Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(62)

Okay, I had to admit I’d heard that before, not only from Carrie but from Dad and Mom.

Still, I said, “Carrie –”

“Talk to him,” she whispered as we heard the men approach. “Give him a chance to set the story straight.”

“Right,” I whispered back because the men were almost there, we needed to stop talking and because she was right, she usually was. She was my baby sister and I knew I should be the smart and responsible one but I never was. I was always a good girl and I was always a nice person but I wasn’t always smart and responsible. That had always been Caroline’s role.

She got to within an inch of my face. “And listen,” she finished.

“Right,” I repeated still whispering.

“This doesn’t look good,” Mack remarked from close and Carrie moved back so we saw them both standing four feet from the hammock. Mack had his arms crossed on his chest. Tate had his hands resting on his hips. Mack’s eyes were assessing and they were on Carrie. Tate’s face was carefully blank and his eyes were on me.

Carrie ignored Mack’s comment and asked, “You guys want grape Kool-Aid?”

“Jesus, is that what you’re drinking?” Mack asked.

“Yes,” Caroline answered.

“Little kids drink that,” Mack noted.

“Laurie and me are always kids when we’re home,” Carrie replied. “You know that.”

“God’s honest truth,” Mack muttered in a way that stated plainly this was not a good thing as he shook his head while glancing at Tate then he looked back at Carrie.

“You have a grape Kool-Aid mustache,” he told Carrie and Carrie swiped the back of her wrist along her mouth at the same time she cried, “I do not!”

And she didn’t, Mack was just teasing which was why he grinned.

She stuck her purple tongue out at him and looked at Tate. “You want a Coke?”

“Yeah,” Tate replied.

“I’ll have a Coke too,” Mack put in as Carrie and I swung the hammock back so she could get out.

“You can get it yourself,” she muttered as she rolled out of the hammock to her feet. Then she rounded the hammock, jumped up on the patio and headed toward the door.

“I see the Grahame sisters have matching attitude,” Tate murmured to Mack and my eyes narrowed on him but Mack chuckled.

“It’s in the genes. Jeannie’s shell-shocked ‘cause Gavin’s in ICU. Just wait until he’s fit. He’ll be fakin’ a heart attack to get some rest from the drama,” Mack returned.

“Mack!” I snapped. “Mom’s sweet as pie.”

“Yeah, to you. You got balls, she’ll bust ‘em,” Mack retorted and my eyes cut to Tate firstly because he’d accused me of busting his balls and secondly because he’d burst out laughing.

“Shit man, you’re gonna catch it,” Mack warned a still chuckling Tate as he watched me glare at the still chuckling Tate. “I’m gonna get a Coke.”

Then Mack walked to the patio, jumped up on it and headed to the house.

Tate walked to me and then smoothly entered the hammock to lie at my side like he slept in one nightly since he could walk.

Regardless of the fact that I was in no danger of spillage, I snapped, “Watch my Kool-Aid!”

“Babe,” was his reply.

I glared at him.

He reached across his abs, wrapped an arm around my waist and curled me so I was on my side and resting the length of him. He also did this without endangering my Kool-Aid.

I decided to ignore him and take a sip.

Tate watched me doing this and remarked, “You grew up in heaven.”

I swallowed, dropped my tumbler hand to rest on his chest, glanced at him, lifted up and looked. I saw sun dazzling lights on the pond; the long, green front yard Dad kept neat and trimmed; the lush, dense trees at the foot; the farmland beyond that; and Mom’s tidy, flourishing garden on the opposite side of the pond where she planted strawberries, potatoes, tomatoes, regular corn and popcorn every year.

I looked back at Tate and whispered, “Yeah.”

“The first time I met you, you told me you grew up here, I’d call you a liar,” Tate informed me.

I tipped my head to the side and asked, “Really?”

“Really.”

“Why?”

“High-class,” he replied.

“Sorry?”

“You looked high-class,” he semi-repeated.

“I’m not,” I stated.

“No, Ace, you’re not. You’re a different kind of class.”

“Farmer class.”

“Pure class.”

That was so nice, and so unexpected, before I could stop myself, I melted into him, my face getting closer to his.

“Tate,” I whispered.

His hand slid from my waist partly up my back.

“You get grape Kool-Aid on my tee, babe, it’s gonna piss me off,” he lied and I knew it was a lie from the look on his face which was sweet and soft and more handsome than he ever looked.

“I’m not going to get Kool-Aid on your tee,” I returned quietly.

He rolled into me and I had no choice but to lift the tumbler and hold it behind his back.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,” he said, his face in my neck, his beard tickling my throat. “You could lick it off.”