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He shrugged.
Jonathan, Amelia’s littlest, cried from his spot on the carpet.
“Saved by the baby cry.”
Amelia laughed and slapped Josh’s knee. “Don’t think this conversation is over.” She stood.
“But there’s nothing left to say.”
She shook her head. “At least next time you’re out on a search and rescue mission, take her out for coffee or dinner afterward.” She scooped the baby off the floor.
“I could probably handle that.” And they almost always did that anyway. He loved spending time with Chloe, but a dark shadow kept her heart closed up enough that he wondered if there would ever be a chance for something more.
Chloe pushed open the door to the den at the back of her parents’ farmhouse. She loved her family, but as one of five kids, plus significant others, and eleven grandkids, there were just too many people crammed into the living room, kitchen, and dining room. Christmas day had been delightful, but now Chloe needed some quiet. Poirot, her chocolate lab, pushed past her and hopped up on the leather sofa. He was always her faithful companion and just as much an introvert as Chloe. Miss Marple, her first dog, had always wanted to be in the middle of the party playing with the kids. Poirot didn’t mind her sister’s kids but had his limit.
She threw a few logs in the fireplace, checked the flue, and lit a match. A moment later the warmth from the fire filled the room. Chloe ran a finger along the book spines that were neatly arranged in bookcases flanking the fireplace. Which friend wanted to keep her company tonight? She plucked her dad’s copy ofThe Adventures of Sherlock Holmesand settled on the couch next to Poirot.
“Sorry, I’m choosing a different detective this evening.”
The dog snorted and laid his head on Chloe’s lap.
“I think a story set at Christmas would be appropriate, don’t you?”
Poirot ignored her.
She flipped to “The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle” and read. She was in the middle of Sherlock’s deduction about the hat when the den door opened.
“Figured I’d find you in here.”
She looked up at her big brother, Gabe. “It was Poirot’s idea.”
“Did Mia try to ride him again?”
Chloe laughed. Mia, a couple months shy of two, was Gabe’s soon-to-be . . . what would she be to him? He was about to marry Mia’s aunt who was also her guardian.
Gabe came around, moved Poirot’s tail, and sat at the other end of the couch.
“You sat down without grabbing a book.” She read the next sentence.
“Maybe I don’t want to read right now.”
She dropped her hand, book and all, to her lap. “What? How are those even words that go together in a single sentence?”
He laughed. “How are you actually doing, Chloe?”
“Tired of people talking.”
“That’s nothing new. How’s Josh?”
Chloe scratched behind Poirot’s ear. “Headed home from his sister’s—wait, what does he have to do with anything?”
“Is he coming to my wedding?” Gabe asked.
“I don’t know. Did you invite him?”
“You’re supposed to bring a plus-one.” Gabe poked her shoulder.
“Why would I bring Josh?”
