Page 47 of Taken By the Bounty Hunter

“I know what you mean. She’s stubborn like her dad,” I say.

“Come on!” Nellie shouts, dragging our oldest into the house.

“And the other one inherited her flair for the dramatic from Uncle Joaquin,” my wife remarks.

“Did they RSVP, by the way?” I ask.

I open the screen door, and my wife fixes me with a look that says I ought to know better. “What do you think? Have those two ever told us exactly when and where to expect them?”

I shrug and follow her inside. “At least they always seem to show up when we need them.”

“True.”

“Are your parents coming?” I hold my breath. I’m still not the biggest fan of the people who raised my Georgie. But I want my kids to have a relationship with their grandparents, despite it all.

My wife shrugs. “I told Dad they were welcome. Mom’s still not talking to me. She holds it against me that none of the siblings are choosing polygamy.”

“Sorry, babe.”I rub her back.

“Let’s focus on the party. Okay?”

As if we conjured Joaquin out of thin air, I hear the familiar rumble of the Charger’s engine.

Nellie is at the picture window, shrieking. “Uncle J! Auntie Jasmyn!”

My best friend scoops up our little one for a bear hug. Not even Georgeanne can hide her excitement as she goes in for a hug from her Auntie Jasmyn.

“How’ve you been brother?” Joaquin asks with a side hug as he holds Nellie with one arm.

“Great. How’s Sonja?”

He laughs. “Oh, I’m also good. Thanks for asking, jerk.”

Nellie taps her oversized uncle on the chest and gives him a withering look. “That’s a bad word, and now you have to put a dollar in the swear jar.”

“A whole dollar? The price went up since last time,” he says.

Nellie shrugs. “Inflation.”

Sometimes I still can’t believe I gave Sonja away as a wedding present to those two. But I’ve traded my sweet ride for a minivan. I console myself that it’s much safer, and I must admit I’m spoiled by the backup camera and other modern features.

“We were just about to measure the girls’ heights,” Georgie says. “Jefferson thinks they’ve grown since their birthdays.”

“Oh yeah!” Nellie shouts. “Put me down, Uncle J!”

Suddenly feeling competitive with her sibling, Georgeanne lines up first with her back against the door jamb of the hall closet.

Nellie pouts. “Me first!”

Georgeanne smirks. “Beat it, shrimp.”

“Daddy! She called me a name!”

“Don’t be a tattle tale,” Georgie admonishes.

I squat down so I can speak face-to-face with our five-year-old and whisper. “You tattle all you want, as loud as you want. That’s how we’ll know if you ever need help. Okay?”

She nods.

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