“I’ve got pie in the truck.”
“Where’d you get pie?”
“Cherry pie. You want any, help the runt. I’m going to take the other kid down.”
“I like cherry pie.” Murphy hit Ryder with his beautiful angel smile.
“Clean it up, and you’ll get some.”
Pretty good deal, Ryder decided as he headed toward the family room. Skate out of cleanup, and prevent himself from eating a whole pie—which he would have, and no doubt he’d have felt sick after.
He walked in, rolled his shoulders, did a little boxer’s dance in place. “You’re going down, Harry Caray. Down and out.”
Harry raised his arms over his head. “Undefeated. World Champ. I knocked Owen out! He had X’s in his eyes.”
“Glass-Jaw Owen,” Ryder scoffed, tapped his own jaw with his fist. “Big whoop.” He went to the fridge under the bar, got a beer. “Say your prayers.”
“I’ll say some for you,” Beckett offered his brother. “The kid’s merciless.”
“Save ’em. I’ve got a cherry pie out in the bed of the truck. Why don’t you go get it?”
“Pie?” Liam jumped up from the floor where he’d been rolling with the dogs. “I want pie.”
“Then pie you shall have, grasshopper.” Beckett shoved out of the big leather chair.
“Okay, current and soon-to-be ass-kicked champ. Set it up.”
Harry brought up Ryder’s Mii—dark hair, eerily green eyes, scowling face—offered the controller.
The crowd went wild.
The kid beat the crap out of him.
He dropped down with his beer while Harry circled the room, pumping fists in the air.
“What do you do, play this twenty-four/seven?”
“I’ve got natural talent.”
“My butt.”
“Granddad said so. I beat him, too. But he’s kind of old.”
“I want to play!” Murphy came tearing in.
“It’s my turn.” Liam braced to defend his rights. “Beckett said we could do PlayStation next, and I got to pick. WWF.”
First boxing, Ryder thought, now wrestling. Beckett must sleep like the dead every night.
“I’m going for pie.” Ryder pushed up. Young desire turned on a dime as they stampeded into the kitchen.
NOT A CRUMB of pie remained, a fact Ryder regretted a little. They wrestled, chased thieves, outwitted assassins. Liam was the first to give it up, passing out in the pile of dogs. Beckett plucked him up, carted him up to bed.
By the time he got back, Harry was sprawled facedown on the sofa. While Beckett repeated the process, Murphy sat cross-legged and wide awake on the floor, guiding Owen through some Mario Brothers game.
“Doesn’t he ever conk?” Ryder asked, jerking a thumb at Murphy.
“Kid’s like a vampire. He’d stay up till sunrise if you let him. Time to call it, Murph.”
“But I’m not tired. There’s no school. I wanna—”
“You can watch a movie up in my bed.”
“Okay! Can I watch two movies?”
“Let’s start with one.” Beckett hauled him up, tossed Murphy over his shoulder to make the boy laugh.
As Beckett carried Murphy out, Owen stretched out on the couch. “Two more?”
“Yeah. But Beck seems to have the dad thing down. Plus, he’ll have his own basketball team, if the runt ever gets some inches on him.”
“Avery and I figure on two.”
“Nice even number.” Absently, Ryder dug a hand into a partially mangled bag of barbecue potato chips. “Have you got the date of conception, birth, college graduation mapped out?”
Used to it, Owen merely shrugged.
“Jesus, you do.”
“Just ballparking. Anyway, we’re starting with dogs.”
“I’m not sure a pug is a dog. They’re more cat-sized.”
“They’re dogs, and they’re good with kids. Gotta think ahead. When we started researching breeds—”
“When
you
started researching.”
“Anyway, Avery fell pretty hard for the pug idea. Then she talked to Mom, and Mom put her onto the rescue idea. So we’re getting a year-old pug named Tyrone who’s deaf in one ear.”
“A half dog—not the deaf part, the size. He’s half a dog,
“Where’d you get pie?”
“Cherry pie. You want any, help the runt. I’m going to take the other kid down.”
“I like cherry pie.” Murphy hit Ryder with his beautiful angel smile.
“Clean it up, and you’ll get some.”
Pretty good deal, Ryder decided as he headed toward the family room. Skate out of cleanup, and prevent himself from eating a whole pie—which he would have, and no doubt he’d have felt sick after.
He walked in, rolled his shoulders, did a little boxer’s dance in place. “You’re going down, Harry Caray. Down and out.”
Harry raised his arms over his head. “Undefeated. World Champ. I knocked Owen out! He had X’s in his eyes.”
“Glass-Jaw Owen,” Ryder scoffed, tapped his own jaw with his fist. “Big whoop.” He went to the fridge under the bar, got a beer. “Say your prayers.”
“I’ll say some for you,” Beckett offered his brother. “The kid’s merciless.”
“Save ’em. I’ve got a cherry pie out in the bed of the truck. Why don’t you go get it?”
“Pie?” Liam jumped up from the floor where he’d been rolling with the dogs. “I want pie.”
“Then pie you shall have, grasshopper.” Beckett shoved out of the big leather chair.
“Okay, current and soon-to-be ass-kicked champ. Set it up.”
Harry brought up Ryder’s Mii—dark hair, eerily green eyes, scowling face—offered the controller.
The crowd went wild.
The kid beat the crap out of him.
He dropped down with his beer while Harry circled the room, pumping fists in the air.
“What do you do, play this twenty-four/seven?”
“I’ve got natural talent.”
“My butt.”
“Granddad said so. I beat him, too. But he’s kind of old.”
“I want to play!” Murphy came tearing in.
“It’s my turn.” Liam braced to defend his rights. “Beckett said we could do PlayStation next, and I got to pick. WWF.”
First boxing, Ryder thought, now wrestling. Beckett must sleep like the dead every night.
“I’m going for pie.” Ryder pushed up. Young desire turned on a dime as they stampeded into the kitchen.
NOT A CRUMB of pie remained, a fact Ryder regretted a little. They wrestled, chased thieves, outwitted assassins. Liam was the first to give it up, passing out in the pile of dogs. Beckett plucked him up, carted him up to bed.
By the time he got back, Harry was sprawled facedown on the sofa. While Beckett repeated the process, Murphy sat cross-legged and wide awake on the floor, guiding Owen through some Mario Brothers game.
“Doesn’t he ever conk?” Ryder asked, jerking a thumb at Murphy.
“Kid’s like a vampire. He’d stay up till sunrise if you let him. Time to call it, Murph.”
“But I’m not tired. There’s no school. I wanna—”
“You can watch a movie up in my bed.”
“Okay! Can I watch two movies?”
“Let’s start with one.” Beckett hauled him up, tossed Murphy over his shoulder to make the boy laugh.
As Beckett carried Murphy out, Owen stretched out on the couch. “Two more?”
“Yeah. But Beck seems to have the dad thing down. Plus, he’ll have his own basketball team, if the runt ever gets some inches on him.”
“Avery and I figure on two.”
“Nice even number.” Absently, Ryder dug a hand into a partially mangled bag of barbecue potato chips. “Have you got the date of conception, birth, college graduation mapped out?”
Used to it, Owen merely shrugged.
“Jesus, you do.”
“Just ballparking. Anyway, we’re starting with dogs.”
“I’m not sure a pug is a dog. They’re more cat-sized.”
“They’re dogs, and they’re good with kids. Gotta think ahead. When we started researching breeds—”
“When
you
started researching.”
“Anyway, Avery fell pretty hard for the pug idea. Then she talked to Mom, and Mom put her onto the rescue idea. So we’re getting a year-old pug named Tyrone who’s deaf in one ear.”
“A half dog—not the deaf part, the size. He’s half a dog,
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