Caleb entered with a laugh, holding another screaming bundle. “You have no idea. And she’s the easy one. Mandy here is the real troublemaker. Aren’t you, baby girl?”
She paused to grin at her grandfather and flash a pair of dimples, as if she liked the idea of being a rabble-rouser from hell. Macy watched. And when Caleb cooed at her, she mimicked her sister’s angelic expression. Well, if he didn’t count her crazy eyes.
Logan was going to hate his life in about fifteen years. One-Mile almost felt sorry for the bastard.
The colonel took advantage of that moment to put Mandy in her high chair and shove a cracker in her hand. One-Mile managed to do the same with Macy as the other man slammed a sippy cup full of water on each tray.
Finally, other than the sounds of babies munching and slurping, silence reigned.
Caleb sagged against the nearby kitchen counter. “Tonight reminds me why having babies is a young man’s game.”
One-Mile couldn’t hold in a laugh. “You a little ragged, Grandpa?”
The colonel leveled him a quelling glare. “Well, this old man has two words for you. They start with an F and a you.”
That only made him laugh harder. “You babysitting tonight so Logan and Tara could go out?”
That would suck…but that’s the way his luck was running these days.
“No. If I’d willingly signed up for that insanity, I would have come prepared. This was a last-minute emergency.” Caleb grabbed a couple of jars of baby food from the cabinet and a pair of tiny spoons from a drawer before swiping two bibs off the counter. “Logan thought it would be a great idea to test out the Razor scooter he bought—strictly for Tyler Murphy’s boys, of course.” His accompanying eye roll called bullshit on Logan’s claim. “Did I mention there are three of them, all under the age of five?”
That made One-Mile grin. “So you’re saying they didn’t need one, and Logan took it out for a spin himself?”
“Yep.” Caleb opened a jar of sweet potatoes and shoved it in his hand, along with a little spoon. “So about ten minutes later, Tara had to take him to the ER. He’s got a broken finger, a sprained knee, and he’s waiting for stitches.” The older man bent to Mandy. “Sometimes I wonder about your daddy, princess. I think war scrambled his brains.”
The little girl giggled and shrieked in happiness, flashing her dimples again. Her twin’s expression was identical.
“Did Carlotta come with you?”
He nodded. “She’s in the girls’ room, trying to clean up the Chernobyl-like disaster of toys they made in three minutes flat. When my kids were young, I wasn’t home a lot, so I missed most of this day-to-day craziness. When I was around, I’d take the boys outside with a ball and chase them to exhaustion. Kimber…” He shook his head. “She always wanted to have fashion shows and paint my nails—at least until the boys teased the girliness out of her. But I never knew how to entertain her, so I can only imagine these two are going to keep Logan on his toes for a couple of decades. Isn’t that right, princesses?” he asked them with a big smile.
Clearly, the colonel loved his granddaughters.
“Hey, see if you can get Macy to eat, would you?” The older man shoved a jar of food in his hands.
One-Mile froze. “Sir, I don’t… I’ve never fed a—”
“Baby? It’s not rocket science. Put food on half the spoon and see if she’ll eat it. Be prepared to wipe her mouth. Dodge if she starts spitting.”
Those instructions weren’t exactly comforting. He stared between the baby and the pureed sweet potatoes in his grip. Oh, fuck. He was going to suck at this.
But surprisingly, he didn’t. Most of the jar, ten minutes, and a messy face later, Macy started to fuss when he tried to feed her another bite.
“She’s done,” Caleb said. “I think they both are. Thanks for the hand.”
“You’re welcome.”
The colonel wiped off their sweet little faces and set them free to roam the house again, then turned to him. “I’m guessing you didn’t come here for a crash course in parenting.”
His mouth twitched. “No, sir.”
“Anything I can help you with?”
As much as One-Mile liked the colonel and respected his opinion, it was doubtful he knew anything about Cutter and Brea’s engagement. “Not unless you can explain a woman.”
“No. God, I hope you weren’t coming to Logan for advice.”
“Information.”
“Ah, well, I can’t give you that, but it took me thirty years and two wives to learn the only skill that’s saved my ass: listening. It sucks, but it’s effective.”
One-Mile sighed. “Yeah, I’d listen if she’d talk to me.”
“Even in her silence, she’s telling you something. You’ve just got to stop talking long enough to hear it.”
With that bit of advice pinging through his brain, he shook the colonel’s hand and headed to the sports bar Zy had suggested. Since he’d arrived a few minutes early, he grabbed a brew and waited.
The place was dark and narrow and decorated with tacky light fixtures emblazoned with beer brands’ logos. A neon sign led patrons to the bathrooms with a bright yellow 2 pee. The place was filled with hipsters of all ages, but way more men than women. TVs lined every wall, playing all kinds of programs—everything from high school football games to tabloid entertainment shows.
One-Mile tuned them all out and ordered a Stella. When the bartender slid it across the scarred countertop, he paid, then took a long pull and started thinking.
Why would Brea suddenly decide to marry a man she claimed to love but wasn’t hot for? And why would she choose the safe option when he was standing right in front of her? Yeah, he wasn’t perfect. And if he had a do-over, he wouldn’t charge into the salon like a fidiot and make the even stupider mistake of letting her crawl under his skin so much that he forgot to ask the
