Page 44 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“Meme.”

“What?”

I pointed my fork at her with a frown. “Do not make this into something.”

“I haven’t made anything into anything.”

“You were staring when we pulled up.”

“I was making sure you weren’t murdered.”

“By Beau?”

“I didn’t know it was Beau until you got out.”

“And then?”

“Then I stopped worrying about murder.”

I groaned. Meme laughed again. For a little while, the kitchen felt different. Lighter. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since we’d sat here teasing each other about something that wasn’t connected to bills, cows, repairs, grief, or the ranch.

That realization hurt almost as much as thinking about Pops.

Meme’s reached out to pat my knee. “How’s your leg?” Her smile faded.

There it was, the question I had been waiting for. I looked down.

“Sore.”

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Carson.”

“It’s irritated. That’s it. I cleaned everything and put the cream on.”

“You walked more than two miles in soaking wet jeans.”

“I know what I did.”

“And you know moisture around that socket causes problems.”

“I know.”

She worried her bottom lip. I hated that expression.

“I’m okay, Meme.”

Her gaze stayed on mine. The clocked ticked as seconds passed. Finally, she nodded.

“What did Beau say about the truck?”

“Water pump. Belt. Tensioner. Possibly more.”

“And how much?”

“He’s calling tomorrow.”