Now West’s own sense of panic asserted itself. Roxy. Still in full uniform, hand on the butt of his gun, he tore through the kitchen and downstairs to the laundry room. The dog stuck to his heels but skidded to a stop when West approached the door to Roxy’s apartment. The shrieks were louder now and supported by the sound of guitars being tortured. What the hell?
Relying on the element of surprise, and Roxy’s habit of leaving the door unlocked, he charged in, prepared to face down what sounded like a gang of crazed intruders.
The door banged against the wall, silencing the chaos with that single noisy blast. Four faces turned his way, each decorated with enough makeup to make a drag queen wince. He stood there, staring at them while his pulse throttled down.
Along with Egyptian amounts of eyeliner and neon rainbows of shadow that extended from eyelid to temple, every cheekbone boasted a slash of shimmery pink and every lip shined candy-apple red. The tallest of them, who he identified as Roxy, wore a T-shirt held together with safety pins, ripped jeans, and her red boots. Her crimped hair attained a height and volume usually seen only on a freshly electrocuted cartoon character. Gibson hung low across her hips.
Flanking her were two shorter, shock-haired replicas holding child-size acoustic guitars. A third pint-size punk rocker straddled the arm of the sofa and had on more makeup than wardrobe, given the latter appeared to consist of Roxy’s biker boots and a diaper featuring pink ponies. She held a toy microphone in her hand.
“Wes!” she cried, dropped the mic, and held out her arms. “Wes, I wok.”
“Um, yeah.” He strode toward the youngest of Josh and Melody’s nieces, scooped her up and onto his hip. The boots slid off her tiny feet and hit the floor with rapid-fire thuds. “You rock hard.” His gaze shifted to Roxy, who was in the process of sliding the guitar strap over her head. “I didn’t know you’d joined a band.”
“It’s our first rehearsal.” She winked at him and propped Gibson against the wall by the sofa. “It’s a bit raw yet, but the energy’s strong.”
Raw was not the word for the tone-deaf caterwaul responsible for his all-but-bleeding eardrums, but nobody liked a critic, and he wasn’t about to be the Simon Cowell in the room. He turned to the oldest girl, Hope, and squinted. “Of course it is, what with Taylor Swift here, and…” He looked at the middle one, Faith, who had just turned five, and ransacked his brain for a suitable counterpart. “Wow. Katy Perry. You’ve gone blond again.”
Both the girls giggled. Hope, at six going on sixteen, tried an eye roll, but it didn’t offset her pleased smile. “West, it’s us, Hope and Faith. We’re taking guitar and voice lessons from Roxy. Gracie’s along because Mama had a doctor’s appointment.”
“Did your mom know there’d be a makeup lesson, too?” He couldn’t even guess how much scrubbing it would take to get those faces clean.
“Mom packed our makeup kit for us,” Hope informed him. “Roxy said it’s important to develop a stage presence.”
Faith nodded in somber agreement.
“I pwetty!” Gracie insisted and planted a sticky, bubblegum-scented kiss on his cheek. Then she squealed directly into his ear, and while the echo of it rattled his brain, she stretched forward so suddenly she nearly toppled out of his hold. “Doggie!”
He caught her, tightened his grip on her squirming body, and turned to see Lucky freeze, mid-stride, and do a convincing impression of a deer in headlights. Gracie strained toward the animal, chubby hands opening and closing quickly. “Doggie,” she said again.
Faith and Hope followed their sister’s gaze and let loose a collective, “Awwww!” Small guitars were quickly abandoned.
“I think the music lesson just came to an end,” West told Roxy and tried to keep the relief out of his voice. She walked over and collected the puppy. When she had him securely in her arms, West set Gracie on her feet. All three girls immediately gathered around Roxy.
“He’s so cute. Can I pet him?”
“What’s his name? Where did you get him?”
“I can has?”
Roxy kept Lucky in her arms and lowered to her knees. “I found him behind Rawley’s a few nights ago. It’s okay to pet him while I’m holding him, but he’s been through a rough time, so let’s give him a chance to get used to you before I put him down, okay?”
The girls nodded and proceeded to fuss over the dog while it soaked up the attention. Within minutes, Lucky was belly up on the rug, tongue out and eyes rolling, offering himself to little hands that scratched, petted, and massaged him into doggie nirvana.
“What kind is he?” Faith asked, scratching around Lucky’s ears.
“According to the vet,” Roxy said, “he’s a mix of a bunch of things, like Pug and maybe a French Bulldog.”
Hope laughed. “He’s a Frug!”
“He’s definitely Frugly,” West said.
“Oh, don’t you listen to him,” Roxy coo’d to the dog. “You’re the most handsome—oh no, sweetie,” she said to Gracie. “Don’t pet his eyes.”
A knock at Roxy’s outside door interrupted the lovefest. West made a move to answer, but Roxy stood first and opened the door to admit the girls’ mother. “Hey, Belinda, how’d the appointment go?”
Though Melody was the beauty queen, Belinda shared her younger sister’s blond good looks. Today she seemed to have an extra glow. “Really well. Ellie confirmed what Ben and I already suspected.” She touched a hand to her stomach. “Baby number four is baking away.”
Congratulations rose to the tip of West’s tongue, but Hope burst into tears. “Nooooo. N-n-not an-noth-errr b-baby!”
Faith and Gracie looked at their sister like she’d lost her mind. Hope sobbed dramatically and hugged Lucky to her. “Now we’ll never get a dog.”
That’s all it took to get the other two on board. Tears—and makeup—flowed freely. Ignoring the three girls crying in the background, Roxy hugged Belinda and drew her into the room. “Another baby? Congratulations! That
