Dad nodded like that explained a lot. “Long way from home.”
Colt pulled out a chair for her and she sat. I filled a glass from the tap and set it in front of her, maybe a little harder than I needed to.
“Better?” she asked, glancing down at her new clothes, one brow raised.
Dad had his back turned to us, busy pulling the pan of roasted chicken out of the oven.
I pulled out the chair across from her and sat. "You’re still here. So no.”
Colt kicked me from under the table. I was about to kick him back when I heard it: the tap-tap-tap of a small cane on hardwood.
Wyatt appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had the same broad build as the rest of us brothers, but wore a tired slump from being up before the sun. Maisie, with blonde pigtails and denim overalls, clutched his fingers while her cane tapped along the baseboard. Her pale blue eyes were unfocused, fixed somewhere near the fridge.
The irritation buzzing under my skin disappeared. I crossed the room, making sure my boots hit the floor loud enough for her to hear me coming.
“There’s my girl,” I said.
Her face lit up. She let go of Wyatt’s hand and reached out into the air. “Uncle Brock!”
“Wanna fly, May-bug?”
I grabbed her under the arms and lifted her high. She shrieked happily, her hands grabbing my shoulders as I spun her once and settled her against my hip.
“Easy, don’t break my kid before dinner,” Wyatt said. He clapped a hand on my back, then followed my gaze to the table.
Sienna was watching us, her expression softer than it had been a minute ago. I didn’t like it. I didn’t need her looking at me like that.
Wyatt tipped his hat. “You must be the one they sent for my brother. I’m Wyatt. Welcome to the chaos.”
“Sienna,” she said, the sharp edge gone from her voice. “Thanks. I’m starting to think I might need the warning.”
Her brown eyes moved from Maisie’s arms around my neck to my face, then quickly away. A hand patted my chest, and I looked down. Maisie’s nose wrinkled.
"Uncle Brock?"
"Yeah, bug?"
"Someone smells like flowers." She tilted her head. "It's not Wren. Wren smells like hay. And it's not Daddy. Is that Sienna?"
"Yeah, bug. That's her. She's staying with us for a while."
She thought about it. "Is she your girlfriend?"
Colt threw his head back, barking out a laugh. Even Dad let out a low chuckle, trying to hide his grin behind his water glass. Across the table, Sienna’s cheeks flushed pink.
“No,” I said. “She’s here for work.”
“She smells way better than you.”
“Thanks, bug,” I said. “Come on now, dinner’s getting cold.”
The kitchen went back to its usual chaos—plates clattering, chairs scraping, Dad barking at Colt to pass the rolls. I settled Maisie into her chair and straightened up.
Sienna was staring at her water glass like it was the most interesting thing in the room. But that bright pink hadn’t left her cheeks. And I was the idiot who couldn’t stop looking.
three
. . .
