Page 27 of Love In Translation

Fletch sat at the kitchen table as Rheo washed her hands. Her tight vest showed the straps of her hot pink bra, and her ragged denim shorts traced the gentle curve of her spectacular ass. The table hid how much he appreciated the view.

His phone rang, flashing an unfamiliar number, but he recognized the Gilmartin area code. Only the adventure supplying brothers had his cell number.

“Mick? Or Sam?” he asked, mouthingsorryto Rheo.

“Mick. Sam’s run out for coffee,” the older of the two brothers replied.

“What’s up?” Fletch asked, placing his ankle on his opposite knee.

“We have two hardcore trail runners coming in at the end of the week, and they’ve booked a run with us. We wondered if you wanted to join.”

“Hardcore” meant distance and difficult terrain and long hours. The type of exercise Seb had forbidden him to do. Fletch should say no right now and not waste Mick’s time.

The devil on his shoulder danced. “How long?”

Mick replied quickly. “Forty miles.”

“Elevation?”

“Six thousand feet.”

Hard but usually very doable. “And what time do your clients want to clock?”

“Between six and six and a half hours. Sam regularly runs those sorts of times.”

That was fast, and it would be a challenge for him to keep up. Fletch liked challenges. Then he remembered Seb’s directive to take it easy and silently cursed. He could ignore what Seb said and do the run. He felt fine, and Seb would never know.

Except that one of Louie’s nephews would tell Louie and Louie might mention it to Seb and his friend would wipe the floor with him.

Besides, if he couldn’t do something openly and honestly, then it wasn’t worth doing.Dammit.

“Next time,” he reluctantly told Mick and quickly ended the conversation before he changed his mind and disobeyed his doctor’s orders.

“What’s up with you?” Rheo asked. “You look like a bear with a sore paw.”

“Have you ever seen a bear with a sore paw?” Fletch demanded. God, he sounded like a cranky toddler.

“What’s put you in a foul mood?” Rheo asked, drying her hands.

Being unable to do what I want...His health was an off-limits subject and so was the urge to kiss her again, so he told her Carrie’d had a change of plans.

“She won’t be here for nearly a month,” Fletch told her, then forked eggs into his mouth.

There was no hiding the relief in her eyes, the way her body sagged as tension seeped out of her. Carrie’s change of plans suited her.

“What’s her excuse this time?” Rheo asked, keeping her tone light. “Is there a mountain she needs to climb, a dive she has to take? Is there a man she has to see, a temple she has to explore?”

He heard a hint of resigned irritation in her words. What had caused the issues between the cousins? Carrie was fun and outgoing, and she didn’t owe him her time. If she wanted to change her plans, she could. Like him, she didn’t bind herself to anyone. She could move at a moment’s notice, and they both liked it that way. Yeah, he was disappointed not to have her company in Gilmartin, but he couldn’t be pissed off about it. There wasn’t one set of rules for Carrie and another for him.

“Actually, she’s got a stomach bug and won’t make her flight,” Fletch told Rheo, his voice cool.

Rheo’s smile seemed a little sarcastic. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I bet you a hundred dollars something else cropped up. There’s a fish she’s trying to hook, a catch she’s trying to land.”

He couldn’t deny it. “She’s got a meeting with a TV network producer,” he admitted.

Rheo snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “And there it is,” she said. “I can’t tell you how many times Carrie has changed her plans at the last minute.”

Rheo dropped into a chair opposite him and leaned back on its two legs. She bit the inside of her lip, her expression a little anxious. He knew she wanted to ask whether she could stay, whether he’d give her another few weeks at the house.

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