Page 28 of Sweet Home

Besides, Tripp had always been lighthearted and full of mischief. He’d gotten away with more wild behavior than West had ever even considered getting involved with.

They each grabbed an armful of wood from the pile, and Tripp put the tarp back in place, using a bungie cord to secure it.

“Elizabeth seems happy,” Tripp said, as if he were changing the subject.

But West knew his brother better than that. Tripp was just messing with him about Dulcie in a different way. He’d seen how Tripp had been looking at them playing with Elizabeth only a few minutes ago.

“She’s a happy kid,” West said mildly, deliberately not engaging.

But it only made his brother roar with laughter.

“So, you really won’t admit you like her, huh?” he asked after a moment.

“She’s great,” West said patiently. “But I’ve got a career and a kid. And she’s got challenges of her own. Besides, she’s too young for me.”

But this time when he said it, he felt a pang of doubt. Was she really too young for him, or was he just telling himself that?

“So, you don’t mind if I take a shot then?” Tripp asked.

White-hot fury shot through West’s chest, and he spun on his brother.

But Tripp was already cracking up again,practically howling. He probably would have slapped his thigh if it weren’t for all the wood he was carrying.

West rolled his eyes and kept on walking.

“The look on your face,” Tripp gasped as he trotted to catch up. “You really like her, don’t you? Don’t bother to answer that, because I know you won’t let yourself be honest.”

“I guess I’m just a little protective of her,” West admitted.

Because I like her so much. But I don’t mean to.

“Well, it sounds like that’s just what she needs,” Tripp said, his tone serious now. “Mom thinks it’s a sin that she doesn’t seem to have family to look out for her. Says she’s sweet as pie.”

“She is,” West agreed. “Hopefully, she’ll be back on her feet soon.”

“Sure,” Tripp said noncommittally.

“Boys, you beat me to it,” Dad called out to them from the porch. “Come have some hot apple cider.”

“Yes,” Tripp said with a grin.

West smiled. His dad sometimes heated up apple cider from a local farm, throwing in a cinnamon stick, an orange or two, and some nutmeg, cloves, and whatever other baking spices were handy. It was a family favorite.

“Shoes,” everyone called out from the kitchen as they came in the front door.

Tripp grinned and shook his head.

The family had started the tradition of yellingshoeswhen they heard the front door open because Tripp had always tended to just go sprinting in to find a snack, tracking mud and snow all the way down the center hall.

“There’s no place like home,” Dad reminded Tripp, patting his shoulder as he slipped out of his boots.

The house already smelled amazing. The spice of the cider blended perfectly with the fragrance of roasted chicken and potatoes.

Elizabeth would be in heaven. Drumsticks were her favorite food. He could just hear her talking happily now, though he couldn’t make out the words.

When West was a little boy, this had been his grandparents’ house and he remembered having the same feeling about it that Elizabeth did now—the certain knowledge that everyone here loved her and that something nice was going to be simmering on the stove.

Dad continued back to the kitchen, calling out that no one had better be fussing with his cider. West and Tripp stopped in the living room to deposit the wood in the storage cupboards on either side of the fireplace. When it was stacked neatly, Tripp looked to West.

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