Page 46 of Always Meant for You
She exhales, half a laugh, and adjusts her hat. “You want to be useful? Then grab my bags. I’ll get the food.”
I frown. “Of course, I’ll help a woman with her luggage. What do you take me for?”
Her smile flickers. “Don’t tempt me to answer that.”
She’s always making me crazy.
I reach for one suitcase. Then the other and grunt. She didn’t pack light.
“What’s in here?” I groan. “Hats made from stone?”
She walks ahead, skirt swishing. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Here you go, Mabel.” Margaret hands her the warm bundle wrapped in a faded dish towel. “It’s a summer squash and bell pepper gratin casserole. Your father’s current favorite.”
Mabel stares at it. “Not tuna noodle?”
“We’ve got all sorts of new casseroles these days,” Sally chirps.
“I see,” Mabel replies.
“A proper country meal for your first night back in Elverna. Right, Betty?” Margaret says, leaning against the counter.
Betty holds my gaze, then eyes Mabel. “Mm-hmm.”
“On that happy note, take care, you two!” Sally calls, holding the door open for us.
Mabel says her goodbyes and strides out, leaving me to wrangle her bags.
They may have wheels, but they’re no match for busted asphalt and prairie wind. I drag them the best I can, the wheels catching every crack in the lot.
At the truck, she halts mid-step and frowns. “Seriously? Hay?”
I glance at the bed. It’s a mess.
“Give me a second,” I mutter. I climb up, sweep the worst of it out with my arm, then yank out the folded blanket I keep behind the seat and lay it down. “There. Your precious wardrobe won’t have to rough it.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “You do that for all your passengers?”
“Only the ones who yell at me in diners and wear impractical shoes.”
She huffs, but there’s no real heat in it.
I load the bags carefully, no rough tossing, no snark. When I glance at her again, she’s not looking at the truck. She’s watching me.
“What?” I ask, the word scraping out.
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
That’s a lie.
I walk to the passenger door, and she backs up a few steps.
“What are you doing, Cal?”
I look from her to the handle. “Opening your door.”
“Why?”
