A Time for Us - By Amy Knupp Page 0,23
“Thanks, man.”
They were just about done loading all the sealed boxes into the truck when Rachel pulled up beside it in her ancient Honda Accord.
Cale couldn’t deny that his heart sped up in an inappropriate way as he watched her make her way toward the garage. Must have been an ingrained reaction and some part of his brain hadn’t figured out this was Rachel instead of Noelle yet.
Rachel looked more tousled than he’d ever seen her. More like Noelle, he couldn’t help noticing. Her hair was windblown, her cheeks and shoulders lightly sunburned, and her wrinkled clothes were damp in places. Obviously she hadn’t come straight from work.
“Where have you been, wild girl?” Sawyer asked.
When Rachel spotted Cale in the shadows of the garage, she faltered, slowing her steps but then covering the reaction quickly. She turned and searched out his Sport Trac, parked across the street.
Instead of answering the question, Rachel narrowed her eyes, took in the load of boxes in the truck and faced Sawyer. “Are you moving back home or something?”
“Sorry to disappoint, but no. This stuff is on its way out.”
“Hi,” she said, finally acknowledging Cale.
“Hey. I was guessing overtime but the outfit says otherwise.”
“I took my kayak out after work.”
“You fried,” Sawyer said.
She glanced down at her shoulders. “Mildly pink is all. The trip wasn’t planned. I didn’t take any sunscreen. Buck gave me the shirt.”
“And you forgot a brush, too.” Her brother yanked lightly, affectionately, at the tangled strands next to her face.
“Kayak hair looks good on you,” Cale said, grinning. “Definitely a different side of the multifaceted Dr. Rachel Culver.”
“Are you two best buddies now or something?” she asked, ignoring Cale’s comments and heading toward the back stairs to the house.
“Naw, we can’t stand each other,” Sawyer said. “He’s here to see you.”
Again, Cale could swear he saw her falter. “Got a few minutes?”
“If you don’t mind my eating lunch.”
“Give him a beer, Rach. I owe him for helping me.”
“We don’t have any beer, but there might be some tea or lemonade.” She spoke over her shoulder as they went up the steps.
Cale couldn’t help watching her ascend from the back—what guy wouldn’t? Her rolled-up scrubs were baggy and did their best to hide any curves, but the sunlight shone just so through the back windows of the garage, giving him a hint of the outline of her thighs and hips. She’d tucked in the too-big tank, which highlighted the narrowness of her waist. Her shoulders and arms were sculpted and firm, making him wonder when she had time to work out.
“Your arms and shoulders are different from Noelle’s,” he said without thinking.
Rachel reached the top of the stairs, opened the kitchen door and stared at him, clearly not thrilled with his observation.
“Yours are more muscular,” he continued, hoping that the compliment would smooth over the fact that he had no place comparing anything about the two sisters, let alone parts of their bodies. It seemed an insignificant victory that he’d avoided blurting out his observation that Rachel’s hips didn’t swing as much as her sister’s. Nor that he found the lack of sway...intriguing.
Obviously, Cale had been alone for too damn long if he was starting to notice his fiancée’s sister’s body.
“My arms were always stronger,” Rachel said matter-of-factly, as if they were discussing the color of the pansies in the whiskey barrel in the backyard by the pool. “I started kayaking when I was ten.” She set down her work bag and her folded scrub shirt then opened the refrigerator. “Good God, a quiche?” She picked up a round pan and sniffed. “The woman made a quiche. On a Tuesday. My mother has lost her mind.”
“I guess there could be worse repercussions than a quiche.”
“Want some?” she asked as she pulled back the plastic wrap and investigated. She took down a saucer and served herself a slice.
“No, thanks. I went to breakfast with a couple of the guys after we got off work. Bad habit.”
Rachel stuck the plate in the microwave and started it. “You worked last night? Were you guys busy?”
“Yesterday was nuts. It seems the new batch of weekly tourists is hell-bent on destruction. We had a car fire, a teenager who fell from a second-story hotel balcony and a Dumpster fire within a five-hour time span.”
“Must have been leftover full-moon stuff,” she said wistfully. “The E.R. was hopping Sunday night but last night was long. I actually got some research reading done between patients.” She opened the fridge again.