Page 51 of Desert Rain
He looked past me toward the house. “Regan’s up.”
My stomach dropped.
I turned.
Sure enough, Regan stood on the front porch in leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, messy hair piled on top of her head,and the expression of a woman who had woken up and chosen violence. One hand on her hip. One eyebrow raised. The entire weight of her disapproval aimed directly at me.
I lifted a hand weakly. “Morning.”
She stared at my packed truck. Then at Bandit. Then at me. Then at Mason.
“You tried to sneak out.”
“I was going to leave a note.”
“No, you weren’t.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
Fair.
Regan came down the steps barefoot like the cold ground personally feared her. “You were going to leave before sunrise in a broken truck with a serial killer cat and a hangover.”
“I’m not hungover.”
My head pulsed once behind my eyes.
Regan pointed at my face. “Liar.”
Mason leaned back against the front of my truck, arms crossed, looking like a man enjoying justice in real time.
I shot him a look. “You can stop looking so entertained.”
“I’m not entertained.”
“You’re visibly entertained.”
Regan stopped in front of me. “Inside.”
“I need to get to Santa Fe.”
“You need eggs.”
“I need my apartment keys.”
“You need coffee first.”
“I don’t have time for a whole intervention.”
Regan smiled. Sweet. Terrifying. “Oh, honey. This is not the whole intervention.”
Behind her, Amber opened the front door wrapped in a blanket, hair wild, mascara slightly smudged under one eye. “What’s happening?”
Regan didn’t look away from me. “She tried to run.”
Amber gasped like I had betrayed a blood oath.
“I did not run.”
