She didn’t even look up.
I moved closer, wincing for effect.
“Start with small piles, then combine them. Dragging everything across the yard is a waste of time.”
She stopped, leaned on the rake, and looked at me with the expression of a woman who had reached her limit.
“I thought your leg hurt,” she said flatly. “Maybe it’s time for you to go home?”
The nerve.
“I’m trying to help despite the pain,” I snapped.
Kate rested a hand on her belly. Seven months pregnant, exhausted, and clearly counting down the days until I left.
“Helping would mean doing something useful,” she said. “Not supervising.”
I forced a smile.
Not worth the argument.
That’s when I noticed him next door.
Mr. Davis.
Grouchy. Unsociable. Permanent scowl.
He grumbled at my greeting and disappeared inside like the world offended him personally.
“Just like Kate,” I muttered.
I didn’t know then that he was about to become the only bright spot in that house.
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