Page 35 of Royal Legacy


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That telltale scrape-drag-thump of the old five-gallon bucket bumping against the steps had me staring out the window with another frown. What on earth was my child doing?

Before I could intercept him at the door, he was jiggling the latch.

“Mama! MAMA!” he hollered, voice full of triumph. “I got a friend!”

Every muscle in my body tensed. Nothing good ever followed those words.

Sure enough, he burst into the kitchen, red-faced and grinning, both hands gripping the bucket handle like he’s hauling treasure. He set it down with a dramatic thud. And then the scratching started.

My throat tightened.

“Brady,” I said, already pinching the bridge of my nose. “What’s in the bucket?”

He beamed, cheeks flushed, eyes shining with the kind of pride usually reserved for astronauts. “A CHIPMUNK! He likes me. I’m gonna keep him.”

Oh, sweet boy!

He was the king of the jungle, even here in the city. Before I could tell him there was no way in hell we were keeping a rodent, the chipmunk launched itself up and over the rim, bolted across the kitchen floor, and disappeared somewhere behind the stove.

“Brady!” I whispered.

“Oh, no!” He shot forward, dragging the bucket and bumping chairs.

I didn’t even scream anymore when this kind of thing happened. It was par for the course that he caught anything living and tried to tame it. I just looked at my feral child, squatting by the stove, covered in dirt, coaxing the wild animal out.

“See, mama?” Brady insisted with utter sincerity. “He’s home now.”

Tea forgotten, I hurried over. “He most certainly isnothome. He’ll get stuck and die.”

Brady scrunched his nose. “I’ll feed him. And there’s no cats to hunt him.”

“Brady,” I groaned.

It was the wild bunnies all over again.

“Please, mama,” he begged, pulling at the bottom of the oven, but the drawer was stuck.

In my cleaning frenzy, I hadn’t moved the appliances, not wanting to know what kinds of grossness had piled back there over the years.

“Go get the broom,” I instructed.

There was a bump and thump as Brady drug the bucket with him. I jiggled the ancient stove, testing to see if I could move it enough.

The frightened chipmunk ran along the side closest to the wall. If I’d had the bucket, I would have been able to drop it on top of the critter.

“No!” I yelped, diving forward.

The soft, brown, speckled ball was a streak of fur as it raced along the wall.

And headed straight to the front bedroom.

“Caspian!” Brady yelled, running with broom and bucket.

All I could think was“Great, he named it”as the creature dove under the closed door.

It wasn’t until Brady turned the knob and dove inside that my overly tired brain registered what was happening.

“Brady, no,” I gasped.