Here We Come (Aggie's Inheritance) (195 page)

“Who
I
just
figured
out.
We’ll
get
him
a
fishing
license.”

“Seriously?
What’s
that,
fifteen
bucks?”

“Sure—or
thirty.
Something
like
that.”

She
closed
her
eyes,
willing
herself
not
to
storm
out
of
the
truck.
It woul
d
look
even
more
ridiculous
than
she
felt
already.
“Ok.
Let’s
just
get
it.
I’m
hungry.”

“You’re
angry.”

“That
doesn’t
seem
to
matter;
let’s
just
go.”

When
he
didn’t
answer,
angry
tears
attacked
her,
making
a
very
bad
situation
worse.
She
glanced
at
him
as
he
pushed
a
packet
of
tissues
across
the
seat
and
saw
that
he
was
praying.
A
new
wave
of
fury
washed
over
her
and
with
it,
sobs.
It
was
ridiculous.
What
on
earth
was
wrong
with
her?

“Oh,
Mibs.”
Luke
unsnapped
his
seatbelt,
jerked
the
armrest
out
of
the
way
and
slid
across
the
seat,
pulling
her
to
him.
“What’s
wrong?”

“I
don’t
know.
I
keep
getting
angry
over
all
kinds
of
things
that
don’t
make
sense.
I
know
it,
and
it
just
makes
me
angrier.”

“What
did
I
say?”

“You
think
I’m
stupid
for
being
concerned
about
the
price
differences,
but
it’s
really
stressing
me
out.”

“I
don’t
think
you’re
stupid
at
all.
I
was
trying
to
reassure
you
that
I
don’t
think
anyone
would
care
even
if
they
did
notice.
Why
spend
a
thousand
dollars
on
gifts
just
because
one
was
two-hundred
fifty?”

“And
your
mom’s
,
no
less.
No
favoritism
there,
right?”

“Would
it
take
the
stress
off,”
he
asked,
blatantly
ignoring
the
dig
she’d
tried
to
inflict,
“if
I
paid
for
everything
and
gave
them
from
me?”

“So
that
I
look
like
an
ungrateful
jerk?
That
makes
so
much
more
sense.
Gee,
thanks.”

His
patience
seemed
worn
thin.
He
re-buckled
his
seatbelt
and
started
the
truck.
Aggie
watched
amazed
as
he
pulled
into
traffic
and
drove
without
a
word
to
Storyland.
“I’ll
be
back
in
a
minute.”

Left
alone
in
the
truck,
Aggie
seethed.
What
did
he
think
he
was
doing?
“Lord,
I’m
about
to
throttle
him!”

When
he
returned,
he
passed
the
envelope
to
her
.
“An
annual
pass
was
only
fifty
dollars
more
than
a
season
pass,
so
I
went
for
it.
It
brought
it
closer
to
your
target
price.”

“Luke…”

“Hot
dogs.”

Her
mind
spun.
What
did
hot
dogs
have
to
do
with
anything?
It
made
no—lunch.
It
did
too
make
sense.
It
wasn’t
the
silent
treatment,
but
it
felt
like
it.
He
was
mad
now.
Great.
Just
what
they
needed.

“What
kind
of
hot
dog
do
you
want?”

“Huh?”

“What
kind—”