Page 80 of Deathmarch

Allie listened to Harper come up the stairs, could smell the incredible aroma of the lunch he was bringing.Again.God, they had a routine. Like married people.

She didn’t know what to do with that thought, so she set the bewildering idea aside and drew another deep breath, appreciating the mouthwatering scent.

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you,” she told the Grand Master of the Coatesville Strawberry Festival before she hung up. She’d spent the entire morning setting up gigs, plugging holes in her schedule, and making considerable progress.

“How’s the foot?” Harper asked as he strode into the apartment.

“Better.”

“How’s your head?”

“No headache.” She got up and hobbled out to the kitchen. “Thank you for bringing me food. I’ll set the table.”

“Sit,” he ordered and pulled out a chair for her. “I’ll take care of it.”

She ignored him and reached for the water glasses on the top shelf, which meant she had to put her weight on her toes, which sent pain shooting to her sprained ankle.

She must have hissed or flinched, because he was next to her in a blink, and then she was in his arms as he carried her to the table. “Stubborn.”

“Independent.”

“You can be independent and still accept help when it’s freely offered.” He settled her inher chair.

That thought too prickled. She had a chair at Harper’s table, one she’d come to think of as hers, because she’d been eating her meals in that same chair since the night of the hit-and-run.

“I like taking care of you,” he said, and the words were just wrong enough to tip her unease over into frustration.

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” he said calmly and reasonably as he unwrapped the food. “That you never had anyone really take care of you is a sad and terrible thing. All the more reason why you should let me do it now, to make up a little for the past.” He headed to the cabinets for the place settings. “Did you do anything exciting this morning?”

He obviously didn’t want to fight.Fine. She didn’t either. “Lined up some shows. Also, researched Susan B. Anthony. I’m thinking about adding her to my repertoire. You?”

“I don’t think I could credibly impersonate Susan B. Anthony.”

She couldn’t help the smile. He’d always known how to make her laugh.

“Is my car at Shannon’s?” she asked.

“Still at the station. Plenty of room there in the big garage. Figured it’d just get snowed in at the B and B and get in the way of whoever shovels for Shannon. But I can drive it over if you want it there.”

She shook her head, hesitated. He was right, asking a friend for a favor wouldn’t make her a helpless mess. “I was thinking about getting an oil change since I’m not driving for a few more days anyway. I should have gotten one last month, but time got away from me.”

“Billy Picket does them for under fifty bucks still. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you. Any development in the case?”

“Some new information. No huge leaps forward.”

“Be careful.”

He shot her a glance as he finished setting the table and sat. “Don’t tell me you worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you.” She shook out her napkin and laid it on her lap. “You’re chasing a killer.”

“I’m a tough nut to crack.”

She bit her lip.