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Not one bit.
A split second later, a truculent young male voice snapped out, “What the hell ishedoing here?”
“He’s—”
“I think Ms. Bella and I can handle this, Brooksy,” Travis said, the amusement mostly throttled back.
Isabel put the wine on the counter and angled her body to watch as Jacob sauntered over to stop just maybe two feet in front of Travis, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his new jeans and his chin angled belligerently high as he stared at Travis.
Jacob was tall and gangly, in that way teen boys were when they shot up fast in a short period of time.
He was still four or five inches short of Travis’s height and his long, bony frame lacked the easy grace the older male possessed, but that didn’t keep the belligerence from the boy’s gaze as he looked Travis up and down.
Next to him, and a little behind his left shoulder, stood Brant.
The other kid looked nervous and when he met Isabel’s gaze, those nerves magnified until he ended up lowering his gaze and staring at his toes.
Isabel wondered if his father knew where he was.
“Bella, what the hell is he doing here?” Jacob demanded.
Swinging her gaze from Brant to Jacob, Isabel coolly asked, “Excuse me?”
If she hadn’t been watching him, if she hadn’t spent the past five years working with kids just like him, she might have missed the way he jerked, his shoulders tensing. In a flash, he relaxed, the tightening around his mouth fading away to be replaced by that same sneer as he looked Travis over before shooting her another look. “Why is he here?”
“I invited him over for dinner,” she said in an icy tone. “And I don’t believe I require your permission, Jacob.” She waited a beat, then asked, “Did circumstances change, sweetheart? Areyounow paying for this house? The utilities? Areyoubuying the groceries? Cooking the food? Doing anything to determine who deserves entry intomyhome?”
A dull flush washed over his cheeks and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
Satisfied she’d made her point, she shifted her attention back to Brant. “Hello. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Um.” The tall, lanky kid shifted on his feet and darted a nervous look around the room, his cheeks sunburn-red. But it wasn’t the sun responsible. He was nervous—and embarrassed.
Then he slanted a look at Travis and his shoulders slumped even more.
“He’s my friend,” Jacob said, some of his attitude returning. “You told me this was my home. Is it?”
This kid was going to try her patience in ways she hadn’t experienced in some time, Isabel decided.
Considering her options, she glanced around, then looked at Travis. “Why don’t you take Storm, Mariah, Aaron and Brooklyn and make sure they’ve all washed up? I need a minute.” Then she shot a look at Aaron and Storm to make sure they got the point.
Both of the older kids had been glaring daggers at Jacob and Brant but at her words, they sucked in a breath, then, with reluctance, followed Travis out of the kitchen. Storm gave Travis quiet directions. Once they were out of earshot, Isabel folded her arms over her chest and focused on the two teen boys in front of her.
Pointing at Brant, she said, “Not a word from you until I give you permission. Otherwise, you’re out and you’ll never come back in. Am I understood?”
He bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
Hmmm. Interesting.
Then she focused on Jacob.
“Let’s get one thing straight. Thisisyour home. Yes, you can invite friends ...afteryou get my permission.Youare the child.Iam the adult. You get my okay, first, or it doesn’t happen.” She planted her hands on her hips and held his surly stare. “It’salwayswith my okay. I may not have enough food. I may already have plans. Youmightbe inviting somebody who has harassed other kids who live here.” She shot a look at Brant. He was the color of a boiled lobster and busily observing the floor. “Furthermore, youmightbe inviting somebody who has a parent whomightseriously object to them being here. You’re new here, so you need to understand the lay of the land a little better before jumping into the fire. Understand?”
“Just because he doesn’t get along with Aaron doesn’t meanIcan’t be friends with him,” Jacob said in a sulky voice, jabbing a thumb at his chest.
“I don’t give a damn if he and Aaron get along or not,” Isabel responded. “But he has repeatedly disrespected Aaronto his face. He bulliedBrooklyn—she’sfive, even if she does seem to think otherwise.”
Neither teenager would look at her now.
