The little boy pivoted around in his chair. “When are we gonna ‘stall the deadbowls?”
“Deadbolts,” Leni murmured, then sent a flat look over his blond head. “I think Knox took care of them all while we were having fun today.”
“That’s right.” Knox indicated the collection of tools in his hand. “I just finished up, actually. Everything’s secured now, sealed up tight from top to bottom.”
Leni gave him a begrudging nod. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Riley grabbed Fred into his lap and motioned to the now vacated chair beside him. “Knox, come sit by me.”
When he glanced at Leni, she shrugged faintly. It was about the closest thing to a truce they’d had all day. Riley patted the empty chair, his bright blue eyes imploring until he got what he wanted.
“Sounded like quite a battle on the stairs a while ago,” Knox said as he put the tools on the floor and sat down. “Who won, the cowboys or the aliens?”
“The cowboys, a’course. Aunt Leni was in charge of the aliens and she always lets me win.”
“Excuse me?” She set down her fork with feigned indignation. “Since when do you think I let you win, little man?”
“Since for always.” Riley shrugged as he shoveled a large mound of mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth. When Leni reached over and tickled under his arm he burst into a fit of giggles. After he calmed down, he brought his stuffed bear up to his ear, nodding solemnly. “Knox, Fred says you can eat his biscuit if you want. It’s got lots of honey on it.”
“I see that.”
“Do you like honey too?”
Knox chuckled. “Not especially. How about we let Fred keep his dinner?”
Riley’s pale brows knit. “You’re not hungry?”
Knox glanced at Leni and saw she was waiting for his reply. There was no judgment in her steady hazel eyes, only curiosity and patient consideration. Whatever he wanted to tell the boy, she was leaving it up to him.
Knox opted for the truth.
“I don’t eat the same kind of food that you and Fred do.” He placed his arm on the table so Riley could see theglyphssnaking around his forearm and onto the back of his hand. “Do you know what these are?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“They’re calleddermaglyphs. Only certain people are born with them, people like me.”
“Cool!” Riley’s eyes widened as he stared at the intricate tangle of markings. “Can I touch ‘em?”
“Sure.”
Tiny fingers traced the sweeps and flourishes before that inquisitive face tilted back up to look at Knox. “What kind of food do you like?”
Ah, Christ. He had to know Riley would come back at him with questions. He’d gotten a sampling of the boy’s keen intellect and fearless curiosity that morning. But how the hell could he explain what he was without frightening or confusing him?
Leni’s gaze seemed to be asking the same thing. She watched in guarded silence, trusting him—or maybe testing him. Either way, leaving him to dangle at the mercy of a six-year-old boy.
Knox cleared his throat. “You know how your buddy Fred over there only likes honey?” Riley nodded. “Well, I’m kind of like that too. Except, instead of drinking honey I drink something else.”
“Milk?”
Knox smirked. “No.”
“Root beer?”
“No. Not that, either.”
