Skylar jerks back in my arms, and I immediately release her, holding onto my smile as she focuses on the wood under our feet.
“Sorry, I probably don’t smell great,” I say with a laugh. “I was chopping wood outside, and I got way too hot in my coat.”
“No, you’re fine,” she says, running her hand under her nose, and I wonder if she’s going to look at me again, but she’s still too shy.
“It’ll be okay, Skylar,” I try to reassure her. “Let’s go have lunch.” Tilting my head toward the kitchen, I don’t try to take her hand, but I do wait until she starts to follow me before I face forward again.
The table has rearranged a bit when we come back into the kitchen, and Daddy gives me a look that I can’t quite figure out—but I don’t get much of a chance.
“What were you doing?” Richter asks, glaring at Skylar who is returning to her seat meekly.
“Nothing,” Skylar says, but when she sits down, I catch the flinch as Richter reaches over. I wish I was on that side of the tables so I could see what he’s doing.
“We were breaking the witch’s curse that was keeping Cleo and Sierra trapped in their castle,” I answer, trying to keep my voice light as I take the last empty seat and relieve Moira of Weston so she can eat.
“Is that right?” Moira asks, grinning as she mouths a ‘thank you’ at me. Weston immediately starts babbling at me, and I grin at him, adjusting his shirt which is getting a bit too small for him.
“Yes!” Sierra says through a mouthful of sandwich, and Daddy clears his throat. She immediately slaps her hand over it, chewing and swallowing before she looks up the table at him. “Sorry, Daddy.”
“It’s okay, baby. Just remember your manners.”
“We were all lucky Skylar brought some magic dust with her,” I continue, staring across the table at her and Richter. She’s not touching her food, and neither is he, and I wonder what he’s been whispering to her.
“Oh, really?” Daddy says, smiling. “What should you say to your sister for doing that, Cleo?”
“Thank you,” Cleo says, glancing up at Skylar for a moment before tucking her chin to her chest.
“You’re welcome,” Skylar whispers, and Richter huffs.
“Skylar is your real sister, Cleo,” he says, and I glare at him, but he’s not looking at me. “Cleo, did you hear me?”
“Casey said she’s my sister. Just like Sierra and all my sisters,” Cleo replies, her face scrunching up, and I’m incredibly proud of her for defending our family.
“That’s right,” I confirm, watching Daddy’s smile quirk up despite the tense hold of his jaw.
“That’s not right,” Richter growls. “Cleo shares the same mom and dad with Skylar and me. You remember Mom, right, Cleo?”
“I believe I asked you to be patient with her, Richter,” Daddy says, and I know that hard edge to his voice. If Richter were anyone else, he’d already be in one of the bedrooms with Daddy and the strap. If it was up to me, he’d go straight to the closet… or outside.
“I have been patient!” Richter snaps, and Weston squirms in my lap, reacting to the raised voice.
“Richter, please,” Skylar whispers, and he turns toward her, rage painting his face.
“It’s time to come home, Cleo!” he says, practically shouting. “You belong with me and Skylar, back at our house.”
Weston tries to grab for my sandwich, and I push the plate forward, tearing off a piece of bread for him to chew on.
“Cleo, look at me!” Richter yells, and Weston throws the bread onto the table, whining as he leans back, trying to wiggle out of my arms.
When I don’t let him go, he sits up and smacks his little hand onto my chest. I catch it, holding him as I say, “No, Weston. We don’t hit.” Looking across the table, I meet Skylar’s eyes a moment before I stare at Richter. “We never hit our family.”
Twenty
Skylar
Richter springs to his feet, fists balled at his sides. It seems Casey struck a chord with him in his controlled candor, and my brother isn’t going to stand for it.
“What happens in our home, under my roof, is none of your business,” he seethes at him before he turns his eyes toward Bryden. “You are not our family; I don’t care who you say your father is. You haven’t proven shit to me, and my sister belongs with us.”
“Richter,” I hiss at him. “Calm down.”
I mean for my words to come out in urgency—in hope that he’ll understand that I’m not speaking down to him but rather begging him to keep his temper in check. He shoots me a sharp look and I slump a little further into my chair. Casey hands the child he’s holding to the girl next to him and gets to his feet as well.
“That’s enough of that,” Bryden says loudly from the head of the table. “Everyone take a deep breath and let’s try this again.”
I reach up and lay a hand on my brother’s arm, but he shakes it away violently. It’s not Richter Greene standing beside me anymore, it’s Luke and only God can help us out of this now.
Bryden lets out a sigh, as neither Casey nor Richter show any signs of backing down, and he gets to his feet. I sink further still as he makes his way around the table, stopping behind my chair and resting a hand on my shoulder.
“Richter, you have to understand that Casey is just protective of his family—that’s how all of my children were raised. Casey,” he continues as he turns his attention to the young man. “You know I don’t allow fighting in my house. Please take a seat and finish your lunch.”
“Get up,” Richter says through gritted teeth, and until he looks at me, I wasn’t sure who he was talking to. I glance up at Bryden feeling apologetic and a little
