Page 7 of The Rancher’s Bride
She glances over. “They’re dirty.”
“They came out of the ground.”
“I know where potatoes come from.”
“Then quit trying to buff ’em to a shine.”
She puts the potato down a little too pointedly and picks up another. I take the steaks outside, get them on the grill, then return to find her opening cabinets and drawers.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for a knife.”
“Second drawer.”
She opens one and looks inside. “This one?”
“That’s the third.”
“They aren’t labeled.”
“Didn’t realize drawers needed instructions.”
She closes it and turns toward me. “You could’ve shown me.”
“You could’ve counted.”
Her eyes flash. “Do you work this hard at being difficult, or does it come naturally?”
“You’re the one getting pissed over a drawer.”
“You made it into a test.”
“It wasn’t a damn test.”
“Then why are you acting like I failed?”
The kitchen goes still. Her cheeks are flushed, and that little crease is back between her eyebrows.
I should shut my mouth. Instead I say, “You’ve been judging me since I picked you up.”
Her lips part. “You left me at the station.”
“I got the day wrong.”
“And never apologized.”
“I drove into town and got you.”
“I waited for an hour.”
“I had cattle out.”
“You answered the phone like you’d never heard my name.”
“Bullshit.”
“That’s what happened.”
