“Every night,” Ghost said, without missing a beat. “Sleep like a baby after.”
Logan looked at his eggs.
Walker turned down the corner of his paper and scowled at River’s bowl. “Told you to stop eating my cereal.”
“Bunkhouse is a communal kitchen, boss.”
“It had my name on it.”
Johanna lightly smacked Walker’s side. “Stop hiding your sugary cereals from me in the bunkhouse, you old goat.”
“If you didn’t get on me for eatin’ them, woman, I wouldn’t have to hide ‘em.”
“Of course I’m getting on you for it. They’re full of red dye 40. One day I’m going to find you face-down in a bowl of Lucky Charms, and the coroner’s going to write ‘death by leprechaun.’”
Walker cracked a smile. “Worth it.”
“So worth it,” River agreed, twirling his spoon like a gunslinger after a high noon fight.
Logan stared at his plate to keep from laughing. He didn’t totally trust the laugh yet. It felt like something that might break if he let it out wrong.
The back door opened again. He was starting to think the back door was just always opening.
Jax came through it with a kid on his back—small, maybe seven, dark hair sticking up in the back like he’d lost an argument with a pillow. The kid had a sandwich in one hand.
“Morning,” Jax said to the room.
“Morning,” said Johanna, Walker, and, cheerfully, River.
Ghost grunted.
Hatch just raised his mug again.
“Want some eggs, Oliver?” Johanna asked.
The boy shook his head as Jax set him down. “Mom made me a sandwich before she went to the bakery.”
Johanna raised her brows. “A sandwich for breakfast?”
“All he’ll eat right now,” Jax said, sounding annoyed and affectionate at the same time.
Logan’s mom had often had the same tone when talking about him, and he suddenly missed her fiercely. A lump rose in his throat, and his eyes blurred. He dipped his head and poked at his eggs so nobody would notice.
“‘Cause sandwhiches are the best, duh.” Oliver looked around the kitchen, and his gaze landed on Logan. He bounced over and stopped at his elbow. “Hi! I’m Oliver. You’re Bear’s kid.”
“Yeah.”
“Jax is my dad. Well, he isn’t really, but he will be when he marries my mom.” He took a bite of his sandwich and regarded Logan with eyes far too serious for a seven-year-old. “You ran away last night.”
He choked on the bite of eggs he’d just taken.
“Whoa, hey,” Hatch said and thumped him on the back. “Breathe, kid.”
His face went hot.
What did he say to that?
There was no point denying it, not with the whole kitchen looking at him—or at least with the whole kitchen suddenly very not looking at him, which was worse.
