Page 23 of Rent Free

The drive took me twice as long as it usually did thanks to a wreck on I-635.

I wanted to scream by the time I got there and realized that they’d closed early due to no inventory.

I banged my fist onto the steering wheel, then spun the wheel for home.

I was in my door for all of ten minutes when it creaked open quietly, causing me to frown and come out of the kitchen.

My brows shot up to my hairline when the only thing I spotted in the living room was one very cute, very naked little girl.

“Well, hello there, Dalia,” I said to the toddler from hell. “Did you escape jail?”

Dalia made a mad dash for me, and I picked her up, cuddling her close.

She was wet and covered in grass.

My guess? She was outside playing in the sprinkler like she liked to do at this point in the evening since it was way cooler than any other part of the day.

Dalia slapped her hands on my cheeks and smushed them together. “Candy?”

I grinned underneath her hands. “Actually, I’m fresh out. I have broccoli, though.”

She scrunched up her nose to think. “Ranch?”

“What do you take me as?” I asked. “Let me grab you a shirt, then we can eat some broccoli and ranch.”

Dalia and I were the only ones who enjoyed vegetables and ranch.

Quincy and Hollis had me to thank for that.

Hell, all of the family owed me a debt of gratitude for teaching their kids to love vegetables and fruit.

I’m not saying that my brothers wouldn’t eat it, but they definitely didn’t eat it with the zeal that I did.

Overall, I ate fairly healthy.

But I did have weak spot for those scones…

“Ew,” Dalia said. “No, nekkid.”

Geez, these kids and their thick Texas drawls.

“Shirts are required to dine at my table, short stuff,” I said as I caught her a shirt off my dresser. It would be huge on her, but it’d cover all her vital bits.

“Ugh, fine,” Dalia grumbled.

She was just like her mother.

“Now let’s…”

When I came into the living room next, there were more wet and grassy children. But at least these kids had clothes on.

“And surprise! Hello, children,” I said to my nieces and nephews.

Catherine and Cillian—Quinn and Shayne’s kids—as well as Tex and Addison, were standing there, dripping on my hardwood floors.

“Hello,” Addison smiled. “What are you feeding us?”

My brows rose. “Who exactly is supposed to be watching you?”

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