“Eyez.”
“Yeah, those are my eyes.”
She wiped her sticky hand on his hair. “Hair.”
“Yeah.”
“Muck, muck, muck!” She poked her finger at his mouth for each word.
He stared at the kid. She reached down and took another mashed handful of banana. “Smitty’s right there, kid. You shouldn’t say that one. That’s a bad word.”
“Bad wolf.” She puffed her cheeks up and blew banana out of her mouth.
He flinched, then wiped it from his face. “Yeah, well here, kid.” Hank handed her another banana. “Eat. We’ll talk later.”
She threw the banana across the sand.
He scowled down at the kid. “You don’t want it, huh?”
“No.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you. I think we’re all tired of bananas.” He looked around, but all he saw was a pile of the green fruit. He scratched his chin for a second and set her on the ground, then stood and reached for her hand.
It was gooey with smashed banana. He used his shirttail to wipe her hands, then swung her up onto his shoulders.
She laughed and slapped his head. “More!”
But before he could swing her again, he spotted the damn goat moseying up the sand and chewing on some monkey grass near a bright red ginger plant.
He studied the goat for a calculating minute, then looked at Annabelle. “How ’bout some milk, kid? You don’t cook milk, so Smitty can’t burn it. Although she might try.”
The goat looked up and bleated. Hank studied it. The goat appeared unfazed. It just lowered its head and went back to eating the grass.
Hank looked around, then set the kid down on a rock. “Don’t move. Got it?”
She grinned up at him.
He watched her for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, what the hell, I guess that means yes.”
He crossed the clearing and picked up one of Smitty’s iron cooking pots, then he moved in on the goat. When he was about three feet away, the goat looked up. They stared at each other.
The goat blinked, then ate some more grass.
Not bad, he thought and moved closer, slowly sliding the pot under the goat’s udder. Very carefully he squatted down. He rested his hand on his bent knees and looked at the goat.
It just chewed on the grass, not even bothering to look at him.
He reached toward a tit.
The goat shifted so its butt was in his face. Hank swore.
“Sit!”
He scowled at the kid. She was still sitting on the rock, watching him as if it were the most important thing she could do.And Smitty acted as if taking care of a kid was hard. Women... Everything’s a big deal.
He turned back, and the goat kicked him right in the gut.
The air left his lungs, and he doubled over. “God...”
