Sienna smiled then. Quick. Sharp. Victorious in the smallest, most infuriating way.
I should not have liked it.
I did.
She turned toward the truck, and I watched her climb into the cab to gather what she needed. The T-shirt stretched across her back when she leaned over the seat. Denim hugged her hips. Her hair slid over one shoulder, and she muttered to Bandit under her breath like the cat was a difficult coworker and not a feral criminal.
I looked away.
Too late.
Amber was watching me.
“Problem?” I asked.
She sipped her coffee. “Nope.”
“Say it.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face is loud.”
She smiled. “You’re in trouble.”
“I’m driving her to Santa Fe.”
“Sure.”
“That’s it.”
“Of course.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t start.”
Amber looked past me to Sienna, then back. “Oh, honey. You already did.”
Sienna climbed down from the truck with a backpack, a laptop sleeve, a toiletry bag, and the bottle of creamer tucked under her arm like contraband. She handed the creamer to Regan with grave seriousness.
“If this gets warm, I’ll survive,” she said. “But emotionally, there will be consequences.”
Regan accepted it. “I’ll guard it with my life.”
“And Bandit.”
“Bandit too.”
The cat screamed.
Regan looked toward the cab. “Mostly the creamer.”
For the first time that morning, Sienna laughed. Not big. Not relaxed. But real.
It hit me in the chest like something thrown from close range.
I picked up her backpack before I could do something dumber, like stare. “This all?”
She reached for it. “I can carry my own bag.”
