get into, so I let the author know if I don’t think it’s a good fit after our first conversation.”
Silence falls over the cab again. I can feel the worry Kinley is feeling for me, and it pisses me off. There’s also the nervous tension coming from the back seat.
Our passenger is definitely not much of a talker, but I’m okay with that.
When we get to the bed-and-breakfast, I get out to open her door for her, and she pauses before she walks away. Without looking at me, she quickly says, “Thank you for your help.”
Soft floral perfume tickles my nose, it’s pretty. Like her. It’s my turn to clear my throat as I nod and mumble, “Anytime.”
Guilt is sitting heavy on my shoulders for making her feel like a bother, but when I get back in the truck and another pain shoots through the steady throb, I forget about it.
When Kinley gets back in the truck, she lays into me. “I know you hurt and your life sucks right now, Tuck, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed to be your sister.” She practically huffs her disappointment before she straps her seatbelt across her small frame, tucking it under her belly.
Her head is swiveling back and forth to look for traffic as she backs out of the parking space, and when she puts the truck in gear, I can see irritation etched into every line on her face.
Taking a deep breath, I cup my chin and look out the window at the businesses whizzing by. “I know, I’m sorry. I was an asshole.”
Her irritation melts away, and her worried eyes glance at me. “Are you okay? Is it worse than usual?”
Pushing my palm up and down my thigh, kneading the muscles, I say, “It’s probably the weather. Don’t worry about it.”
She’s quiet until we pull off the highway onto the dark two-way road that leads to the ranch. Her slim fingers wrap around my arm. “I’m sorry I said I’m embarrassed to be your sister, that’s not true.”
