Page 70 of Desert Rain
Amber, wrapped in sunglasses and judgment, leaned against the porch post. “Honestly, it’s impressive how much anxiety you packed under one tarp.”
“I have field equipment in there.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Regan said.
“My laptop.”
“We’ll take care of it.”
“My clothes.”
“Also covered.”
“My cat.”
Bandit screamed from the cab like he’d heard his name and wished to enter a formal objection into the record.
Sienna threw a hand toward him. “See?”
Regan came down the porch steps with that look on her face. The one that made grown men suddenly remember errands in other counties. Barefoot, coffee in hand, messy hair piled on top of her head, she still somehow moved like the whole desert had agreed she was in charge.
“I’ve got you,” Regan said.
Sienna’s mouth opened.
Regan lifted one finger. “Don’t argue yet. Save your strength for Mason. He’s more annoying.”
“Thank you,” I muttered.
“You’re welcome.” Regan looked back at Sienna. “We’re here two more days. When we head back to Santa Fe, we’ll tow your truck in. Properly. Not with a prayer and a shoelace, which seems to be your current maintenance plan.”
Sienna’s chin lifted. “Dolores has gotten me very far.”
“Dolores has trauma,” Amber said.
“She’s a warrior.”
“She’s a liability,” I said.
Sienna’s eyes snapped to me. “No one asked you, shirtless Triple-A.”
Savannah made a sound behind her coffee. Amber grinned. Regan looked like she was trying very hard not to encourage this because she had pretend morals before breakfast.
I glanced down at myself, then back at Sienna. “You complaining?”
Her cheeks colored.
Not much.
Enough.
“No,” she said too fast. “I’m documenting.”
“Yeah?” I stepped closer before I thought better of it. “What’s the report say?”
Her eyes flicked over my chest. Fast. Angry. Hungry, if I let myself believe what I shouldn’t. Then she looked me dead in the face.
“Excessive structural confidence. Probable ego-related instability.”
