Page 115 of Rebel Revenge

“I know. I’m getting some at the store.”

“How long until you get home?”

“A couple of hours.”

I crinkled my nose at the thought of sitting around for a few hours waiting for him to show. My ADHD knew no such thing. “Is there some sort of egg substitute I can use?”

“In a cake? Sure, if you want it to taste like shit.”

“Not exactly my aim.”

“You could run to the store yourself?”

“Sounds like more effort than I can currently muster. Ooh shit! The oven is smoking!”

“Oh Lord,” Vaughn said in the background with a groan. “Will the house even be standing when we get back? Please don’t burn the place down. I don’t even know if the insurance is still current.”

It was almost a relief to hear him putting me down. It was a lot safer than the way he’d been talking in the early hours of the morning with his arms wrapped around me.

Kian ignored him. “Turn the oven down. Something probably spilled over last time I cooked and is just burning in the bottom. I’ll clean it out later. Then go next door to Kathleen and Paul’s place. Kathleen is the sweetest. She’ll loan you an egg or two. Tell her I’ll replenish her stock when I get home.”

I brightened at that idea. I liked the idea of not having to wait or go down to the store myself. “Thanks, Kian. You’re a good guy. Can’t believe Vaughn ever thought you might have killed our parents.”

“What?” Kian demanded.

Vaughn groaned.

I grinned, enjoying the payback for him dissing my baking skills. “Discuss that amongst yourselves. I’ve got eggs to hunt down.”

I hung up to the tune of their squabbling. I was a shit stirrer, and I knew it, but someone had to get the two of them talking.

At the front door, I slipped on a pair of slides and strode up to the road. It was only then that I realized I hadn’t asked Kian which side sweet old Kathleen with the plentiful supply of eggs lived on. I shrugged and gave it a shot, heading for the house to the left of ours.

The house was quiet as I approached, and I knocked on the door while admiring the shiny black paint and gold door knocker. When our house was officially mine, maybe I could ask Kian to do the same to ours.

From inside, sprightly footsteps thundered downstairs. I frowned at the noise, because Kian had made out that Kathleen and Paul were older. I wasn’t sure how many people in their sixties or seventies could run down a staircase without rolling an ankle or breaking a hip. I was only thirty and I’d had a few dicey moments on the extravagant staircases the houses in this town seemed to favor.

I wasn’t all that surprised when a young woman in her twenties answered the door.

What was surprising was the bikini she had on. “Hey. You aren’t the pizza guy.”

Pizza Guy was gonna be real disappointed he hadn’t been on time if he liked tall, athletic brunettes.

I shook my head. “No. I’m not. I’m guessing you aren’t Kathleen or Paul?”

The woman smiled and pointed back toward my place. “Oh no, you have the wrong house. Kathleen and Paul are two doors down that way.”

“Ah. The other side of my place then. Gotcha. Thank you. Sorry for interrupting.”

I turned to leave, but she grabbed my arm.

“Wait, you live next door? With Kian?”

“I do. Just moved in a few days ago. My mom lived there before she…”

The woman clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh! You’re Rebel? Miranda’s daughter? Of course you are! You look just like her!” Her face fell. “I really liked your mom. She was a lot of fun.”

Sounded about right. Mom had always liked to party. It seemed like she’d done a lot of it with people who weren’t me. That hurt a bit, but I knew it was me who’d put distance between us. Once I’d been old enough to realize I was the daughter and I shouldn’t have to take care of my mother, it had been easier to draw some boundaries. We’d both benefited from them. She’d had to stand on her own two feet more, and I’d gotten some breathing space.

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