Page 61 of The Leaving Kind
“But—”
“How else are you going to transport the equipment you’ll need?”
Thankfully, most the clients he’d picked up thus far had their own mowers and trimmers, and he and Jorge had managed the six-acre job with the equipment they already owned. The guy who’d wanted the land cleared had seemed a little surprised when Cam had shown up with a weed whacker and a wheelbarrow wedged into the trunk of Emma’s car. Jorge’s beast of a vehicle had room for a mower and another trimmer, but it had been a less-than-professional look.
Regardless, they got the job done. But if he and Jorge planned to grow the business, they would need better vehicles and equipment. Thing was, if they made that sort of commitment, then, well, they’d be making that sort of commitment. And, to Cam, commitment was a dirty word. No, a scary one.
He and Jorge should have a conversation. One where both of them talked.
Studying the keys, Cam chewed thoughtfully on his lip. Then he searched his brother’s face for what he’d never find. Nick didn’t have an ulterior motive. A hidden agenda. He simply wanted to help.
And, hell, if the whole business failed—it was bound to, wasn’t it?—Cam could give the truck back.
Stepping in, Cam lifted his hands in a gentle warning and then pulled his brother into a hug. Kissed the side of his head. “Love you, little bro.”
Nick folded his arms around Cam’s back. “I love you too.”
Cam let him go. “Give me a minute to let Honey water the lawn and I’ll drive you home.”
Nick nodded toward the fridge. “Maybe we could have that beer together first?”
The hollow inside, the chasm that had opened up at a single phone call and developed into some sort of permanent canyon during the drive to and from the vet’s office, began to fill. The sides closed in and the pit lost its depth. The night didn’t feel as endless, and Indiana was now farther away than Cam wanted to drive in a single stint.
“Want to sit outside?” Cam asked. “You need to catch me up on your proposal plans.”
Nick cocked his head. “Do people like public proposals? Like at stadiums and theaters? Or does that only happen in movies?”
Trying not to wince, Cam waved his brother toward the patio. “You’d better tell me what you have planned.”
Victor hummed as he released the lid on the slow cooker. Steam curled up from the dark, rich chili, carrying the aroma of black beans and the sweet and spicy sauce. Stomach rumbling, he stirred in the chopped chipotle pepper and replaced the lid. The best part of Crock-Pot cooking was also the worst: smelling dinner all day.
A knock sounded at the front door. Victor tugged at his apron, pulling it off and using it to wipe his hands at the same time, then tossed it over the back of one of the chairs on his way to the door.
Cam wore his usual smile: happy with an almost sardonic twist, as though he saw the lighter side of life but didn’t always feel welcome there. Honey was hobbling up the couple of steps behind him, and in the driveway sat a shiny silver pickup.
“New truck?”
“It’s my brother’s.”
“Ah.” Victor bent to greet Honey. “Hello, there. How’s the leg today?”
“Vet said she can get some extra exercise.”
“Good for you,” Victor told the dog. Then he straightened and returned Cam’s smile. “Hi.”
Inexplicably, Cam’s cheeks pinked. Just a little. “What smells good?”
“Oh, that’s dinner. If you want to stay.”
“Maybe.” Cam squinted skyward. “Looking like it might rain again. We should check out the path, or where you want to put it.”
“Do you— Ah, yes, of course.” When had he become this awkward?
“Honey, stay,” Cam directed.
The dog flopped down on the stoop, legs splayed inelegantly beneath her, and dropped her chin onto her cast.
Victor pulled the front door closed and followed Cam across the circle at the top of the driveway.