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Mitchell’s smile grew. “Or any man.”
“Or any man. I have no interest in raising two boys on my own,” she added, snapping.
“That’s all I needed to hear.” Mitchell’s smile was entirely too smug.
“See, I told you.” Dot was leaning against the doorway, watching them. “They do act like it.”
“Huh, guess so,” Otis added.
“Act like what?” Mitchell asked.
“You’re married,” Dot answered. “You argue just like our parents. And you’re always around.”
“You gonna marry her?” Otis asked.
Mitchell smiled at Poppy, teasing her and loving every minute of it. “I’ve tried, but she won’t have me.”
Poppy burst out laughing then. He didn’t want to marry a woman he thought of as his sister. “Okay, you two, since you’re here, how about some help setting the table?”
The both groaned, and complained, and argued, but they did it.
“Where’s Rowdy?” Dot asked.
“Yeah, why isn’t he helping out?” Otis joined in, placing each fork on the table with a heavy thump.
“He’s out with Cheeto. Horses need a lot of work.” Poppy continued chopping salad, keeping a close watch on the ears of corn boiling on the stove. So far, the smoke was minimal.
“Mom won’t let us have a pet,” Otis said.
“Because you killed the fish,” Dot explained.
“What happened?” Poppy turned, grabbing the chance to engage with her niece and nephew.
“We each picked out a betta fish. Mine was all pretty and pink and red,” Dot said, folding napkins. “His was boy colored.”
“I didn’t know they wouldn’t get along,” Otis protested. “Who knew fish could do that?”
“That’s why they come in separate cups, Otis. They need their own personal space.” Dot shook her head. “His fish killed my fish and then he was so freaked out he gave his away.”
“Oh.” Poppy frowned. “Poor little fish.”
“And that’s why we can’t have a pet.” Dot shook her head. “It’s your fault, so stop whining about it.”
And just like that, Otis snapped. “Shut up, Dot! I’m sick of you being so bossy.”
Dot’s smile was hard. “Because you know I’m right?”
“Hold on.” Poppy stepped forward.
“You’re a brat.” Otis’s voice shook.
“You’re a baby,” Dot bit back. “A crybaby.”
The color bleached from Otis’s cheeks before he flushed red.
“Guys, enough.” Poppy tried to reprimand them—at the same time the burner caught fire on the stove and the smoke alarm screamed to life. “Dammit!”
She heard her niece and nephew in the background, heard the clatter of cutlery on the wood-planked floor, but couldn’t do much until she’d located the fire extinguisher and put out the fire. She spun, horrified to see Dot punch Otis in the arm—hard—and Otis push Dot.
