With a happy squeal, she fished in the bowl suction-cupped to her tray, grabbed a chubby fistful, and squeezed. Mushed carrots oozed through her fingers. The dog circled the chair, licking bits of food from the wooden floor.
He laughed, the sight of the happy, goo-covered baby easing some of his tension. “Did she get any of it into her mouth?”
“Not much,” Ellie said. “Sit down. Let me get you something to eat.”
Faith squealed again and banged her fists on her plastic tray. A scattering of Cheerios danced like Mexican jumping beans. Grant dropped into the chair next to her and gently hushed her. Odd. Usually, he let her squeal to her heart’s content.
Brody greeted the rest of the family. Grant’s six-year-old nephew, Carson, responded with a subdued “Hey.” Ellie’s grandmother, Nan, stood to give him a quick hug, and her teenage daughter, Julia, waved hello from across the table. The whole family was strangely quiet. Eight months after facing a terrible tragedy, Brody had thought the family was slowly healing, but today everyone seemed subdued and wary. Faith flung a handful of mushed carrot. It hit the floor with a splat. The baby was the only one acting normal.
Brody took the chair next to Grant and leaned toward him. “Is something wrong?”
Grant frowned. He opened his mouth then abruptly closed it, his gaze shifting to the doorway. Brody tracked his line of sight to see Hannah gingerly walking into the room. Yoga pants and a fitted, long-sleeve top hugged her lithe frame. Brody blinked in shock as she walked closer. The one word he’d never thought he’d use to describe her was frail. But that’s what came to mind. Normally, Hannah was tall and long-limbed in a kick-ass, athletic way. Her blue eyes, usually barbed-wire sharp, were clouded with pain and something else. Anxiety.
What the hell?
She met his questioning gaze and gave him a quick shake of her head. Whatever she wanted to say to him would wait until they were alone.
“Aunt Hannah.” Carson bolted from his seat. “You took a longer nap than Faith.”
Grant caught him around the middle. “Easy, sport. Aunt Hannah had an accident, remember?”
Carson slid to a stop, but Hannah smiled at him. “I’m fine, Grant, just a little stiff, and I could really use a hug.”
She eased into the only vacant seat, next to Brody.
“Yeah, that’s better.” She wrapped her arms around her nephew. Her muscles appeared to loosen as she rested her head against the child’s. “Hugs always make me feel better.”
“You should come see us more.” In three seconds, Carson squirmed out of her embrace.
“You’re right.” She brushed his sun-whitened bangs off his face.
“Uncle Grant,” the boy said. “Can we have cake now?”
“Soon,” Grant said with a smile.
Hannah turned to the baby. “Girlfriend, we need to talk about personal hygiene.”
Faith shrieked and reached both sticky hands for her aunt.
“Let me clean her up,” Grant said. “Ellie, could you toss me a dish towel?”
“I don’t mind sticky.” Hannah half stood and gave the baby a smacking kiss on her orange-smeared nose. Faith clapped her aunt’s cheeks with both hands. Hannah winced, but covered it with a smile. Brody looked closer. At the edge of her hairline, a bruise extended from her ear to her temple. The puffy, darkening patch was the size of a fist. Brody’s jaw muscles went taut again.
“You all right?” Grant asked. Ellie brought her a wet towel.
“Fine.” Hannah wiped orange handprints off her face.
“You should ice that egg on your head.” Grant got up and went to the freezer.
She pulled a foot up onto the chair and hugged her knee. Her pant leg rode up. A ring of bruises surrounded her slender ankle. Like fingerprints. Fury rode hot up the back of Brody’s neck. Accident his ass. He’d find out who hurt her and . . .
He stopped himself. He sounded like Grant. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for her
He laughed, the sight of the happy, goo-covered baby easing some of his tension. “Did she get any of it into her mouth?”
“Not much,” Ellie said. “Sit down. Let me get you something to eat.”
Faith squealed again and banged her fists on her plastic tray. A scattering of Cheerios danced like Mexican jumping beans. Grant dropped into the chair next to her and gently hushed her. Odd. Usually, he let her squeal to her heart’s content.
Brody greeted the rest of the family. Grant’s six-year-old nephew, Carson, responded with a subdued “Hey.” Ellie’s grandmother, Nan, stood to give him a quick hug, and her teenage daughter, Julia, waved hello from across the table. The whole family was strangely quiet. Eight months after facing a terrible tragedy, Brody had thought the family was slowly healing, but today everyone seemed subdued and wary. Faith flung a handful of mushed carrot. It hit the floor with a splat. The baby was the only one acting normal.
Brody took the chair next to Grant and leaned toward him. “Is something wrong?”
Grant frowned. He opened his mouth then abruptly closed it, his gaze shifting to the doorway. Brody tracked his line of sight to see Hannah gingerly walking into the room. Yoga pants and a fitted, long-sleeve top hugged her lithe frame. Brody blinked in shock as she walked closer. The one word he’d never thought he’d use to describe her was frail. But that’s what came to mind. Normally, Hannah was tall and long-limbed in a kick-ass, athletic way. Her blue eyes, usually barbed-wire sharp, were clouded with pain and something else. Anxiety.
What the hell?
She met his questioning gaze and gave him a quick shake of her head. Whatever she wanted to say to him would wait until they were alone.
“Aunt Hannah.” Carson bolted from his seat. “You took a longer nap than Faith.”
Grant caught him around the middle. “Easy, sport. Aunt Hannah had an accident, remember?”
Carson slid to a stop, but Hannah smiled at him. “I’m fine, Grant, just a little stiff, and I could really use a hug.”
She eased into the only vacant seat, next to Brody.
“Yeah, that’s better.” She wrapped her arms around her nephew. Her muscles appeared to loosen as she rested her head against the child’s. “Hugs always make me feel better.”
“You should come see us more.” In three seconds, Carson squirmed out of her embrace.
“You’re right.” She brushed his sun-whitened bangs off his face.
“Uncle Grant,” the boy said. “Can we have cake now?”
“Soon,” Grant said with a smile.
Hannah turned to the baby. “Girlfriend, we need to talk about personal hygiene.”
Faith shrieked and reached both sticky hands for her aunt.
“Let me clean her up,” Grant said. “Ellie, could you toss me a dish towel?”
“I don’t mind sticky.” Hannah half stood and gave the baby a smacking kiss on her orange-smeared nose. Faith clapped her aunt’s cheeks with both hands. Hannah winced, but covered it with a smile. Brody looked closer. At the edge of her hairline, a bruise extended from her ear to her temple. The puffy, darkening patch was the size of a fist. Brody’s jaw muscles went taut again.
“You all right?” Grant asked. Ellie brought her a wet towel.
“Fine.” Hannah wiped orange handprints off her face.
“You should ice that egg on your head.” Grant got up and went to the freezer.
She pulled a foot up onto the chair and hugged her knee. Her pant leg rode up. A ring of bruises surrounded her slender ankle. Like fingerprints. Fury rode hot up the back of Brody’s neck. Accident his ass. He’d find out who hurt her and . . .
He stopped himself. He sounded like Grant. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for her
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