Page 75 of Josephine and Clay

“I was sleeping.”

“Exactly.”

I push myself up with a curse as my leg throbs in protest, the cast heavy and hot. “What could you possibly need from me before eight in the damn morning?”

Boone leans against the doorframe, arms folded. “Fence check down by the east pasture.”

I stare at him. “That’s your emergency?”

“Couple boards came loose in the night. Need someone to hold nails and keep Rusty from stealing the hammer.”

I blink. “You woke me up to babysit a dog?”

“No.” His mouth twitches. “I woke you up because you’ve been sulking in bed for days and Mom’s about one snapped plate away from marching in here herself.”

“I’m not sulking.”

He just looks at me.

“Alright,” I say. “Still doesn’t explain why that requires me and my busted leg.”

“Fresh air will do you good.”

“You sound like Mom.”

“Maybe because she’s right more than you are.”

I flip him off, which only makes him grin.

That pisses me off.

He pushes off the frame. “Five minutes.”

“This is harassment.”

“Five,” he repeats, and disappears back down the hall.

I mutter a string of curses under my breath while I drag myself upright. Every movement feels off. The crutches dig into my hands, my balance is shot, and getting dressed with one useless leg is its own special kind of humiliation.

By the time I make it to the kitchen, the house already smells of coffee and bacon.

Mom glances up when I come in. “Look who’s alive.”

“Debatable,” I mutter.

She slides a plate onto the table. “Eat.”

“I’m going with Boone.”

“Then eat faster.”

I lower myself into a chair with as much dignity as a man can manage while half crippled and under surveillance. “You all this bossy because Dad’s not here to distract you from me?”

The second it leaves my mouth, I know it was the wrong thing.

Mom’s expression doesn’t change, but Boone, stepping back in through the mudroom, goes still for half a beat.

Shit. I drag a hand over my face. “I didn’t…”