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Isabel heaved out a beleaguered sigh and marched Brooklyn and the pancakes over to the table.
Of course, she had to be spotted ... and ofcourse,she had to be spotted byBrooklyn.
Chapter 10
Travis didn’t see Isabel—oreither of the kids he’d met the other day—when he headed out to meet Miles.
He considered it a stroke of good luck. Or at least he tried to convince himself he did, even as he slowly drove by the house, hoping for a chance of a lean, long-legged brunette.
The kid playing basketball in the driveway across from Isabel’s house saw him and fumbled the ball, sending it rolling into the street.
Travis hit the brakes and waited for the kid to get it.
Brant just stared at him.
Travis waved at him and when the boy did nothing, he leaned on the window. “You want that ball or do you want me to drive over it?”
Hesitantly, Brant approached, but a few feet from the road, he stopped and the look he gave Travis had his gut twisting into nasty, slippering knots.
Putting the truck into park, he turned the vehicle off and pocketed the keys, then slid out and circled, going to grab the ball.
Brant had backed up several more feet by the time he turned around and Travis blew out a tired breath. “Brant, unless you plan on trying to swing at me again, I’m not going to touch you. And even if you were to try and swing at me again, all I’d do is keep you from hitting me. I don’t believe in harming kids.”
“I’m not a kid,” Brant said, jutting his chin up. “I’m almost fifteen.”
Remembering how he’d felt atalmost fifteen, Travis considered that, then nodded. “Okay, well, I don’t believe in swinging at something who is more than half my age. Just doesn’t seem fair.”
“I’m not a pussy.” Brant curled his lip, sneering at him. “I can take it.”
It was clear by the way he acted that he believed that—and it was doubly clear Branthadtaken it, and then some.
“Be that as it may,” Travis said, bouncing the ball on the pavement once, then again, absently moving into a long-forgotten rhythm as he held the kid’s gaze. “Some things, a grown man just doesn’t do. Bullying somebody younger than you, weaker than you ... that’s whatpussiesdo. Real men? They don’t do it. They don’t need to.”
Brant flinched, then immediately covered it with a sneer. “My dad’s back is messed up. He hurt it years ago. Says if it wasn’t for that, he could’ve taken you easy.”
“Okay.” Travis shrugged.
