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Wyatt nods and out of the corner of my eye, I see Moira smiling.
“When men fight, they don’t hit each other below the belt. That’s called a low blow …”
“Nowadays, it’s called a nut cruncher,” Wyatt interjects, with a gleeful expression covering his freckled young face.
“Whatever you call it,” I tell him, “It’s a move that lacks integrity. You don’t want anyone to accuse you of that.” I hold up my hands and make fists. “You want to aim for the chin, the cheek, or the eye. The stomach’s good too. Now show me how you make a fist. I want to make sure you’re doing it right, so you don’t break your—”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Moira snaps.
“What? The boy called you a floozy,” I tell her. “Wyatt can’t let him get away with that.”
Planting both hands on her hips, Moira says, “Digger, you’re supposed to tell himnotto fight, not teach him how. This is the twenty-first century, and we have much better ways to resolve conflicts than resorting to violence.”
Wrinkling up my nose, I ask, “Do we, Moira? Do we really?” Then I turn to Wyatt. “Come here, Wy, let me show you how real men hug it out.” My nephew bursts into laughter which really ignites my sister’s anger. Come to think of it, maybe Wyatt inherited her temper too.
“That’s it. You get in the house and write that apology letter,” Moira tells her son. “And no screens for a week.”
His skinny shoulders drop. “See you later, Uncle Digger.”
“See you, buddy.”
With his head down, Wyatt shuffles toward the back door with his golden retriever, Juno, following close behind. Moira glares at me, before yelling after him, “And forget what your idiot uncle just told you about fighting. There will benofighting!”
I wait until the screen door slams before muttering, “You’ve got three boys, Moira. I hate to tell you this, but there’s going to be some fighting.”
“Jackass,” she says, tugging the hose as she stalks over to the peas to give them a drink. “You’re supposed to have my back.”
To the whole world, my sister is one tough nut. She’s raising three sons alone, she owns and runs the only diner in town, and she can shoot a grizzly between the eyes before single-handedly tanning its hide to use as a rug. All that said, I know how much she struggles to keep that “nothing’s gonna get me down” attitude going strong. This is not the life she thought she’d have.
“I do have your back,” I tell her. “But I also need to have Wyatt’s, Ash’s, and Colton’s. Like it or not, a boy has to learn to fight. Out here in the wild, it’s possible he’ll wind up in a situation where his life depends on it.”
“You big dope. Calling me a floozy isn’t exactly a life-or-death offense.”
“It’s good practice for whatever comes next. And believe me, where there are men, there will be fights. In case you haven’t noticed, this is Alaska. The boys have to learn how to defend themselves.”
“You act like you grew up in the Old West, Digger. This may be Alaska, but that doesn’t mean we have to be uncivilized.”
“Boys will be boys, Moira,” I tell her with a wry grin that fades as soon as I see the stress lines etched in her forehead.
My sister has had a real time of it. Not only did she grow up without a mom to be a role model for her, but then she lost her husband when Wyatt was three and she was eight months pregnant with the twins. Unfortunately for Moira, instead of everyone in town rallying around her, a lot of the married women started to see her as a threat. Single, young, pretty,andshe runs the diner? Most of the men in town would have a crush on her for the food alone. “If you don’t like what I’m teaching the kids, maybe it’s time to think about finding someone who’ll do a better job?”
“Been there, done that, didn’t like how it ended.”
“Husbands don’t usually die so young,” I tell her gently. “It’s been six years. It’s okay to find happiness again.”
“For someone who’s dishing out relationship advice, I don’t see you jumping in line to get married.” Forgetting the hose is still turned on, she accidentally sprays herself. “Crap,” she mutters, looking down at her soaked jeans.
“I never wanted a family. You did,” I remind her.
“And I have one, and my life is more than full. Three boys, two cats, one dog, and five fish are more responsibility than any woman needs. The last thing I need is a man to look after, too.”
“So don’t find a man that you’ll have to look after. Relationships are a two-way street. If you do it right, you can find someone who will help you, and who you can help in return. And you know, all that other mushy stuff.”
“There isn’t a man on the face of the earth who’ll want to take on my ready-made family. Especially, out in the middle of nowhere,” Moira says. “Present company excluded.”
“There’s got to be at least one other good guy on the planet, Moira.”
“If there is, he doesn’t live here in Gamble, I can tell you that much.”
