Page 42 of Mountain Grump
“Do you have any straps inside the truck?”
She shakes her head.
“Can you hold this for another minute while I get mine?”
She nods.
The edge of my mouth pulls up. Again.
I step back, then cross the empty parking spot. Unlike Tilda’s two-door, bench-seat, thirty-year-old pickup, I have a four-door model that’s just a few years old.
I open the rear door and grab the set of ratchet straps I keep on the floor.
Turning back, I catch Tilda’s eyes on me before she turns her head forward.
Look all you want, Fairy Girl.
Moving to the back of Tilda’s truck, I lower the tailgate and climb into the bed.
With the baseball hat on her head, she can’t see me as I stand above her. But when I grip the top edge of the pool, she lets go.
When it clears the side of the truck, I lower it into the bed, then stand in the center of the pool, holding it in place.
Jack didn’t believe in replacing things that weren’t broken, hence this old-ass truck, but the engine is in great condition, and he bolted half a dozen tie-down anchors in the bed. Making it easy to secure things with straps exactly like the ones I’m using.
I crisscross the straps over the kiddie pool and tighten them as much as I dare, without cracking the plastic.
Still crouched down, I turn my head and meet Tilda’s eyes.
She’s been waiting silently. Watching.
“You know how to loosen these?” I indicate the yellow strap.
She shakes her head.
I show her how.
Then I tighten it and show her again.
“If it sticks, just give it a little jiggle. Okay?”
She nods.
From my place in the bed, I look through the back window, and this time I can see the item lying on the passenger side of the front seat.
I slowly turn my head back toward Tilda. “Duck food?”
She crosses her arms, pushing up her tits.
But I keep my eyes locked on hers as I lift a brow.
She lifts one right back.
And I find myself fighting another fucking smile.
Standing, I step over the straps, then brace my hand on the edge of the truck bed and jump down.
I close the tailgate and round the side of the truck, but when I stop before Tilda, the look of defiance has withered away into something else.
