Page 16 of This Time Around

“Says the man who can never find his glasses,” Abby said, grinning. “Even when they’re on top of your head.”

Jane snickered at the good natured sniping. She’d missed this over the last few months, missed the comradery and the laughter.

The unconditional love.

“Maybe we should get you one of those chains for your glasses, Uly,” Jane said, grinning at the old man. “I hear they’re all the rage with people of your… ah, profession.”

Uly narrowed his gaze, but it didn’t dim the twinkle in his crystalline eyes. “Don’t you have a wedding dress to sacrifice on the altar of your pain?”

Chairs scraped on the kitchen floor as Jane joined Abby and the twins and marched out of the kitchen. Casting a look back at Rafe, she didn’t miss the grin on his face, or the swiftness with which it disappeared when she caught his eye.

Yeah. This isn’t going to be weird at all.

Rafe folded his newspaper and set it aside, then helped his father clean up after breakfast. They worked in near silence as they washed and dried the dishes, then wiped down the table and benches, but he knew Ulysses wouldn’t stay quiet for long.

“Have you made a decision yet?”

And there it was.

“Yes,” Rafe said. He’d spent all night going over his options, the pros and cons of the situation, but no matter what variables he threw into the mix, he always came to the same conclusion.

“And?” Uly pressed. “In or out?”

Rafe shook out the tea towel with a snap of his wrist, then hung it up to dry. “It’s Jane,” he said quietly. “Of course I’m in.”

Uly smiled, his body relaxed. “Good. Now let’s go watch your girlfriend set fire to her wedding dress.”

Rafe released a slow, controlled breath in a bid to ease his frustration. It didn’t help. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Baby mama, then. Whatever.”

The roar that greeted Rafe as he exited the house was almost deafening.

His entire family had gathered in the backyard to help Jane vilify her ex-fiancé, and as he edged closer to the crowd, he discovered exactly what Avery and Crispin had been up to in their father’s art studio.

A life-size caricature of Sam Lyndon, complete with wingnut ears and a boil on his nose, had been drawn on a sheet of cardboard and secured to a stack of hay bales, and Oliver was throwing knives at it.

Currently there were three blades sticking out of the makeshift Sam, one through his oversized head, one in the stomach and one in his arm.

“Your turn, Janie,” Ollie said. “Just like I showed you.”

Jane took her time, lined up her shot and threw the knife. It barely nicked the cardboard before tumbling to the ground, and no wonder, if Ollie had been her instructor. His brother relied too much on brute force over proper technique, and Jane had the upper body strength of a Muppet. Brute force was never going to work.

“Again,” Crispin said, passing her another knife. “Aim for his fat head.”

Jane threw another knife, and Rafe stifled a laugh behind his hand as the blade sailed over the top of the bales.

“I suck at this,” she groaned.

“You need to focus,” Rafe said, the words leaving his mouth before he could think better of it. His family split apart like the goddamned Red Sea, clearing a path for him to step forwards.Bastards.

“I am focussing,” Jane said, more than a hint of irritation colouring her voice as he approached her.

“Give me the knife,” he said sternly, knowing she’d obey him. Jane always obeyed him at times like this, when she needed—wanted—someone to take care of her. Whether she was willing to admit to it or not.

Jane gave him the knife, folded her arms over her chest, then stared up at him, her mouth pulled down in a sulky pout that tempted him to lean in and taste her lips, tease them apart and slip his tongue inside….

He ground his teeth together.

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