Charlie stands up, gives a little bark, and wags his tail as if to encourage her to pick the first option.
Kate chews on her lip for a second, her gaze directed at Charlie and then at the two horses, who are busy chomping grass.
After another moment of deliberation, she nods. “Fine, show me what I need to do. But first I have to find something more suitable to wear.”
“Is that going to take long? I don’t have all day.” It used to take Samantha what felt like hours to make up her mind when it came to her clothes.
“It’s not like I’ve inspected Charlotte’s clothes yet. I have no idea what she owns.”
Which definitely doesn’t bode well for me when it comes to how long this could take. “Well, in that case, I’ll help you find something.”
Translation: the first thing I put my hands on is the outfit she’s wearing.
“I don’t need your help finding something to wear.” The huffiness is in her tone once again.
“I know your type, Princess. I can guarantee you need my help if I don’t want this to take all day.”
“Would you stop calling me Princess? The last I looked, I’m not a member of royalty.”
I shrug—because what do I care if she is or not? I just love the way her eyes flare with her pissed-off attitude whenever I call her that.
Did I ever use the nickname on Samantha? Never. While I’m sure she would’ve loved to align herself with royalty, the nickname didn’t suit her.
Not in the way it suits Kate.
I tap a finger against the back of my wrist and wave for her to get moving. “I don’t have all day.”
“Fine ,” she utters on an I-really-hate-you sigh—which makes me grin.
She starts limping toward the house.
“Are you injured? You’re limping.”
“It’s nothing you have to worry about.” She doesn’t even turn back to me when she says it. She just keeps walking, head held high. Charlie gives me one long, curious glance, then follows after her.
I chuckle at Kate’s sassy attitude and join them. The path is too narrow to walk side by side, so I follow behind them.
I grunt at the thought.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask. “I could carry you if you want.”
Or maybe this is her way of getting out of taking care of the horses. A damsel-in-distress move to gain my sympathy.
I bristle at the thought that she’s possibly playing me.
“What?” Kate says. “So you can toss me over your shoulder like some kind of Neanderthal? I’ll pass on your kind offer, thank you.”
“You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”
Do I care what she thinks of me? Not at all. From what I can tell, she’s nothing like her great-aunt. Charlotte was kind and generous and a force to be reckoned with, especially when it came to my grandfather.
Kate? She comes off as entitled.
And much like Samantha, she has no doubt left a trail of broken hearts over the years.
“You don’t come off as the sort who cares what others think of you,” she says. “Am I right?” She glances over her shoulder.
Which is an unfortunate thing to do when you’re walking on uneven paving stones and not paying attention to where you’re going. Kate trips on a stone.
