Arrogant Devil(41)
“So you decided to bake her a batch?” I ask, amused.
She bats my arm playfully. “Well, I just felt so bad for forgetting to give her the recipe. She really was such a dear and went on and on about how good they were. Plus, we got a new teller down at the bank, young girl—Patrick Smith’s daughter? Anyway, it was her first day and Meredith was real patient with her. Mr. Rogers had come in just before and was so snippy, so her nerves were jumbled. He nearly made her cry—”
“I’ll make sure Meredith gets the cookies,” I say, cutting her off so I don’t get trapped here talking to her for God knows how long.
“Oh, okay, I’ll let you get to it. Just remember that the recipe card is right there on top. Make sure she gets that.”
I nod. “Will do.”
“It’s real nice seeing you. Oh! And my business card is there too in case she has any questions about the baking…or banking!”
“Got it.”
“We’ll make sure she gets the cookies, Miss Dotty!” Chris calls from behind me.
“Thanks boys. I’m sure y’all have a big day ahead of you,” she says, waving and backing away. Then she thinks better of it and steps toward me, holding her hand up like she’s just thought of one more thing. “You know what? Just have her call me. It’ll be easier to walk her through the steps. My handwriting probably isn’t all that good.”
I tip my head, tell her approximately twenty times I’ll have Meredith call her, and then make a break for it. In Texas, people have a knack for turning a simple goodbye into an all-day affair.
When I make it back to the ranch, I pull my truck up right over near the shack so unloading won’t take so long. David and Chris offered to come back and help, but I turned them down. I’m not planning on doing any work today other than installing the air conditioner, and that’ll take me five minutes to set up on my own. I pop the tailgate and start unloading building supplies. Normally, I’d store everything in the barn, but the weather should hold and it’ll be more convenient to have everything at my fingertips when we get started tomorrow.
I expect Meredith to step outside to check on all the commotion, but I’m nearly finished unloading before the door opens.
I peer over at her from beneath the brim of my hat, jarred by her appearance. She’s still in her pajamas—one of my t-shirts with sleeping shorts creeping out from underneath. I open my mouth to demand—yet again—that she return my ill-gotten clothes, but then I glance up at her face. Normally, she’s glowing, one of those women with tan skin and a healthy complexion, like she just got back from a tropical vacation. This morning, however, her cheeks are splotchy and her eyes are a little red and puffy. She sniffs and crosses her arms over her chest.
“What are you doing out here?” she asks, her tone somewhere between annoyed and angry.
“Did I interrupt a call?” She’s clutching her cell phone in her right hand. It’s the first time I’ve seen her with the thing since she moved in. “I didn’t even know you had one of those.”
Even Edith carries hers around all day. She claims it’s so she can call me when she falls and breaks a hip, but we both know she’s addicted to Candy Crush. She’s the highest scorer among all her friends, and she can’t let the title slide. Also, she’s already had two hip replacements. At this point, if she falls, she’s liable to break whatever it is she lands on.
Meredith glances down as if just remembering the phone was in her hand. “Oh, no. It was Helen. She—” She pauses and shakes her head. “Anyway, no. You didn’t interrupt.”
I wonder if she’s upset because she had a bad phone call with Helen or if maybe she’s starting to have regrets about leaving her old life. Helen said it would only take a week or two before she realized her mistake and fled back home.
Either way, it’s not really my business.
I nod toward the stack of supplies. “I’m just unloading a few things. Got you—the shack—an A/C unit this morning.” Her gaze follows to where I’m pointing. “It’s the best one they had.”
“You can take it out of my paycheck,” she says quickly, her words clipped and hard.
I bristle at the response. It’s not exactly the thank you I was looking for. In fact, it sounds like she’s angry with me for helping her out.
“No. I said I’d get you one, so here it is.”
“I hope you didn’t go through any trouble. That thing looks heavy.”
“I can lift a box on my own.”
I don’t know why we’re doing this—why she and I mix like oil and water, why she’s not cheery and upbeat with me like she is with everyone else, why we flare up over stupid shit. We aren’t fighting, but we aren’t exactly playing nice either.
“What’s all that other stuff for?” she asks, pointing to the supplies stacked up neatly beside the shack. “Please don’t say you’re adding on to the farmhouse—that place doesn’t need any more floors to mop.”
A second ago, I’d been excited to tell her my plans for the place. Now, I don’t think I’d be able to stand her reaction. Hell, a part of me wants to load everything back into my truck and drive it right back to the store.
“It’s just building supplies,” I say after clearing my throat, eager to change the subject. “Mind if I install this A/C now? I have other things I need to get to today.”