Page 20 of Shades of Mercy
He flung his arm over the back of her seat and leaned in, so close that she thought he might kiss her. But that hope dwindled fast. “Once we arrive in Shades Cove, there’s no acting like a brat throwing a temper tantrum. For me to protect you, I need your cooperation. You can’t huff off when you get your feathers ruffled. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
He frowned. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“When I’m around you, no I cannot.”
“At least we have that established.” He sighed and pressed the gas, and they continued on the country road. “You do cook, right?” His eyes caught the light glowing from the dashboard.
“Cook as in, prepare meals?”
He blew out a disgruntled breath. “So the answer is no?”
“Do you expect me to just because I’m a woman?”
“No, I expected you could because you agreed to be the cook.”
“Honestly, I had no idea what I was agreeing to. My mind had…wandered.”
He rubbed the creases out of his forehead. “Fine. Can you boil water?”
She laughed, but realized he was being serious. “Of course. I can even use the microwave. And I’ve been known to use a crockpot sometimes.”
“Well, in a time of need, we can’t be choosy.” He stared out the window for a moment and then focused his gaze back on the road. “I will tell the crew that you’re my cousin who has agreed to come and help. They won’t ask questions. Put some of the crockpot skills to use. They’re not fussy eaters.”
“Why do you need a cook? Can’t the men take care of themselves?”
“We work the land from sunrise to sunset. Puma’s wife has been doing the cooking duties for a long time, but the doctor has ordered her to stay off her feet. She’s pregnant.” He looked at Mercy across the seat. “I have faith that you can handle kitchen duty. I’ve seen these boys eat MREs that tasted like cardboard and thought it was Christmas dinner.”
“It wasn’t the idea of being the cook that set me off,” she said after a moment of silence.
“I know it’s not easy having your life uprooted. I understand.”
“Uprooted is a mild description.”
“I’m sure tonight was scary.”
Shelayher head back on the headrest. “To say the least.”
“Are you still seeing that finance broker, Finn?”
She caught a bit of sarcasm in his tone. “His name is Flynn. I broke things off a year ago.”
“Good riddance. He was a snob. I couldn’t figure out what you saw in a man who tucked his napkin into his shirt while he ate.”
“You’re not allowed to give your opinions about the men I date,” she said with a snort.
His chuckle made the soft hairs on her nape lift. “Come on, Merc, admit it. He was a bit too…what’s that called? Metrosexual. That’s not your type.”
“At least he didn’t have dirt under his nails?” Although the remark was meant to be snide, she could see that Jag’s nails were trimmed and clean.
“I’m sure Finn’s hands are as soft as a newborn kitten's fur.”
“Flynn. And yes, they were quite soft.” What she wouldn’t admit, Jag had left an imprint on her flesh with his callused hands. “Billy Mason? Trip Cardwell? Those were the two before Finn. They were both lawyers, right?”
“Flynn. Men can have careers outside of crawling through the grunge and carrying weapons and still be considered masculine.”
“Commando crawl.”
