Page 12 of Stolen for Keeps
“Noah!” Claire beamed, shifting just enough so I could lean in and kiss her cheek.
Little Dylan mumbled something, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of her shirt.
“Look, Dylan,” Claire cooed, adjusting the wrap that held him snug against her. “It’s Uncle Noah!”
I ran a hand over Dylan’s plump cheek, and his eyes lit up. The second I took over from Claire, he all but melted into my arms, kicking happily as if he had important news to tell me.
I chuckled. “Alright, kid, slow down. One at a time.”
Claire beamed as she went back to her flowers. “You’re his favorite!”
“Obviously,” I said, bouncing him slightly. “He’s got good taste.”
Bobo, the husky, gave me a cautious sniff before retreating behind Claire. He’d been with her for over a year, but the trauma kept him locked in that anxious, Velcro-dog stage.
“So, when’s this wedding happening?” I asked, shifting Dylan into a more comfortable position.
“Next weekend,” Claire said, weaving a sprig of greenery between the blooms.
Dylan babbled a few more incoherent sentences, his chubby fingers curling and uncurling against my chest.
Elia glanced up. “How’d you get here? Didn’t see your car.”
“Still waiting on it at the rental,” I said. “Buster gave me a lift. Came in from the west, past Big Joe.”
Elia cracked a smile. “So you really bought that parcel he was trying to unload?”
“He needed the money, and I wanted the place.” I shrugged. “Felt right.”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Good on you, brother. Dad always had his eye on that land but could never bring himself to ask.”
“That too,” I said. “But for me, it was the house. You don’t come across a real Victorian out here very often.”
“So you’re stayin’ for good then?”
“I am.”
His smile stretched wide as he pulled me into a tight hug. “Can’t tell you how damn happy that makes me.”
I jabbed him lightly. “You know, El, with The Lazy Moose…if you ever need?—”
“Don’t,” he cut in. “We’ve talked about this. I need a hand, not a handout.”
That was Elia. Stubborn as they come. I’d chipped in enough to help keep the ranch going, but he wouldn’t let me fix everything at once, even if I could. Not his way.
“Anything you do need,” I said, meaning every word.
Dylan got heavier, his limbs slackening, his eyelids drooping, but the kid fought it like a little bull rider.
Claire glanced over. “Put him to bed, won’t you?”
“Sure.”
I carried him down the hall, his tiny grip still fisted in my shirt. Claire had turned my sister’s old bedroom into a nursery. The place was unrecognizable—bright, peaceful, and full of color and life. Thank God for that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have set foot in this room.
And with Dylan in my arms, for him, I could face anything. Past or present. Gloomy or bright.
“Right, D?” I murmured.
