He’d be happy to help out with that. He was just that nice of a guy. “I’ll get started on cleanup.”
“It’s okay.” Rachel seemed to fight a yawn as she waved him off. “I’ll deal with it.”
“Nah.” Travis didn’t exactly have plans. He’d probably even go home, sleep, and hit the office tomorrow. For a bit, anyway. Then he’d go flying. Not the corporate jet; that thing was a beast.
“It’s really fine.” Rachel yawned and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “I’ll leave most of it for tomorrow, anyway.”
“I’m here now.” Travis looked over the mess that seemed as though the third-graders had gone to war with a bunch of slime-wielding wombats…and the wombats won.
“I don’t need help.” Her gaze traveled around the mess, and her face fell. Clearly, she needed help.
He reached for a puddle of slime chilling out on the end table. The slithery mess fell through his fingers. “I can scrub slime.”
“I said—” She shook her head. “I’ve got it.”
He let the slime fall to the glass-topped wood. “You sure do like to do things yourself, don’t you?”
“Yup.” She wiped the slime into her hand, sauntering to the nearest bin and dumping it. It stuck between her fingers.
“Why?” He grabbed a Kleenex and handed it to her for the residual slime.
“That way I know it’s done right.” Two swipes and she tossed the tissue into the bin with the slime.
Mom and Dad slid open the door from the yard. Mom stilled, clearly—for the first time—taking in the gravity of the mess.
“How can I help?” Mom asked, rolling up her sleeves.
“I’ve got it,” Rachel replied, wiping up another puddle of goop. “Seriously. You all can head out.”
“Rachel likes to do things by herself.” Travis pressed his lips together.
“We should call Gavin, make him get his tush back here and help with this.” Evelyn looked at Bob. “Call your son.”
Rachel pointed to Bob. “Do not do that. I finally got the kids in his car; I don’t know if I can do that twice.”
Mom heaved a sigh, grabbing a waste bin and tossing empty cups and plates in. “You know, Rachel, Gavin talks about you all the time. Why you can’t make things right between you, I’ll never understand. The amount of stubborn in the lot of you stresses out my cat.”
Travis rubbed at his forehead. Things never went well when his mother brandished the feelings of her nonexistent feline.
“You don’t have a cat,” Travis said from the side of his mouth.
“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t have.” Mom huffed, puffing up like she did when she wasn’t getting her way and Dad probably wouldn’t step in to remedy the injustice.
“Gavin talks about the boys, Evelyn,” Rachel supplied emphatically, putting her hand out for the trash can. “And as I’ve said many, many times, Gavin and I are great friends, and that’s all.” The point would have been well made, except Rachel yawned again.
Travis gave her extra points for the certainty with which she spoke, but the yawn totally mucked up the delivery.
Hell, if she weren’t careful, she’d fall asleep and tip right over on the porch.
Mom released her grip on the bin, letting Rachel take it.
“Talking about the boys is talking about you.” Mom ignored the rest of what Rachel had said, like the pretend cat she liked to go on and on about.
“It’s really not,” Rachel said.
Travis shuddered at the look on Mom’s face. Rachel clearly needed to make this point, because usually she just stepped aside when Mom was on a tear.
Mom wasn’t used to being challenged. Hell, she’d been talking about the pretend cat since before Travis could remember.
