It was nearly impossible to concentrate much less think when Bruce Springsteen growled through “Born to Run” at a decibel level no human should have to endure.

Tori grumble-sighed, dropped the pen she held, and glared at the back of Alex’s head. If she didn’t virtually worship the ground he walked on, she’d throw something in the vicinity of his face and hope it smacked him. Hard.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she performed a couple of quick, cleansing breaths to help tame her annoyance. Red was right. Sometimes, a mental step back and some hearty lungfuls of air did the trick.

When a wireless mouse went sailing across the room, hit a wall, and broke into several pieces, she nearly said something—until he grunted and sent a stack of papers onto the floor with an angry shove.

“Nope. Not that brave,” she quietly mumbled as the song thundered on. “Just gonna sit my butt right here and pretend he’s not acting weird.”

Turning her back on the scene developing in Alex’s messy corner of the tech cave, she adjusted the blank screen of a computer monitor so she could keep an eye on him by watching the reflection.

When Bruce segued to Ozzy, she clenched her jaw. A brief respite courtesy of The Eagles gave her a moment of hope that this episode of Cave Concert was winding down until AC/DC boomed through the speakers, shooting that hope straight to hell.

Roughly two minutes and fifty-two seconds in to “Thunderstruck,” he turned up the bass, and she was certain her sanity was at risk.

What the hell?

Frowning, she gave up on the work she pretended was important and sat back in her chair. Draegyn had asked her to keep an eye on Alex. He felt that her access to the inner sanctum of the Major’s inner sanctum—a play on words he especially liked—gave her a unique viewpoint. One that the rest of them didn’t have. She was used to the guy’s nerd foibles and geek quirks, so she was the obvious choice for a check-in report.

Behind her, he stood and moved around his workspace. He had a habit of shifting equipment and piles of crap to create a sort of Alex cocoon. He said it helped him concentrate. That was his normal—hunkered down in a self-built cave within a cave.

But something was different. He went from contained chaos to expansive order overnight. The usual towering mishmash of computers and gear was replaced with a setting right out of a TV crime show. Two massive whiteboards and a third converted to a display board framed several long worktables placed in rows. Sometimes, he scooted around this odd setup on a rolling chair. Mostly, he paced, skulked, and brooded.

He had a printout taped in sections to one of the longer tables. This printout was covered in sticky notes.

One of the whiteboards had sloppy, unreadable computer code written in a language she was unfamiliar with. This coding fascinated her for many reasons. First, it appealed to her nerd girl proclivities, so there was that. Second, it was a wake-up reminder call about the man she was dealing with.

It didn’t surprise her that he’d developed source code using a language he created. Pissing on brilliance, Alex was in a category that few ever reach. Calder, though, he was in the same league. Since all signs pointed to tech being the red flag in their situation, it would be reasonable to assume he’d be picking his uncle’s brain.

But he wasn’t. Alex was taking this thing personally, and Draegyn felt his geek isolation was a clue.

Thankfully, James Taylor followed AC/DC. She saw him stop as the song began, and it was a tune she recognized. When the guitars came out and an acoustic sing-along started, Alex frequently crooned “Up on the Roof.” Meghan said the lyrics had comforted him during the war. In Tori’s mind, it showed the man’s depth.

The laid-back tune changed the vibe. He stopped prowling and leaned back against a worktable with his arms crossed, wearing a pensive scowl on his bearded face.

When Alex forgot to shave, it wasn’t long before he went full caveman right down to the unkempt hair, scruffy face, and overall knuckle drag.

And what the hell was he wearing? Tori shook her head in wonder. The pants he had on—baggy dad jeans—were a crime against humanity. Was Meghan okay with him going out in public dressed like this?

Ugh. She shuddered. Not on her watch! She’d murder Draegyn first.

Alex’s half untucked shirt was a second abomination. It was wrinkled, way too small, and short sleeved. She didn’t care what anybody said; the only time a grown man should wear a button-down short-sleeve shirt was while on a tropical vacation. It just wasn’t natural and had a creepy 1950s feel.

Her opinion was largely due to the red-hot husbandly arm porn that kept her furnace burning these days. When they met, she surrendered her panties to Draegyn after little more than some tugging on his cuffs and had been known to wipe drool off her chin from the simple act of him rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. All that was yummy, but her mate’s recent foray into workman territory took her arm and hand fascination to new heights. Something was crazy sexy about Draegyn St. John when he was sweaty and covered in dirt and wood dust with his beautiful hands roughened up by the manual labor that now made up his day.

But enough of that and back to Alex. As if the horror show jeans and unfathomable short sleeves weren’t enough, he finished off this clueless fashion statement with a pair of funky old cowboy boots that had seen better days. In a different century.

In short, the Major was off the reservation and not in a hot mess kind of way. Nope. His look was more uh-oh than oh, my.

She saw him look her way. Slowly so as not to attract attention, she picked up her phone and started absently scrolling. That way, when he approached, and she knew he would, it would look like she was ignoring him. There was little Alex hated more than being managed.

Swinging around on the swiveling chair when he called her name, Tori fixed him with a blank look. “What?”

He picked up a remote and turned off the music. “Can I ask you a question?”

“If you must,” she drily grumbled.

Waving her to the table with the printout, he made a blanket gesture with his hands that told her nothing. His question, though, got a raised brow.

“What do you know about back doors?”

Every developer worthy of his or her street cred not only knew about back doors but had probably created countless along the way. She answered narrowly with facts and waited to see where the question led.

“A standard back door bypasses the security mechanisms. It’s a way of gaining access to systems and encrypted data.”

“Is it strictly authentication, or can the loophole be used against the host system?”

“You mean the back door as a vulnerability?” She was trying to follow his sparse logic, but he growled and shook his head.

“No, fuck. I’m not explaining it right.”

Pointing at the long sheets of the printout, she asked, “Is that what this is all about?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” He scowled and ran a hand through his hair. “Let me reframe the question. If a vulnerability existed, could that back channel be used to communicate with the host? Without activating a firewall or remotely triggering a cryptosystem lockdown.”

Hmm. She ran a few questions in her mind. “Are you talking about data coming in?”

“I’m not sure,” he murmured. “There’s something there. I can see it, but the access is undocumented. And it’s not passing through the obvious trapdoor.”

She jerked in her seat. “Wait, what? Then how can you see it?”

He looked at her, and she felt the seriousness in his gaze. “Jesus fuck, Tori. That’s what’s freaking me out. I can see it, and only someone who has walked a mile inside my head would know that.”

“What the hell are you saying, Alex?”

A silence that was heavy and uncomfortable settled around them. She had touched a nerve with her question.

His dark eyes worried her, and when he mumbled, “I’m fucking sorry,” she knew they weren’t in Kansas anymore.

“For what?”

He came straight to her and offered her a rare hug. “Hon, you know I trust Drae with my life.”

“Okay,” she slowly stated.

It was hard to watch the big, powerful man struggle, but that was what he did. Her tension built, and she swallowed with difficulty.

“You can’t tell Drae any of this, Tori.”

She started to object, but he held up a hand to stop her. “I’ll brief him—when it’s right—and when I do, I’ll need his reaction at that moment. Not some well-thought-out position he arrived at after a checking of the pros and cons. Understand?”

Aw, shit. Yeah, she understood but wasn’t happy about it. She and her husband didn’t keep secrets.

Stephanie felt like hell. A headache that grabbed hold before her eyes opened this morning was making her cranky and out of sorts. The minute she could hand off to Becca and skip out, that was what she would do.

The veterinarian she hired to manage the growing menagerie of animals spread out between the agency and Family Justice was droning on about a new foal. She should care, but she didn’t. This was the stuff she wanted Becca to handle, but so far, her assistant and the taciturn doctor got along like, not at all.

“I talked to Jensen about installing a part-time veterinary team in the kennel. The number of dogs cycling through the canine program warrants creating the positions.”

She glimpsed an escape hatch and moved things along. “Work with Becca to create job descriptions and a list of responsibilities. She can access the personnel tree. Use it to find a way to create the team.”

A cold chill filled the room. She didn’t have time for this crap.

“Is there a problem, Dr. Hunter?”

Staring into a pair of unusual cinnamon-colored eyes, she caught a momentary shadow, reminding her that the talented cowboy veterinarian was a complicated man. They said he didn’t like people, and she got it. He came off as hard and resolute, but she sensed something else that he hid behind a fierce, unyielding demeanor.

He didn’t mince words, and her headache kicked into second gear. “Your assistant, Mrs. Tate? She’s bossy.”

A statement of fact. One she had no problem with, but clearly, the grumpy doctor wasn’t having it. Eyeing him up, she had to give him credit. It took balls to simply come out with it. No pretty words or soft landings for this guy!

“Would you like me to tell her she makes you uncomfortable?”

The subtle affront to his manhood struck as intended, and he jolted in his seat. His snort was both amused and derisive. He put a hand to his ear as if listening to something. “Is that the sound of a mic drop, Mrs. Dane?”

She laughed. “Aw, now see? You can be funny.”

“Message received, ma’am. I’ll take care of it.”

After that, it took only a few moments for him to clear out. Stephanie groaned into the emptiness and leaned back in her desk chair. Sometime later, when she felt less like screaming, she pressed the intercom and asked Becca to come in.

Becca refused to look up when the sound of stomping boots powered past her desk. It was tight-assed Dr. Sphincter on his way out.

Waiting a couple of clicks after he swept by before daring to look up, she caught a glimpse of his shoulder as he left.

Slumping awkwardly, she wrung her hands and thought about her first meeting with Dr. James Hunter. The day it started going terribly wrong.

She’d accompanied Stephanie to a rodeo where her boss had gone for the sole purpose of making an in-person offer to a veterinarian who Justice was desperate to hire. The man wasn’t interested, but Stephanie wasn’t taking no for an answer.

On Becca’s first day of work, the Southern bombshell announced that she didn’t understand and would never speak the language of rejection. It was a grandiose statement that summed up her character. The way Becca saw it, Stephanie’s gene pool was probably made up of resolute women who made it look like they played by the rules while actually calling every shot.

Dr. James Hunter might not have been interested, but Stephanie Dane wasn’t in any way deterred by his refusal.

So off they went to the rodeo with her new boss’s infant tucked in a carrier seat. A man named Ben drove them in a comfortable Chevy Suburban that made having the baby around no problem at all. Once on the ground, Stephanie carried her son in a sling while Ben trailed like a Sherpa hauling the kid’s diaper bag and pushing a stroller.

The Lonepoke Rodeo was exactly what she expected. A dusty, western outdoor people fest with horses, bulls, cowboys, and families.

Thinking back, they must have looked pretty comical. Into this mix of denim, boots, and Stetsons marched a delicate blonde dressed as if she was going to the Kentucky Derby sporting a large sunhat, heels that did not belong at a rodeo, and a wiggle when she walked that pretty much assured every good ole boy in a hundred-mile radius was going to do whatever she asked.

The weird thing was that Becca also noticed that other women weren’t concerned by the pretty beauty queen’s act. In fact, the cowgirls and rodeo ladies gave her every assist imaginable. She guessed that putting arrogant cowboys in their place was something universal that all women understood and applauded when they saw it happening.

They found the doctor leaning on the split rail fence around a corral. Stephanie targeted him like a heat-seeking missile and marched across a rocky parking area without ever stumbling.

Becca’s first impression as they ambushed the disinterested veterinarian? He was too goddamn handsome for his own good. The guy looked like he came from central casting with his broad shoulders and very fine cowboy ass. Oh, and he had a hat, of course.

When Stephanie was close enough for him to hear, she called his name. He flinched and turned his head in their direction. Becca didn’t know if he scowled—the shadow from his hat and a pair of dark sunglasses obscured his face—but she was sure he did. The vibe he put off fell someplace between wishing he had a cloaking device and downright ornery pissed-offness.

The ornery pissed-offness led to her second impression—that James Hunter was an arrogant dickhead who couldn’t be bothered to show some damn manners.

Stephanie razzle dazzled him. Five minutes in, Becca realized the disagreeable doctor didn’t stand a chance.

Their escort, Ben, sniggered when Stephanie forced Hunter to admire her son. Wolf Dane was one of those chubby-cheeked cherubs whose smile could melt icebergs. Watching the cantankerous vet rather churlishly react to the kid’s presence made Becca want to spit in his cornflakes. How hard was it to just be nice? What a dick.

It was Stephanie’s impressive knowledge of horses that made the difference when push came to shove. When Dr. Hunter refused to respond to her charm offensive, the Southern whirlwind rather neatly handed him his arrogant ass during a twenty-minute exchange that demonstrated her bona fides. The fun part was watching her trip him up during a rapid-fire explosion of questions and comments. The lady knew her shit, that was for sure.

Throughout this whole encounter, Becca stayed silent. But that didn’t stop James Hunter from glaring in her direction.

They were eating lunch at a picnic table beneath a white tent. Ben took Wolf for a walk while Stephanie and the veterinarian hammered out an agreement. His terms right from the start were ridiculous.

“I’m not interested in your housing offer. I prefer my privacy, Mrs. Dane.”

Stephanie turned on a sugary smile. “I’m afraid this is non-negotiable, Dr. Hunter. The Villa de Valleja-Marquez is, quite frankly, in the middle of nowhere. The little town nearby, Bendover, is a hodgepodge of businesses and houses but no housing per se. None suitable for a man of your station. You’d have to find something in Sedona, and at that point, you’re so far off property that you’d be no help in an emergency.”

Becca watched with interest as the prickly jerk shrugged. “I need my privacy.”

“As do we all, Dr. Hunter.” The subtle put-down in Stephanie’s tone was hard to ignore. “However,” she said with sharp emphasis, “the package being offered takes the sting out of having a couple of neighbors. Major Marquez has generously offered a two-bedroom bungalow home not far from the equestrian center, and I assure you that privacy will not be an issue.”

There was a long, heavy silence. Becca noted Hunter clenching his jaw. She thought then as she still did today that the man was an asshole. The bungalow Stephanie referred to was a bit of a misnomer. The boxy modular unit was decorated in a Southwestern faux adobe style. She overheard Betty, the business manager, saying it was originally used by the construction foreman when the agency built a new compound. With a little bit of paint and some cleverly placed landscaping features, the place would be almost invisible.

The guy had a problem with everything. After more give and take, they reached an agreement, but it wasn’t amicable on his end.

Swirling a straw in the paper cup filled with sweet and sour fresh squeezed lemonade, Stephanie adopted a casual air and dropped a little bomb in the taciturn doctor’s lap.

“The Major asked me to reiterate the security features at the Villa and for all those doing business with Justice. He wants assurance that you understand what’s involved.”

Becca remembered the way the doctor stiffened. He’d removed his hat to eat, but the dark sunglasses remained. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she did pick up on how his face tightened and wondered what his problem was.

When he responded, Becca detected an angry bleakness in his words and tone.

“I’m assuming you’ve run the usual background checks.”

It was a statement, not a question, but Stephanie nodded once.

“Then you already know your Major’s security won’t faze me in the least.”

She’d studied the two of them. Becca sensed the heavy subtext in his response, but Stephanie never wavered.

On the long ride back to the Villa, her triumphant boss fussed over Wolf and babbled nonstop. Becca wasn’t sure why she’d gone along when Stephanie clearly did not require backup. When she asked what Becca thought of the grumpy veterinarian, she’d answered honestly.

“He’s a jerk and rubbed me the wrong way. But that’s just me. I’ve had more than my fill of men with bully tendencies.”

Stephanie shrugged but studied Becca until she felt like crawling into a hole. “Let’s not judge him just yet, hmm? Not till we know more.”

Well, now they knew more. He’d been at the Villa for more than a month, and in that time, he’d made quite an impact on the growing Family Justice menagerie while creatively redesigning the health and safety practices at the equestrian center. The guy was good at what he did. But beyond that? Dr. James Hunter was a blank slate.

He moved into the efficient modular home Ben called the little pueblo, and that was it. He worked hard and kept to himself. There was no attempt to be friendly or to try to fit in to the social part of his new life.

And he really, really didn’t like Becca. She could tell because he bristled every time they spoke. His tone was contemptuous and dismissive, not that hers was any better. Did her conscience bother her a little? Yes. And why? Because her judgment of the socially awkward Dr. Hunter had everything to do with her ex-husband.

It wasn’t that he resembled Darryl Tate because he didn’t. Not at all. Darryl was of average height and best described as wiry, so there was no physical resemblance at all. The best explanation she came up with was the thing with his attitude. Darryl made everything about him—just like the cranky vet.

She was already in the National Guard when they met and married. Her dad was military, so during her senior year in high school, after 9-11, she vowed to do her part to defend the country while on a patriotic high. Nobody knew that one day, when her daughter was a toddler, the US military would send her to Iraq not once, not twice, but for three yearlong deployments. During the brief time she spent at home between deployments, it was apparent her marriage was on rocky ground, but the last thing she dreamed Darryl would do was ditch his daughter. But he did, and in doing so, he gave her unctuous mother-in-law the perfect opportunity to sue for custody.

The rest was uncomfortable history. She left the Army. Got divorced. Lost custody and fought back.

Throughout all the heartbreaking moments, everything was about Darryl.

Not her or the sacrifice she made for her country.

Not Kori or what being separated from her mother did to the girl’s psyche only to be discarded like used furniture when something new and more fascinating came around. It might be years before she fully understood the damage her father had done.

Everything was poor Darryl. Poor, selfish, self-centered, what about me Darryl.

She saw the same thing in James Hunter. Frankly, she didn’t give a rat’s ass about what happened to him. Plenty of bad stuff happened to her, but that didn’t mean she got to take out a shitty attitude on everyone else, so why the hell was he to be catered to and appeased? Asshole.

The intercom buzzed. Stephanie wanted to talk. Reaching for a notepad, Becca gathered what she needed and went to see what the boss lady needed. Sitting around comparing Darryl and Dr. Sphincter was a waste of time. Men, in general, she’d concluded, were a waste of time and energy.

“That’s pretty good.” Finn nodded, chewed, and took another bite.

Bella made a sound. Part growl, part sigh. “Ergh.”

With a decisive flourish, she put the sandwich down and wiped her mouth.

“What’s wrong, Chefella?” he asked with a grin because Chefella was her new foodie nickname. The kid had culinary gifts others could only wish they had.

“It’s not right. Sumpin’s missing.”

Finn inspected the sandwich on his plate. His very first impression had to do with the word sandwich. What he was looking at deserved a special category. It wasn’t submarine style, a triple-decker club, or a hoagie on a long roll. It also wasn’t a poor boy, a wrap, or a grinder.

A thick, meaty spaghetti sauce atop a mound of fresh ribbon tagliatelle pasta sat between two sides of a roll. After just one bite, his taste buds groaned with pleasure. The gooey sauce, fresh pasta, and substantial roll were a winning combo.

He waited for inspiration from the feisty, opinionated kid. She didn’t disappoint.

“Ooh, I know,” she squealed a split second before scurrying from their booth and darting into the kitchen. He was right behind her when she marched up to Manny and asked for fresh mozzarella.

Manny López, his right-hand man and the guy who took Finn’s recipes and served them to a growing crowd of Pete’s fans, had the good sense to treat Chefella with the respect she earned. True foodies didn’t generally care about labels like age or sex.

Half an hour of experimenting later, they had a winner. Then they sat down to write up the menu description.

Bella stood next to him and watched every pen stroke. It was possible that a minority might find her ways bossy, but he certainly didn’t share the opinion. To him, she was just Bella Mia. Smart. Insanely funny. Clever times ten and possessing an ageless maturity. Her enthusiasm for life took all the air out of the bossy impression.

“Did you write about the bun?”

An amused chuckle rumbled up. He snickered at her. “Of course! Look,” he said. Pointing at a series of words, he used his announcer's voice and read aloud. “Ribbons of fresh tagliatelle topped with a hearty Italian meat sauce and a thin slice of mozzarella sit on a tasty, toasted bun brushed with mild garlic-infused butter.”

She clapped her hands and did a touchdown dance. “What shall we call it?”

Barry was walking by and heard the question. “Is this it?” he asked, pointing at the sandwich on a platter. Opening wide, his bearded business partner tore into the messy sandwich with gusto.

“Monkey on a Bun,” he said through a mouthful of food. “This thing is addicting, and the bun is bitchin’.”

With her familiar giggle, Bella asked, “Does that make sense, Finn? What Barry said. Because I like it. It’s funny.”

Finn made a face when he chuckle-snorted. “Well, okay. I mean, I guess. They say addiction is like having a monkey on your back, so yeah, it makes sense. Monkey on a Bun it is!”

“Miss Bella,” Barry thundered. The guy didn’t have a low setting—the result of constantly talking over bar noise. “Have you picked an outfit for the school costume contest? Shelly wants to know.”

“Not yet,” she replied. “Why?”

Finn bit back a chuckle. Bella could sense a setup from across the room.

When Barry shuffled his feet and cleared his throat, Finn sat back and enjoyed the big guy’s discomfort. He’d messed with Bella’s inner self by sneaking off spur of the moment to get married. Shelly, crazy, quirky Shelly somehow managed to score a Groupon for a wedding weekend in Reno that they just couldn’t pass up.

“Um, well,” Barry grumbled. “Shelly wants to do the whole bride thing, and you know.” He shrugged.

Bella probably knew what he was stumbling over saying, but she wasn’t about to let the hipster bar owner off the hook that easily. No way. Not the Bella Mia Jensen he’d come to know and worship.

Crossing her arms the way Alex did when he was playing the role of Major, she managed an arched brow too. “Hmph.”

That was it. Just a pithy hmph. Barry swallowed—hard. He looked like a guy who knew his next words would either save his balls or put him on his knees.

“So Shelly and I were wondering if maybe you’d be her bridesmaid for the contest. We’d get a dress and do all that girl stuff.”

The bullets Barry sweated struck Finn as poetic justice. Eloping was a dick move that robbed him and Remy of making a fuss for their good friends. Barry was more than a business partner, and Shelly was the first person to have his back. And Remy’s. Their loyalty was fierce. He was happy that they finally tied the knot, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also pissed about the lost opportunity.

A minute passed in silence. A long, hilariously tense minute. Right then and there, Finn silently prayed that the comedian in heaven sent Barry a daughter. Every arrogant asshole needed a daughter.

The thought made him shift uncomfortably. He wanted a daughter. A daughter with Remington’s jet-black hair and the green O’Brien eyes.

Finally, Bella spoke and released Barry from hell.

“Will there be flowers? I want flowers. And Shelly needs flowers too. And heels. Pretty shoes,” she clarified when Barry frowned.

“Oh, uh, sure, honey. Whatever you think. So is that a yes, Bella? Will you be Shelly’s bridesmaid? For Halloween.”

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Missi …

“Okay,” Bella said with a shrug that made it seem as though it was no big deal.

But he saw her happiness, and it filled him with calm. Lately, Bella was acting a bit stressed. He’d asked Brody if everything was all right, but he wasn’t saying much these days.

The two shook on it. Bella and the kids were really big on handshakes and ritualized gestures, fist bumps, and routines.

Finn smiled and gave her an approving nod when she looked at him. Though she came off as confident, she was still a little girl.

She did her parents proud when she hugged Barry. “Thank you.”

That was it. Nothing more needed to be said. Barry tapped Bella’s nose and kissed her cheek before he melted away.

It seemed like a good time to check in and see how his special girl was doing.

“How’s school going, Bells? Do you like your teacher?”

A pro at getting in and out of the booths in Pete’s dining room, she shimmied onto the padded leather bench across from him and sat on her feet.

She didn’t mince words and got right down to it. “I miss Matty. We talk on the ’puter, but I still miss him.”

What were the life lessons these two kids were learning? They were unusually bonded, and despite Matty being younger, his significant intelligence and somewhat severe life experiences made them well matched. It was a shame that they only saw each other during school vacations.

He searched his mind for a thoughtful response and came up empty. All he had was an old canard of empty words.

“Look at it this way, Bells. Missing each other will make the times you spend together special.”

“Matty’s already special,” she grumbled.

No arguing with that, so he tried a different approach. A move that would appeal to her creative side.

“When he was here, I bet you took a gazillion pictures last summer, didn’t you?”

She giggled. “My mom gave us her selfie stick.”

Bingo! Just the nugget of information he needed.

“Perfect!” He cackled and grinned. “Why don’t you make a slideshow? Uncle Alex has mad computer skills. He can help.”

She gasped with quiet excitement. “And Uncle Thor. He knows all kinds of stuff.”

He watched her juggle a thousand thoughts and marveled at the shifting expressions that danced on her adorable face.

A bolt of inspiration hit him broadside. “And you know what else? If you start now, I bet you could make it a Christmas present.”

“Yes!” She hooted with considerable delight. “Did you know we have a date?”

Hmm. What was she getting at? “A date?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Her enthusiastic nod made her ponytail sway. “New Year’s Eve! We’re invited to dinner with Mamita. Because Mommy and Daddy’s wedding is the next day.”

Mamita. God, he loved the heart-warming term Alex was all but cramming down all their throats. His brother-in-law was adamant that Carmen experience all the benefits of grandparent-hood with the slew of junior kids populating the expanding Justice family. She was everyone’s friend, cousin, aunt, and surrogate mother and had earned a special title.

Cupping a hand next to her mouth, Bella leaned across the table, and mock-whispered, “We can’t do a fort sleepover.”

He smiled at the picture in his mind of the living room forts he and his friends made. Ma was always a good sport about all the pillows, blankets, and cushions that ended up in the mix.

“How come no sleepover fort? Mamita isn’t down with it?”

Bella snickered, rolled her eyes, and sat back. “Mamita is fine. It’s my daddy. He said no way could we sleep together on our first date.”

The explosion of laughter started in his gut and grew until there was no way to hold it inside.

“Bwah!” he barked as the hilarity took him down.

Bella made her lil’ Captain smirk, and innocently asked, “Why do the grown-ups laugh?”

Oh god, Finn thought. No way was he going down that road. Not with Bella Mia Jensen. No fucking way. So he took the easy way out and winked.

“Top secret, Bells. Ya gotta be twelve or thirteen to know why!”

The smart little girl was satisfied with the promise of understanding some day and shrugged.

“Guess what, Finn?” she blurted out with a blast of kid enthusiasm. “I have all gold stars in my folder for reading. I love books. Do you? Mommy says someday I might write stories. That’d be cool, huh? I could write a story about you and Pete’s!”

Oddly enough, or maybe not so oddly at all, Finn had no doubt whatsoever that if Bella decided being an author was her calling that she’d do what she does so well—make the career her own and stick her flag at the summit.