Page 94 of River Wild

Carrie

The bang of River’s front door catches my attention.

The sight of Macy leaving his house does nothing to improve my mood. The mood I’ve been in since yesterday, after seeing River at the store.

I guess Macy’s doing house visits now.

Makes sense if they’re together.

I ignore the pinch in my chest that I feel. It’s just … I know River’s a complete and utter tool. But he does have a good heart deep down in there somewhere. And I’m just not sure about Macy. I think she’s … self-motivated and conniving.

Not that it’s any of my business.

I watch her lithely body slide into a little red Ford that’s parked behind his truck on his driveway. I don’t lithely slide anywhere nowadays with my ever-growing bump.

I hear her engine come on, and I quickly turn my attention back to the trunk of my car, so I don’t have to acknowledge her as she drives by.

I know I’m being childish. I’m just really not in the mood for Macy today.

I’m tired and cranky.

I was up most of the night with heartburn from the food I ate yesterday, as I’d predicted I would be. Didn’t stop me from eating it though, did it? The diner was super busy this morning. I barely had time to stop. And then, after my shift at the diner finished, I went straight to the hardware store to pick up the paint I’d ordered because they’d called to let me know it was in. I’d finally decided on a color—Vanilla Frost. It’s a neutral color. I thought I’d keep the walls a fresh, plain color. I’m going to get some wall decals with cute animals and put them up and then brighten it up with accessories. Also, while I was at the hardware store, I got some sheets to protect the floor, paint rollers, and brushes. Figured I’d start on the painting this afternoon.

The sound of Macy’s car driving past allows me to move.

I lift one of the paint cans out of the trunk of my car and feel a sharp ache in my back.

“Ouch!” I press my free hand to my back, against the ache.

“Carrie, are you okay?”

I turn, startled, to see River moving quickly toward me.

He takes the paint can from my hand, allowing me to press both hands to my back to stretch it out. He puts the paint can back in the trunk of my car.

“Let’s get you inside. You need to sit down.”

“I’m fine,” I snap. “It’s just a bit of a backache. It’s to be expected with pregnancy.”

“Sure. And carrying paint cans isn’t exactly going to help.”

“Just exactly what business is it of yours?” I bite, finally looking up at him.

He blanches, but his expression quickly recovers. “It’s not.” His voice is low. “But I, uh …” He shifts on his feet. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was nervous. “You just … you have to think of the baby.”

“Are you saying I’m not thinking of my baby? That I’m somehow putting my baby’s health at risk?”

His brows draw together. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

My hands go to my hips. Then, I remember that they don’t fit there anymore, so I cross them over my expanding chest. “Then, what are you saying?”

“Just …” He takes a measured breath and then blows it out, equally as controlled. “Just that you shouldn’t be carrying around cans of paint.”

“Well, I don’t have anyone else to do it.” I shrug. “So, my options are limited to … well, me.”

“I can help you.”

“Huh?” I stop and give him a confused look. “Why would you? We’re not friends.”