I grin and answer Millie first. “I want to do it.” Even though I hold her gaze for just a second, letting it go is harder than I’d care to admit. I force myself to look at Mattie. “You won’t believe it. I use them all the time. Wanna give them a try?”
Mattie gives me a reluctant smile, and it’s great. But,Dios mío,it’s nothing like the smile her big sister lays on me. A man could demolish ten kitchens on a smile like that.
Fifteen minutes later, after scouring the supply trailer and my truck, I’ve found enough goggles and gloves for every Delacroix. Yeah, Emmett’s nearly reach his elbows, but it’s all good. And outfitting them with mallets and hammers is no problem, though Harry insists on using a sledgehammer.
“Go for it, kid,” I say, handing it to him.
The five of us fill the kitchen, staring down at the pristine white tile that spans the workspace. I’ve given Sam and Donner a ten-minute break. I don’t think any of Millie and her crew are going to take interest in this job much longer than that.
Harry palms the butt of the handle. “I can hit it as hard as I want?” he asks, a defiant jut to his chin.
Maybe I’m wrong. He looks like he could smash the whole room if I let him.
“You can hit it as hard as you want,amigo.”
With a subtle nod and a narrowed eye, he surveys the U-shaped counter space. Then he hefts the sledgehammer and rests it on his right shoulder.
“I call this side,” he says, eyeing the long arm of the counter closest to their kitchen table.
“Then I call that side,” Emmett pipes up, pointing to its opposite.
Mattie turns to her big sister. “You want to take either side of the sink?”
“Sure,” Millie says with decision. She’s grinning and wearing the safety goggles I gave her. She looks adorable. Those goggles never had it so good.
Without another word, Harry heaves the sledgehammer and slams it against the counter. With a great, clanking crash, tile chips fly everywhere.
The Delacroixes share a collective gasp at the jagged hole in the countertop. Not to be outdone by his older brother, Emmett bashes the surface in front of him. And it’s like someone fired a starting pistol. Hammers and mallets fly with a fury I’ve never seen in a kitchen demolition.
Smash. Crash. Crunch. Shatter.
I stand the hell out of the way and just watch—a little in awe. Harry raises the sledgehammer and roars, bringing it down with teeth-rattling force. In the next instant, Mattie and Emmett take up the cry, Mattie’s pitching to a scream as she pounds with her hammer, Emmett sounding more like a panther’s cry.
This goes on, Emmett trading his animal sounds for a karate-styleHi-ya!with each strike.
And beneath the sounds of screams, bellows, smashing, and shattering, Millie is laughing. My eyes land on her. Sure, she’s bringing down her mallet, popping tiles like one would pop bubble wrap, absently and with her eyes on her brothers and sisters. Laughing her ass off.
For the first time, she looks loose and relaxed. Her hips sway as she turns from watching Harry and Mattie on her left to Emmett on her right, her legs almost giving as she laughs. It’s like she’s dancing.
She wears dark washed jeans. They hug her neatly. And I swallow with the certainty that beneath them is just enough silk and lace to kill a man.
Chapter Twelve
MILLIE
“She needs to wear an e-collar.”
It’s Saturday. I don’t usually work Saturdays, Dr. Thomas does, but she’s at a wedding, so I’m the one to see what the four-year-old Catahoula mix has done to the near perfect cruciate ligament repair I performed on her Thursday. The incision is a good five inches long. I closed the muscle and subcutaneous tissues with monofilament sutures and the epidermis with staples, one of which has been licked clean off. The distal aspect of the incision is gaping slightly, but at least the underlying sutures are still intact.
Naturally, my patient’s name is Millie. The only other Millies I know are either eighty-year-old ladies or dogs.
“The Cone of Shame?” her owner, Mrs. Louise asks, wincing. “She’s going to hate that.”
I nod. “Sheisgoing to hate that. At first. This time tomorrow, it’ll be just the way things are,” I say, keeping my tone kind but firm. “Otherwise, she’s going to open this up all the way instead of just licking out one staple, and then we’ll really be in trouble.”
Mrs. Louise blanches at this. “Okay. I’ll keep the cone on her.”
“And let’s make sure to stay on top of the pain medicine. Are you giving her the Tramadol every eight to twelve hours?”
