Page 213 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“Carson.”

“You have a business.”

“And employees.”

“You and Jax work constantly.”

“We do.”

“Then you don’t need to finish at the garage and come spend another three hours doing my job.”

His thumb moved slowly against my skin. “I’m not trying to do your job.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“Help you keep doing it.”

I turned toward him. Beau kept his eyes on the road.

“I know you can run the ranch. You don’t need to prove that to me. But if some of the heavier work is beating the hell out of your body, and there are things I can take off your plate without screwing up the shop, why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

“Doesn’t mean it has to be yours alone.”

The words settled deeper than I wanted them to. I looked down at his hand resting against my exposed thigh. “You don’t owe me that.”

“I know.”

That was somehow worse. “Then why?”

He finally glanced at me. “Because I care about you. I’d offer to help if you had two legs and six arms, because you’re still one person trying to run a ranch.”

I laughed. “Six arms?”

“Would explain how you manage to be everywhere at once.”

I covered his hand with mine. “I’m not promising anything.” Our fingers laced.

“I didn’t ask you to.” Beau smiled and turned his attention back to the road.

Dinner at the Jones house was chaotic in the comfortable way only families could manage.

Margaret had cooked enough food for twelve people, despite there being only seven of us. Walter complained that she had made too much, then ate two helpings. Clover spent half the meal describing everything that had gone wrong at Sugar and Pine’s festival booth while Hunter quietly corrected her increasingly exaggerated version of events.

And Jax arrived late because he had apparently spent forty minutes helping Rosie move something she could’ve asked six festival volunteers to move.

I sat beside Beau. My prosthetic remained completely visible beneath the table.

Margaret noticed, as did Walter, and their eyes lowered for a moment when I first walked inside. Then Margaret hugged me and asked whether I ate pot roast. Walter wanted to know whether I thought the old hay wagon suspension needed replacing before next weekend.

That was it.

Nobody stared.

Nobody asked what happened.

At one point, Clover caught my eye from across the table. She glanced down briefly. Then smiled.