Courage (Heroes of Big Sky #1) - Kristen Proby Page 0,10
niece into my bed.
I curl up in the corner of the couch again and wince as I hug my injured hand to my chest.
It aches like a son of a bitch. I hope it heals quickly because there’s no way I can do everything that needs to be done with it injured like this. I have laundry to do, dishes to wash, bathrooms to clean, and a million other chores that require both hands.
“Why are you scowling?” Sam asks when he returns.
“Oh, I’m just brooding. I guess it’s good that I’m not working right now. There’s no way I could do nails with my hand like this.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Of course. It’ll heal. I’ll make do. The kids will just have to help me a little more than usual, but I’ll make it a game for them. It’ll be fine.”
“Should I stay here for a few days until the worst of it is over?” he asks as he sits next to me. “It’s not a problem.”
“I had to stash all of my nail stuff in the third bedroom,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s packed full because I literally just threw it all in there since the twins wanted to share a room, and—”
“Take a breath,” he suggests with a laugh. “I’m fine on the couch. Trust me, I’ve slept on far worse.”
“Aren’t you working this week?”
“On call,” he says with a shrug. “If I get called, I’ll go. I don’t have to sit at the station twenty-four-seven. It’ll just be for a few days, while you heal up a bit.”
“If you’re offering, I’m accepting. But please don’t feel like you have to.”
“I rarely do anything I don’t want to do,” he says. “I’ll go home tonight, grab a few things, and come back tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, good. Because tomorrow is the first day of… well, shit.”
“First day of kindergarten.”
“How did I forget? Crap, Sam. I have to get some things done tonight. Monica bought these little chalkboards to write in cute things for first-day pictures. I need to make sure their new outfits are washed and ready, and I have to make their lunches.”
“Okay, change of plans. I’ll head home and grab some stuff and then come back here to help you.”
“You really don’t have to do that.”
“Sure, I do. It’s their first day of school.” He winks and grabs his keys. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
By the time Sam makes it back to my house, all I’ve managed to do is set out the kids’ clothes for the morning. Thank God, I washed them last week.
“How’s it going?” he asks when he walks in.
“I’m moving slow,” I admit. “This stupid hand aches like crazy.”
“Take some of the damn medicine.”
His voice is firm and leaves no room for argument.
“I’m here. If anything happens and you’re out cold, it’s handled. Take it, Tash.”
“Yeah, okay.” I don’t even bother arguing because I know he’s right, and I’m in a decent amount of pain.
“Just point and tell me what to do. I’m pretty handy.”
He waits as I swallow the pill with a glass of water and then open the fridge.
“Okay, I was just going to make them sandwiches and slice up some apples. I have these little individual peanut butter cups for them to dip their apples in.” Sam and I get to work building their lunches. I do a lot of pointing and doling out instructions, and he moves quickly, keeping up with me easily.
Once the bags are packed, Sam opens a little bag of Cheetos and digs in.
“Those are for the kids,” I remind him.
“Quality control,” he says with a wink and munches happily. “Okay, now what?”
“I have these chalkboards,” I say and walk to the closet where I stowed them. “We have to fill in these blanks.”
“How do we know how tall they are?” he asks and blinks at me.
“I started measuring them,” I answer and show him the place on the pantry doorjamb where I’ve made marks with a pencil, noting the name and date next to it. “We’ll use the most recent one. They’ve grown more than an inch in the past couple of months.”
“They grow like weeds,” he says.
“We’ll have to fill out some of this in the morning because I forgot to ask them the questions. Like, what they want to be when they grow up.”
“You’ll have to write it. I have horrible chicken scratch.”
“My right hand is injured.”
“So?”
“I’m right-handed.”
His eyes go wide, and then he cringes. “Okay, we’ll make it work.”
I yawn