Shameless(37)

I nod, prompting her to continue. I know about the issue. It’s not like I live under a rock, but I’m surprised to see her so interested in the topic.

She continues. “It’s a process that uses millions of gallons of water—aquifer water, I should add—to blast out oil and gas from shale deposits.” Her frown deepens. “You can smell the fumes for miles, and those tanker trucks drip chemicals all along their routes.”

The sun filters through the kitchen blinds and highlights the soft tendril of hair that’s escaped her messy bun. Honestly? She’s a vision. Even in sweats. I’ve never met a girl who looks so goddamn hot without makeup. The fact that she’s all riled up is even hotter.

Kat stares up at me, her eyes bright. “We have twelve thousand gas wells here, and that number is only going up. Never mind that many experts suspect that’s why we’re having earthquakes for the first time ever. Mining the five-thousand-mile shale formation that runs along the eastern side of the state sounds feasible until you realize how much of that sits over our water supply.”

The one hand that’s not holding the raccoon starts waving wildly, and I hold back a grin. “Fracking is great for gas prices and oil companies and tax revenues, but terrible for Texans, who eventually will be ingesting God knows what in our water. Some ranchers are trying to fight it, but unless politicians have a major change of heart soon—good luck with that—it’s a done deal.”

She’s so serious—her brow is furrowed, her jaw tight. I’m smiling at her like a dumbass, strangely more attracted to her now that she’s unleashed that little rant.

“Sorry,” she laughs, flushing. “I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?”

“A little, but it’s cute.” I like this spitfire version of Katherine. I chuckle at her embarrassed grin. “How do you know so much about this? Did you study environmental issues in college?”

She sighs and shakes her head. “Not exactly.”

Before I can ask another question, the phone rings, and she runs off to answer. When she returns, she looks a little panicked.

“That was the diner. Would you mind if I take a shift this afternoon? Someone called in sick, and they’re short-handed.”

“Not at all. Do what you need to do.” I hate that she has to work on a Sunday.

You do it all the time.

It’s true. I do, but it seems wrong that this girl is running herself ragged. I make a mental note to figure out how much I owe her so I can write that check tonight.

She pours a cup of coffee and calls over her shoulder, “I bet Mrs. Mac won’t mind watching Izzy until this evening. I can call her after I take a shower.”

“It’s okay. Give me her number, and I’ll see what they’re up to over there. You said they’re nearby?”

“Yup. Just down the road about a half mile.” She heads into the office and pulls out a list of important phone numbers. Everything is on here—neighbors, vets, you name it. I smile knowing that Kat made this because it’s color-coded in her handwriting, the same writing I found on a Post-It in the fridge the other day when she wrapped me a sandwich and labeled it, “Brady, bite me.”

She disappears to take a shower, and I grab the phone. Mrs. Mac says she’d be happy to watch the baby until dinner time, and then she asks if her husband can borrow our truck to haul some firewood.

“Absolutely. Any time you need it, just let me know.”

“You’re a doll. Just like your brother.”

I rub my forehead, feeling a sudden burn of shame. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She tells me he’ll walk down to pick up the truck. Ten minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.

Mr. Mac is a slender man with a friendly face and gray hair. We chat for a bit about the weather and his constipated pig Gerald. Then he tells me he likes my tattoos and pulls up his sleeve to show me an American eagle on his forearm.

I have to say I like all of this neighborly stuff. I think M*s would rather have their kidneys punctured than have to talk to neighbors like this, but I’m warming up to it.

When Kat walks into the office a few minutes later, she’s looking panicked again. “Did… did Mel’s truck just drive off?”

“Yeah, the MacIntyres need it to haul some wood. I said they could borrow it this afternoon.”

“Oh.” She bites her nail.

“Why?”

She looks up at me sheepishly. “I need a ride to work, and I assumed I could take the truck. I’m so sorry. That was presumptuous of me.”

“Shit. Sorry. No, that wasn’t presumptuous.” I rub my neck, ignoring how cute she looks in her simple white t-shirt and jeans. “I could take you to work if you don’t mind hopping on the back of the bike.”

She stills. “You mean the Harley?”

“Yeah. You up for that?”

A huge smile lifts her lips. “If it’s not too much trouble. That sounds kinda fun.”

She’s bouncing on her toes as we head toward the motorcycle. I strap my helmet on her, and she flashes one of those killer grins that makes my heart beat faster.

“Button up.” I tap on the lapel of her coat and hop on the bike. When she jumps on behind me, I show her where to put her feet before adjusting my rear view mirror. “Hang on tight. Don’t want you sliding off.”