Foreman jumped back from the curb when Amber's car skidded to a barely-controlled stop in front of him. Forget about whatever torture her family would inflict; he might be lucky to reach their home alive, with Amber behind the wheel. He knew she went fast, and was normally an excellent, controlled driver despite that, but fast combined with icy, sleety weather, and the stress of this family get-together probably weren't the best ingredients for a safe drive.

"Of course," he said, his instinctively tight response to Amber's abrupt question almost lost under the slam of the car door. He'd picked up his bags before she'd opened the trunk, although instead of just tossing the suitcases in among hers, he had to stop and adjust the...six bags she'd packed. Christ, had he missed the memo where everyone dressed for dinner and were going out on a six-month expedition between turkey and pie besides? Shaking his head, Foreman found space for his bags and shoved them in, watching for Amber's fingers before closing the trunk firmly.

At least the car was warm. Foreman climbed in, unclenching slightly without the arctic wind blowing down his collar. He wasn't feeling his most talkative, and he didn't know how Amber planned to spend the drive--if it was lecturing him on every possible family quirk and her strategizing for dealing with it, then probably tense silence was better than an argument.