Ricochet (Renegades #3)(74)
Author: Skye Jordan

“I don’t have time to be your fucking secretary. That wasn’t the deal. I have real work to do, and I can’t get it done when I get fifty calls a day asking, ‘Where’s Ryker?’ ‘Have you seen Ryker?’ ‘When’s Ryker going to be back?’”

His brow pulled until two little vertical lines appeared between his eyes. He cocked his hip, pushed his hard hat up on his forehead, and put his hand on his hip. “Rach,” he said, his voice even and conciliatory, “what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” She laughed, the sound as cynical as she felt. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong.” Her arms flew open. “Everything’s wrong, dammit. Do you see this?” She shook her hands at herself. “I’m not like this. Normally, I’m completely in control. Competent. Congenial. Look at me, I’m a lunatic. Between you and my sister, I’ve turned into that raving bitch I hate.” She paced away from him, crossing her arms. “The suppliers are out of your super-special det cord. It took me three hours to hunt it down. You aren’t reachable by phone or radio. What if something had happened to you? What if something had happened to someone else, and I needed to get ahold of you? What if—”

“Okay, hold on.” He exhaled heavily and took a step toward her, eyes narrowed. “What’s this about your sister?”

“My sister?” She turned on him. “Oh, I’ll tell you about my sister.” Her arms unfolded, and her hands started flying again. She just couldn’t hold still. “She comes all the way out here from New York, nags the hell out of me, then drives here from the valley just to tell me she’s marrying my ex. Then expects me to be happy for them. The same way you expect me to risk my job and my friendships for you.”

He lowered the bundle on his shoulder to the floor and put his hands out to her like he was calming a spooked horse. “Rachel, honey—”

“I don’t need her telling me how to feel. I don’t need you turning into Mr. Perfect with wine and chocolate and unforgettable sex.” She’d flipped. She’d gone absolutely mad. She needed to shut her mouth and walk away. Now.

She swung toward the shed door. “I’m done putting everyone else—”

Her flailing hand scraped against metal, and pain seared her skin. “Ow!”

She recoiled, jerking her hand back. Her gaze landed on a roll of chain link, the ends rough cut and sharp. Her hand burned, and she looked down at the bloody scrape running diagonally across the back of her hand. “Dammit.”

“Rach?” Nathan started toward her. “Are you okay?”

Emotion bubbled beneath her skin, so close to the surface she thought she’d explode. “Perfect,” she muttered, blinking back her tears. “A perfect end to a perfectly shitty day.”

She started out of the shed again, her self-esteem and self-respect at an all-time low.

Nathan grabbed her arm gently. “Rachel, let me see your hand.”

“I’m fine.” She pulled out of his grasp. “Just one more stupid move.”

He stopped her again, this time with both arms around her waist. He pulled her back against his body and lowered his chin to her shoulder. “Come on, baby. Take a breath.”

She released her tension, exhausted. “This is my bitch at her finest.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” One arm released her waist, and he pulled at the wrist of her injured hand. “Let me look.”

She lifted her hand and winced at the gouge, shallow on the ends, deeper in the middle.

“We should get you to emergency,” he said. “You might need a stitch or two.”

She pulled her hand away. “We should get my head looked at, but my hand is fine. I’ve got first aid supplies in my room.” She twisted out of his grasp again, covered her eyes with her hand. “Look, I’m—obviously—royally screwed up.” She dropped her hand and started walking. “Just…just…wipe all that from your mind—except the part about keeping your phone on—and forget I was here.”

Within two steps, Nathan had whipped in front of her and stopped her by the shoulders. She exhaled heavily and sagged. He cupped her face and lifted her head to look into her eyes. His were warm and worried and guilty. “I’m sorry I’ve caused so much stress. I’ll try not to add to it.” He released her face, stroked one hand over her hair, and slipped his arm around her shoulders, walking her forward. “I’ll take a better look at it in your room. Then you’re turning in early. You need a break.”

No, she needed to work. Lying in bed reliving every lousy moment of her sister’s visit and her rant at Nathan would not reduce her stress. But she didn’t want to argue with him, so she kept quiet and let him walk her back to her cabin.

When he stepped in after her and closed the door, the air suddenly seemed thick. If Josh was on site, she would have forced him out, but with all the emotion roiling around inside her, she would like nothing better than to sink into Nathan and forget about everything but the pleasure he brought. And now with him pulling her into the bedroom by the hand, her mind overwhelmed, she couldn’t remember why she kept pushing him away.

“Is it in your bathroom?” he asked.

“What?” She refocused on his face as he released her hand and looked around.

“The first aid stuff.” He glanced back at her. “Is it in the bathroom?”

“Oh no. Closet.”

“Sit down.”

She sighed, sat on the edge of the bed, and watched him rummage in the closet, pulling out a small toolbox.

He turned, knelt at her feet, and set the box down, grinning as he opened it. “A mini version of the emergency station Lexi’s got for all the renegades that drip blood on her carpet every time of the day and night?”

“How’d you know about that?” Rachel asked.

“She whipped it out when Duke cut Keaton’s eyebrow with the back of his hand during pool hoops.”

“Oh, that’s right. There’s a full version in my office and on all of the trucks. But I know what babies men can be when they’re hurt or sick, and how they always seem to seek out a female for care like a little kid. I expected more than a few visits.”

He chuckled. “You’re running with the wrong group of men. You need the kind who brag about their injuries. Argue about whose is worse like it’s a medal of honor.”