Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [36]
I patted Bessie on the neck, slyly attempting to turn her head to the right. “Hey, look! They are some hot bulls in the next field. Man are they hung. Check it out.”
That actually got a laugh out of Jake.
But Bessie? Not so amused. She flicked her tail at me with the precision of a cattle driver wielding a bullwhip. The sting could’ve been worse, had I been closer. I shoved her fat ass. “Knock it off, you old sow.”
Finally, Jake freed the little guy. The young steer trotted after Mama into the herd. Mama, who’d been willing to take on both Jake and me mere minutes ago, now ignored her precious baby.
“Let’s break for lunch,” Jake said.
Back at the house, I eyed the freshly dug flower beds running the length of the porch. Sophie hadn’t yet planted petunias, zinnias, snapdragons, and geraniums, but the promise of the bare dark earth bursting with blooms buoyed my mood. I wiped my feet on the welcome mat, the scents of coffee and laundry detergent teasing me through the screen door as I stepped into the kitchen.
Sophie had braced one hand on the counter and one on her hip. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I’ve been out with Jake. He said to tell you he’ll be along shortly.” I chugged a glass of tap water and poured another. “How are you today?”
She shuffled to me, placing her hands on my forehead, checking for goose eggs or skull fractures. “Did you slam your head in the pickup door again?”
“You are such a riot, Sophie.”
“I’m happy to see you.” She patted my cheeks affectionately. “I miss you hanging around, brooding, snapping at me. You hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Lucky for you I was gonna fry up some egg sandwiches.”
“Sounds good.” I sipped the water, noticing the quiet in the house—highly unusual with a fussy five-month-old baby. My gaze hooked Sophie’s, and I lifted a brow.
“Sleeping. Both of them. Finally.”
“Rough morning?”
“A rough night, according to Hope. You didn’t stay here?”
And things had been going so well. “I work late nights, Sophie. Rather than get my ass chewed by my sleep-Nazi sister for waking up Joy, I crashed at the cabin.”
Sophie muttered, “It ain’t right.”
“What?”
“You not being able to come and go in your own house.”
“It’s Hope’s house, too,” I reminded her. “As long as she’s happy here, I don’t mind.”
“What makes you think she’s happy?”
That stopped me. “She’s not?”
“Ain’t my place to say.”
I snorted. “Since when have you ever let that stop you?”
Hope came into the kitchen with Joy cocked on her hip. As always, the pleasure at seeing my niece was laced with wariness. Ironically, the same feelings Hope brought out in me.
“Mercy. I didn’t know you were here,” Hope said.
“Seems to be a theme today.”
Sophie said, “That nap didn’t last long, eh?”
“No.” Hope turned to talk to Sophie, and Joy faced me.
The one-two punch of her sweet baby face settled low in my belly. Joy’s anime eyes were the same golden brown as Levi’s. Her dark hair stood straight up in a funky baby Mohawk. With her chubby cheeks and perfect rosebud mouth, she epitomized adorable. Then she blinked those haunting eyes at me and gave me a drooly grin.
Damn kid was wearing me down.
“Hey, Poopy. Nice threads.” Joy was dressed in the bright purple onesie I’d bought for her; it was dotted with golden crowns, the word Princess in fancy lettering above each tiny tiara.
She immediately screwed up her face and wailed.
Shit.
Mama Hope whirled on me. “What did you do to her?”
“Me? I just poked her in the eye a little.” When my sister’s mouth widened in horror, I backtracked. “Hope, I’m kidding. I did nothing. I didn’t even move. Hell, I didn’t really even look at her.”
“Like that’s something new,” Hope sniffed.
I forced a smile. “You know, Sophie, thanks for the lunch offer, but I’m gonna head out. See you.”
“But—” The rest of her protest was lost when the screen door slammed behind me.
I’d had my fill of overprotective mamas—bovine and human—
for one day.
Seemed I was the one who needed a damn nap.
On the rare nights Dawson and I both had off, he’d show up, ply me with food, challenge me to a game