Protecting What's Mine(46)

Still, she preferred to mope in solitude. Now, she had a dog that was sniffing the butt of a firefighter with a lopsided mustache and a yard full of half the town’s fire department.

“Thanks,” she said again. Then remembered her manners. “Do you guys want something to drink?” She could do tap water. Or maybe some iced green tea.

“Nope. We brought our own cooler. Now, we just need you to go on inside, elevate that foot, and prepare to be waited on.”

“I don’t need the fire department to wait on me,” she insisted.

“We’re the yard and maintenance crew. The waiting-on crew comes later. You might want to grab a nap to mentally prepare or at least start drinking now.”

She thought about the Tom Collins Mrs. Washington promised her.

“I don’t nap,” Mack told him.

He grinned. “Suit yourself.”

She turned toward the house, then paused again. “I’m being rude. I’m tired. Everything hurts. And I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m sorry for being a dick,” she said.

“You earned it. You go on and feel any damn way you want. Just think of us as Santa’s elves. We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

“Thanks for all this,” she said. “Really.”

“My wife and girls made Amish cinnamon bread. It’s on your table.”

Mack paused again to make small talk with Skyler Robinson, the rookie and Dr. Russell Robinson’s daughter. Then openly admired the gleaming windows and squeal-less front door before finally, finally gimping inside.

She flopped down on the couch. Sunshine, having greeted all her friends, climbed up next to her. Maybe a nap wasn’t such a terrible idea.

It was her last thought before the buzz of the doorbell woke her. Sunshine hurled herself off the couch and threw herself at the front door, yelping enthusiastically.

“Vicious guard dog, huh?” Mack dragged her aching self to the door and opened it.

Two women, both near carbon copies of the other, grinned at her. Blonde, pretty, dimpled chins. They bore a striking resemblance to—

“Hi! I’m Christa. This is Jillian. We’re Linc’s sisters.”

Uh-oh.

Sunshine greeted them and generously accepted their pets and compliments.

“Hi, I’m Gwiffin.” A very small Asian kid poked his head between the women. He was missing a front tooth. “This is my brother Mikey. He’s not supposed to be here ’cause he’s usually in school. But Mom said we couldn’t leave him at home.”

Mikey was a few years older than Griffin—unless it really was Gwiffin. He was a little Latino studmuffin with thick curly hair, a fake tattoo on his skinny bicep, and brown eyes that looked like they might be able to charm anyone into anything. Except today they were painfully bloodshot.

He sneezed three times in rapid succession.

“It’s allergies. I swear. Not anything infectious,” Christa, the slightly taller of the two, insisted. “Now, let’s see where I can set this up.” She patted the large folding table leaning against her leg.

“What’s happening?” Mack asked, stepping back as the party entered.

“Well, Chris here is a chiropractor. We heard you took a pretty good tumble, so you’re probably pretty jacked up,” Jillian said, surveying the living room. “Meanwhile, I have no special skills. So while you’re being adjusted, I’m going to fix you lunch and do whatever else needs doing. Laundry? I’m great at laundry. And I’ll grill you on what the hell to do with Mr. Sneezy Pants over there. His seasonal allergies are getting worse every year.”

Mack opened her mouth, but no one was listening. Christa set up the table, a fancy portable chiropractic thing in the middle of the living room. “Bag, nephew,” she said, snapping her fingers at Griffin.

With a grunt, the kid hefted a big black bag into his aunt’s hand. “Good work. Now, turn on Dr. Mack’s TV and go find your brother a box of tissues.”

On cue, Mikey wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

“Hop up here, Dr. Mack. You can tell me all about your intentions with my brother while I see what we’re working with.”

Groggy from the nap. Not her sharpest thanks to the pain. Mack thought about arguing and then gave up. She flopped face down on the table and prayed for it all to be over and everyone to be gone.

“Whew,” Christa said. “I thought you might be one of those doctors who calls chiropractic hippie woo-woo garbage.”

Mack gave a weak laugh. “Not saying I am. But at this point, I can’t feel any worse. So have at it.”

She heard Jillian washing dishes in the kitchen, heard the kids squabble over what show to watch. The tip-tap of Sunshine’s toenails on the hardwood.

Christa’s hands pressed down on her low back, and Mack groaned.

“My brother seems to be smitten with you,” she said, moving her hands methodically over Mack’s back and hips.

“Smitten?” Jillian called from the kitchen. “Is that a new interrogation technique? Old-ladying up your language?”

“Shut up, Jillybean.”

“Mom! Aunt Chris said shut up,” Griffin yelled.

“I heard. Bad Aunt Chris!”

“Back to the interrogation,” Christa insisted. “Deep breath in.”