Page 15 of A Hard Habit to Break

“The cat,” he clarified, though they both knew he meant more. “Destructive tendencies.”

“Actually”—Rachel stepped closer, still cradling the now-docile feline—“ClamClam is an excellent judge of character. She only attacks people who deserve it.”

They were standing toe-to-toe now, the cat purring between them like some kind of furry chaperone. Noah was acutely aware of every breath Rachel took, of the exact distance between their bodies, of the fact that thirteen years hadn’t diminished his awareness of her one bit.

“Well, then,” he drawled, allowing his gaze to drift deliberately from her eyes to her mouth and back again, “I guess I had it coming.”

Suddenly there was a very audible flapping of wings before an ear-splitting “Paaa cawww.”

“Geezuz, what in the Foghorn Leghorn?” Benji jumped backward, narrowly avoiding the aggressive Rhode Island Red circling his feet.

“Dad, what’s up with your chicken?”

“For real,” Benji exclaimed, watching the crowing bird with a side-eye. “What kind of rooster pulls a sneak attack?” Benji jerked again, dodging a sharp beak.

“That’s Ricky. Well, he was until your stepsister, my Amarie—she calls him Pretty Ricky because of his huge sickle feather.”

Rachel glanced at the long, arced feather parading over the smaller tail feathers; it was impressive. But she couldn’t ignore Ricky’s bad behavior.

“He’s terrible,” Rachel said.

“On the contrary. He’s protective,” her father defended. He’s got his eye on a hen, and an unknown man is too close.” Her father eyed Benji. “I told you about my rooster,” he gestured toward Benji. “I got mine. You got yours.”

Noah all but bit his tongue to keep his tone peaceable. “Ricky’s terrible, but old ClamClam there is a good girl?” he grumbled.

At the maligning of her name, ClamClam expressed her displeasure with a “MRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOWWWWWWW!” that sent Ricky on the run.

“This,” Rachel snapped, pointing to her father and Ricky, “is a family matter. So, mind your firefighting business. Not mine.”

Something flickered in Rachel’s expression. A brief flash of the old heat they’d once shared, before she took a deliberate step backward.

“Back at you, Rachel,” he rasped, unsure why her dismissal stung.

“You can add ‘cat attack victim’ to your résumé alongside ‘sole committee chair,’” she said crisply. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve been driving for hours, and I’d like to get home.”

“That’s your fault,” Noah shot back. “This is Service. You could’ve hopped on a first-class flight from California, and anyof your neighbors would’ve gladly scooped you up from the airport.”

Rachel’s spine snapped into place like an erector set. “Not that it’s information you need to know, but I shipped the truck along with my tools, neighbor.”

That last bit had a mountain of sarcasm heaped on top. She’d basically told him to butt out twice in a matter of minutes. Fine, he got the message. And, he had one of his own.

“The goats need to go,” Noah commanded.

“They’re moving,” Matthew said.

“For right now,” Bethany interjected, already shepherding the animals to the side of the road.

Noah watched as Rachel returned to her truck, murmuring to the cat. She handed the animal to Benji through the passenger window before turning back.

“I’m only here for the wedding,” she called loud enough for him to hear, but not looking back. “Two weeks, then I’m gone. You don’t have to worry about me interfering with your plans for Service.”

“I used to take you at your word,” Noah found himself saying.

Rachel paused, one hand on her truck door. “You still can.”

“Yeah, you were always good at letting me know what you didn’t want,” he replied.

Her eyes flashed with something dangerous. “And always right about it, too.”