Page 72 of Calamity Rayne Knocked Up

“But Hale’s not a killer. He doesn’t hunt. He hates anything messy.”

Phina rolled her eyes and emptied another bottle of bubbly into her diluted orange juice. “Hale hunts.”

“No,” I argued. “He sings lullabies and rescues ducklings.”

“He’s a killer, Rayne.”

Odette sipped her tea and chuckled. “Are you a vegetarian, Rayne?”

“No, but that’s not the point.”

I still couldn’t meet her gaze, so I gathered the crumbs on the counter into a pile. Maybe she and Remington had an open relationship.

“I find these things are less about the kill and more aboutthe tradition,” Naomi chimed in. “It’s a part of the Davenport heritage for the men to go on these hunts. They like any excuse to showcase their privilege. They get off on the exclusivity of the event and other men beg for an invitation each year. Let them have it.” This, coming from the woman who divorced from the man leading the slaughter.

“I think you’re a little more indulgent than me. I don’t believe in killing animals for sport.”

“Someone killed that bacon you’re eating.”

I stilled then dropped the scrap of bacon right into Phina’s champagne. “Thanks for ruining it.”

“Look, it’s the one time of year that Remy actually bonds with his sons,” Naomi said. “Can we all just appreciate that?”

I couldn’t imagine Hale and Remington spending this much time one on one together. They’d been gone since before the sun was up.

“What time are they coming back?” Phina asked, fishing the bacon out of her glass. “I might have Alphonse drive me into town before we get bombarded with testosterone. Want to come Rayne?”

“Wait, how many people are coming back?” I looked down at my faded T-shirt stretched over my stomach and my dingy sweatpants. I was in my house cardigan, the one with a hole in the elbow that I simply couldn’t part with.

“All of the men. They should be back soon,” Marta said, moving to set out refreshments.

“Hold on. Who’s coming here?”

“It’s mostly just the guys from last night.” Phina, of course, was already dressed for the day in her ivory cowl neck sweater and riding boots, even if she was working with a midday buzz.

My mother shot me a look. “Ray, maybe you should change.”

I sighed and slid off the stool, wishing these people would put out some sort of itinerary. “Can you keep an eye on Elara?”

“Of course.”

The front door opened, and masculine laughter erupted from the hall. “Shit.”

“Shit,” Elara repeated, and we all turned to gape at her.

Naomi laughed. “Did she just…?”

“I believe so,” my mother answered, also smiling.

“Well, don’t smile at her!” What the hell was happening to my well-ordered morning? I had a profane toddler, a murderous husband, and I looked like I stole my wardrobe from a bag lady. This was not how I had planned my day.

Marta carried a charcuterie tray into the dining room. I hung back because I could not sneak upstairs while the men removed their muddy boots in the foyer.

“What happens now?” I asked Phina.

“They eat and brag and fill their bloated egos with old fashioneds until dinner.”

It was only ten in the morning, and dinner wasn’t until six. Did they honestly plan on drinking for the next eight hours? Why wasn’t I told about this back when I could drink? I loved day drinking. Now, it just pissed me off.

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