“Great.”
“And your dresses will be delivered tomorrow.”
“Super.” A wedding, a celebration, doesn’t seem quite appropriate now. I pout, my stomach turning again, dislodging that anxiety. So I drown it with coffee.
“Um, Rose,” Beau says, grabbing at my arm.
“What?”
She starts backing up, her eyes round.
Confused, I locate the source of her wariness and find Danny’s two Dobermans, Barbie and Cindy, before us, their thick necks extended, their eyes set. They’re not growling. Not barking. But they’re wary, their stance threatening. My confusion multiplies. They’re used to me now, and they’re used to Beau too, so what’s their problem? “Hey, girls,” I coo, extending a hand for them to sniff.
They growl, and I quickly retract my offering. “Okay, don’t move,” I warn Beau, watching them closely, quickly weighing up our options.
“You want me to just stand here and wait for them to eat me?”
“They’re not going to eat you.”
“You sure? They’re literally licking their lips, Rose. And dribbling.”
They are, and it’s weird. And then it occurs to me. I slowly look over my shoulder. Tank and Fury are stock-still behind us, shitting themselves. “Don’t move,” I warn them quietly.
They don’t. Not their eyes, not anything on their colossal bodies moves a whisper. Fuck, I don’t know how to handle this. “Sit,” I order, but they don’t sit. Instead, they start to growl and snarl. “Shit, I think they only listen to Danny.”
“Where’s Danny?” Fury asks from behind, his voice shaking.
“The boatyard.”
“Great.”
“Sit,” I blurt. “Lay!” But they remain unmoving, their hackles up, their stare stuck to Tank and Fury. God damn it.
I’d take the mutts over you any day of the week.
Wise. They’re less deadly than I am.
I smile at the memory. “Heel,” I order, and the dogs are up like lightning, charging toward me and sitting at my feet like good little girls. I give them all the fuss they deserve, hearing Tank and Fury exhale their relief. “Away!” They dash off, barking, and I smile. Way less deadly than Danny, and yet I still wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of their bites.
“Are you okay?” I ask Beau.
“I’m fine. But I don’t think they are.” She nods toward Tank and Fury. The twins look plain terrified.
“I thought it was your job to protect us,” I say, smiling and pivoting, wandering off, armed with my gun and my coffee.
* * *
“Your aim is completely ridiculous,” I grumble, taking one step closer to the wall where every single one of the tin cans Beau set out for me is still standing. Every. Single. One. I peek at Beau’s side of the wall. No tin cans. Because they’re all scattered within a twenty-yard radius with holes in them.
“Loosen your grip. You’re too tense.” She aims and fires, barely lining up her shot. “Too tense, the shock jerks you and your aim will be off.”
Tank and Fury both nod, agreeing. Feeling the pressure of my audience’s close observations, I try again, closing one eye, holding my arms out straight but not stiff.
“And squeeze the trigger,” Beau says quietly.
“Squeeze the trigger,” I murmur, doing just that. A bang sounds, followed by a high-pitched ping, and a can flies off the wall into the air. “Ha!”
“See?” Beau comes over, taking the gun from me. “We’re out of bullets.” She looks across to the Vikings in silent question.
They both shake their heads in perfect sync. “Spoilsports.” I pout, then I hear Esther calling me. I shade my eyes to try and see her, squinting. And when she comes into view, I gasp. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Beau’s quickly shielding her eyes from the sun too, trying to see what’s got me panicked.
“My boy.” What is he doing here? How is he here? I start hurrying toward the house, taking him in. God, he’s grown more in the weeks I haven’t seen him.
“Rose!” Beau yells, and I’m suddenly jarred to a stop, being dragged back. She turns me away from Daniel and takes the gun out of my hand.
“Shit,” I murmur.
“Now you may go,” she says, ushering me away, pushing both the guns into the back of her leggings.
I continue toward him, taking him in from head to toe. I do it every time. Assess every beautiful inch of him, every hair on his head, every fleck in his blue eyes. “Hey.” He gives me one of those half hugs kids of his age do, a kind of push into the body and one arm around the receiver’s back. He’s gotten even taller. “Will you please stop growing? I can’t keep up.” He’s nearly overtaking me.
He points back at the mansion. “Whose house is this?” he asks, looking stunned.
My lips press together, and I glance to Esther for help. It’s actually mine, since Danny signed everything over to me on his death. But, obviously, I can’t tell him that. “We’re renting it.”
“Who are all the men everywhere?” He looks past me, his head retracting at the sight of Tank and Fury.
“They work for Danny.” Shit, this was a bad idea. The questions are just going to keep coming. “How did you get here?”
“Esther picked me up from school.”
“She did?”
Esther smiles, tilting her head at me. What is that? What’s going on, and why don’t I know about it, especially when it’s concerning my boy? “I’m doing burgers for dinner,” she says, ignoring my questioning face. “Do you want one, Daniel?” She just can’t help it. There will be no new housekeeper. She relishes her . . . what does she call it? Faffing too much.
“Sure,” he says, distracted by the mansion. “It’s massive, man.”
“Daniel, this is Beau, my friend.”
“Hi, Daniel.”
“Hi,” he says without even looking at her, transfixed.
“Hey.” I poke him in the shoulder. “This is my friend Beau.”
Ripping his attention away from the house, he smiles awkwardly. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” Beau backs away, keeping her back, where our two guns are tucked away, out of sight. “I’ll catch you later. I’m going to check on my uncle.” She reaches behind her and turns stealthily, keeping the guns concealed.
“Hope he’s okay,” I call as Fury passes us, shadowing Beau.
“There’s a delivery for you,” Esther says, motioning toward the drive.
“For me?” I ask.
She says nothing and makes her way to the house, and I throw my arm over Daniel’s shoulder, starting to walk him back. It’s so good to have him here, so good to see him, but I’m really not sure if it’s a good idea. I push my lips into the side of his head, breathing him into me.
“Where’s Mister?” he asks, tensing slightly at my affection.
“Just dealing with some business.” I glance at the sky, giving it a pained look.
“Jet skis?” he asks, hopeful.
“Yes, jet skis,” I chirp. “He deals in jet skis.”