To Claim the Mountain Man

Chapter 37

ISLA

Heath and I drew the short straw after supper. While the rest of my family gathered in the living room to watch whatever sports game aired that evening, we were stuck cleaning the dishes in the kitchen.

Growing up, I'd hated the chore. Whoever made that night's supper was exempt from cleaning, which meant that the job typically fell to me, Garrett, Brooks, or Dad. It was a tradition we'd continued, even long after we'd all flown from the nest. When I'd drawn the short stick—a literal toothpick that was half an inch shorter than the rest—I'd told Heath to enjoy himself in the living room with my family, but he insisted on helping me.

I never knew that cleaning dishes could be fun, but here we were.

In typical Heath fashion, the grown man wanted to turn the chore into a series of games to pass the time. That was how I ended up in a shockingly heated battle to scrub the burnt residue from one half of the casserole dish, while Heath took a sponge to the other half.

Soap suds flew in every direction, and water soaked half of my blouse as we tugged the dish back and forth in a desperate attempt to make it shine the fastest. My forearm hurt, and I was certain my nails wouldn't recover from their death grip on my sponge.

"Jesus, you're a vicious little thing," Heath teased, his breath tickling the side of my face.

"Just admit it, McCord," I shot back, never relinquishing my hold on the casserole dish and the spot of hardened crescent roll that wouldn't budge. "You can't handle the heat."

"What in the hell is going on in here?" Garrett drawled from somewhere behind us.

We paused just long enough to glance over our shoulders. My brother stood in the kitchen doorway, a half-empty bottle of beer in one hand and amusement riddling his features.

"Clean-Up-Olympics. Iron Man Scrubathalon. We're still deciding the name," Heath explained, swatting at my hand with his sponge when I tried to keep scrubbing despite the interruption.

To my surprise, Garrett chuckled. I'd thought he'd roll his eyes or gag instead.

"Well, if you two want to take a break, Nat is craving ice-cream." He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. "We were just about to walk downtown to Sandy's. Come with us."

Sandy's Diner sat at the heart of downtown Laurel Peak, and it served everything from burgers and fries to milkshakes and banana cream pies. On any other night, I would've leapt at the chance to indulge in a five-hundred calorie sundae. Tonight, though...

Tonight, I had aspirations that didn't quite align with a sugar-induced food coma.

I paused, glancing up at Heath to find him already staring at me with those intense, blue-gray eyes. He said nothing, evidently leaving the choice up to me, though I didn't think I imagined the heat of his body pressing closer to my side.

Turning back to Garrett, I shook my head. "I think we'll just chill here. I'm still too full from dinner."

"No worries. Will y'all still be here when we get back?"

I narrowed my eyes at the little digital clock on the microwave. A part of me wanted to head out as soon as Heath and I finished the dishes, but I also didn't want to be rude. I supposed we an extra hour at my parents wouldn't hurt. Heath would still want to spend the night together, even if we got home an hour later than planned.

"Yeah, we'll be here," I answered, plastering a smile on my lips. "Are Mom and Dad going with you?"

"That's the plan." Garrett nodded, tapping the outside of his fist against the doorframe.