Page 22 of Danger

Her arms cross. “Are you gonna help me grab these eggs, or do you only lend a hand during yourspecial visits?”

She pushes me like she forgot who I am.

Brave girl.

I shouldn’t care that she saw. Shouldn’t care how long she stood there. But I do.

She watched me like she was intrigued. Maybe even into it.

My brother’s ex.

Now that’s messy.

A corner of my mouth lifts. “Why don’t you start walkin’ to the coop, smart mouth.”

We head toward the chickens. She keeps pretending not to look my way—and she’s failing.

“You know,” she says, “men in Weston… shocker! They’re all the same.”

“That so?” I kick a bit of straw out of my path. “World wouldn’t survive two of me.”

“I can just barely handle the one,” she fires back. “Now I’m stuck with that—” She waves a hand vaguely in my direction. “—mental trauma.”

I grin even though I know I ought to back off.

Trouble’s ex. Off-limits. End of story.

But her expression from a minute ago is stuck in my head, and apparently I make bad decisions when I’m curious.

“Still thinkin’ about me, huh? See something you like in there?”

“Actually, I’m thinking about bleaching my eyeballs,” she snaps.

We reach the coop, and I push the screen door open, nodding for her to go first. She hesitates—barely—then lifts her shoulders and walks in like she knows what she’s doing.

She reaches for an egg, way too close to a bad-tempered hen. The bird flaps, feathers snapping, and she jerks back with a yelp.

I step in behind her—my chest against her back—and slide one arm around her waist to steady her. My other hand covers hers completely, guiding it toward the nest.

She goes still, but the pulse on her neck is jumping.

"Easy," I whisper against her ear, letting my lips brush the shell. "They can sense when you're nervous."

She carefully grabs an egg.

I lean in closer, lowering my voice to something rougher, darker. “Or when you’re still a little worked up from something you just saw.”

Her inhale stutters. She snatches a few more eggs like she’s punishing them.

“Can we please just go now?”

I smile—slow, knowin’.

Hell. This little game might be more fun than I thought.

Mama’s kitchen is the only place in the county where you can get a slice of pie with a side of locally sourced drama. She’s pouring herself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc first thing after I walk in, and it’s not the cheap stuff either. Which means she’s trying to impress someone.

Fisher’s already at the table, feet swinging two inches off the floor, eyes glued to the first plate she’s set out. That kid can smell food from a quarter mile, and the second he sees me, he grins wide. “Dad! Nana made that dip you like.”