Page 96 of His Reluctant Savior

I smiled at that. “I thought you didn’t care.”

He glared at me. “I don’t.”

“The wish won’t come true if I tell you, duh,” Owen explained.

“Well, what’s the pointof—”

“How about some presents?” I announced, cutting Easton off before anyone got upset.

“Nice deflection,” Dalton chuckled, cutting the cake and putting slices on plates. Owen instantly dug into his, getting chocolate all over his face and dropping crumbs on me.

I lifted the file that was sitting on a chair beside me and slid it to Easton.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Open it.”

Owen jumped down and saddled up close to Easton. He’d grown attached to the young man for some reason. I didn’t really understand why since Easton didn’t exactly give off affectionate vibes, but Owen must have sensed something in him.

“What is that?” the boy asked.

“Give me a chance to open it.”

Easton pulled out the legal document and scanned the papers before looking at me.

“It has your last name on it,” he said. “Easton Virgil?”

“That means you belong to me officially. What is mine is now yours… except for Dalton, of course. He’s hands off.”

Dalton rolled his eyes and shook his head, smiling. “That’s not quite true. We are all a family now… all four of us. So you’re going to be loved whether you like it or not, Easton.”

He smiled for the first time, and while small, it must have brought him some sort of pleasure. Or he was putting on a show for Dalton. It was hard to tell.

“Thank you,” Easton finally said.

“Now, on to your second gift,” I announced, pulling out a long box sitting on the floor under the table and handing it to him. “This is from Dalton and me, but he actually picked out the gift.”

Easton tore off the red and white polka-dotted paper and opened the box. He ran his fingers reverently along the carved wood.

“This belongs to me?” he asked.

“Of course. It’s a vintage 1963 Herter’s Perfection 72” Recurve Bow. At the bottom of the box are vintage arrows and a handmade leather quiver,” I explained.

“It’s beautiful.”

Easton stood and held up the bow, pulling on the string without an arrow nocked to it.

“I thought you might appreciate something hand-carved and old,” I said.

“Yes,” was his only response.

He set the bow back into the box, sat down, and ate his cake quietly.

When he finished, Owen stood in front of Easton and raised his arms.

“What?” Easton asked, not knowing what Owen wanted. Then he, too, raised his arms into the air, mimicking the boy.

I chuckled. “He wants you to pick him up and sit him on your lap.”

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