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Duke and I used to squabble just like that. We’d been masters at disagreeing on pretty much everything.
I suddenly missed our bickering arguments more than anything in the world.
“Hey, sorry.” A soft hand touched my arm, jerking me from my spiraling thoughts. I blinked and focused on the blonde who had picked up the chairs. Her blue eyes were full of sympathy. “I hope they didn’t bother you too much.”
I cleared my throat and waved a hand, insisting, “No, not at all,” even though I was pretty sure she could tell watching their byplay had affected me. “It’s fine. They…” I cleared my throat again and motioned toward the kitchen after them, asking, “They’re brothers?”
Of course, they’d been brothers. They had looked like brothers, talked and acted like brothers, and she had used the term fratricide. What else would they have been?
The blonde nodded, smiling sadly. “Yeah. The taller one’s my husband, JB.” Then she rolled her eyes ruefully and pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m Teagan, by the way. Lucy’s first cousin.”
I nodded, pretty sure I wasn’t going to remember her or her husband’s name. “Nice to meet you. I appreciate all the help with…” Sweeping my hand around the room, I grinned ruefully, adding, “Everything. I didn’t realize Beau was going to make quite a production of this when he said he’d get us some extra hands.”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “In this family, things tend to blow up bigger than anyone’s prepared for.” Then she patted my arm, saying, “Welcome aboard,” as if she were really saying welcome to the nuthouse. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should probably go enforce some law and order between Luke and JB.”
I nodded, watching her go. Then I heaved out a sigh and looked at the sticky notes in my hand before observing the front room. From the way Beau had described Lucy’s garage, I wasn’t going to be able to take much from this room with me, so I tagged the television, one picture from the wall, and one piece of furniture.
Just as I was biting my lip and wondering if there was anything else I should take, someone tugged at my shirt.
“Uncle Vaughn?”
I blinked and glanced down at a boy with dark hair and blue eyes, who held a box full of kitchen hand towels and washcloths.
“Uh, yeah?” I asked, wondering who he was.
“I packed this box. Where do you want me to put it?”
“Braiden?” A woman called before appearing from the kitchen. I immediately recognized her as Beau’s wife, the one who’d been at the hospital and first handed me Ava. But I couldn’t recall her name.
“There you are!” she told the boy in a scolding manner. “What’re you doing in here?”
“I was asking Uncle Vaughn where to put this box.”
“That goes in a pile in the kitchen. And he’s not your uncle, baby. You don’t have to call him that.”
The boy furrowed his brow in confusion. “But he’s Ava Grace’s uncle, and she’s my cousin.”
“I know…” his mother started, wincing. “But—”
“It’s fine,” I broke in. “He can call me Uncle if he wants to. Everyone else is.”
“See,” Braiden cried in delight, smiling up at me before turning to lift a challenging eyebrow at his mother.
She flushed and sighed. “Well, alright, then. If you don’t mind.” Then, ruffling her son’s hair, she nudged him back toward the kitchen before hitching up an eyebrow and glancing my way. “I bet you didn’t think any of this would be happening when you woke up this morning.”
I laughed uneasily and rubbed the back of my neck. “Uh, no,” I said. “I had no idea at all. Your husband is quite a persuasive force, though.”
She laughed too. “He definitely is that. Now, excuse me. I’m supposed to be supervising kitchen packing.”
I waved her off and then sighed when I noticed Luke and his brother had returned and were lifting the dresser again. As they carried it toward the entrance, I hurried to open the door for them and finally started to feel weird about a house full of strangers packing my personal belongings.
I mean, it had been strange from the beginning, but now that I knew people were currently in my bedroom, I started that way, needing to see what was going on.
I heard the packing in Duke’s room—tape spooling and cardboard shuffling—and I refused to look inside as I passed by. Focusing ahead, I heard music playing as I neared my room. The song “Stone” by Whiskey Myers was just beginning.
“Come on, Trick,” a female pleaded just before I reached the open doorway. “Dance with me.”
I peered inside to see the bare spot where my dresser had been.
