“Tex is here. We’re spending the day with him and Nancy. We’re taking you out to dinner tonight. Malcolm and Kitty Sue are coming too. Meet you back here at six o’clock.”
“‘Kay,” I shouted then I snuggled deeper into Hank’s warm body, deciding to think about the scary get-to-know-the-parents dinner some other time (or never).
Shamus jerked to his feet when he heard the movement in the other room and he started walking around on the bed, or, more to the point, on us and tried to lick our faces.
Hank’s arms went from around me to around Shamus and he wrestled him away, turning his back to me. Shamus didn’t give much of a struggle as Hank got Shamus to his side and pul ed the dog to his chest and started to rub his bel y.
I got up on my elbow and watched for a few seconds, then rol ed away, snuggled into my pil ow instead of Hank and closed my eyes to go back to sleep.
The bed moved with Hank and Shamus. Shamus obviously let loose, he started to walk on me and snuffle the covers around my body and face.
“What are you doin’?” Hank asked.
“Sleeping,” I replied, even though it was obvious I was not.
not.
“Get up Sunshine.”
“No.”
“Up,” Hank demanded.
“No,” I repeated.
“Sunshine…”
Shamus gave me a ful face lick and I pul ed the covers over my head. No sooner had I got them over my head when they were yanked off, the bed moved when Hank exited it, then I exited it too, but against my wil .
“Whisky!” I shouted, throwing my arms around his shoulders as he carried me into the bathroom.
“Time to shower.”
“I want to sleep,” it came out kind of whiney.
He set me down in the bathroom, his hands went to the hem of my nightie and started pul ing up but I caught his wrists and stopped him.
“Shower, breakfast and then we’l teach Shamus how to play Frisbee,” Hank said.
My head shot up and I looked at him. “Real y?” I asked.
He nodded.
I let go of his wrists, put my arms over my head and he pul ed up my nightie.
*
Bil y had confessed to beating me up, abducting me, shooting Luke and trying to shoot Hank. Assault, kidnapping and two counts of attempted homicide were kinda big crimes to commit. Hank told me he was going to go down for a long time. And that was just the time he was going to serve in Colorado.
It was Thursday, a week after the big event. Mom and Dad had left a few days earlier: I was going to leave for Chicago on Sunday.
Since our day teaching Shamus to play Frisbee (Shamus learned quickly, I knew he was a smart dog), Hank had been spending al of our time together showing me what normal was like.
I realized normal was good, in fact, normal was downright delicious.
I was curled up on the couch in Hank’s TV room. It was evening, after I’d made Hank lasagna, after we ate it, after we did the dishes and after we settled in to watch a movie.
My phone rang and, as it was displayed on my cel as an unknown number, I flipped open my phone.
“Roxie,” Bil y said.
“Bil y?” I asked, shock in my voice.
I was leaned up against Hank, Shamus was lying in his doggie bed in front of the TV.
Hank’s body tensed when I said Bil y’s name and Shamus felt it from across the room using doggie radar.
Shamus jerked from ful on his side to lying upright. Both human and canine Nightingale boys looked at me.
“Roxie, I’m –” Bil y started.
I flipped the phone shut, opened it again and pressed the button until it went off. Then I threw it on the coffee table.
Maybe I should have listened to him, though I didn’t care.
I wasn’t in the mood and I figured it was likely I’d never be in the mood again.
“You need a new phone,” Hank remarked, his body relaxing, his eyes moving back to the TV.
“You’re right,” I agreed.
His glance came back to me. “Sorry?” he asked.
“You’re right,” I repeated.
He did a slow blink. “Can you say that again?” he asked, his lips twitching.
I gave him a look.
His body fol owed his eyes and he turned into me.
Then I said, “My phone has a Chicago number. Of course I need a new one. You don’t want to be paying long distance charges every time you cal my cel .” He ignored what I said, his body moved over mine, pressing me back into the seat of the couch. His hands were sliding up my sides and I squirmed because it was ticklish.
“Hank, stop, we’re missing the movie.”
His arm went out and he nabbed the remote. He twisted, hit pause and the screen stil ed.
Shamus settled back on his side with a groan, getting the al clear from his doggie radar as Hank threw the remote back on the table.
“I was watching that,” I protested to Hank when he came back to me.
“We’l finish it later,” he replied, his mouth moving along my col ar bone, his hands sliding back down my sides and I squirmed again.
“Whisky, stop doing that, you’re tickling me,” I snapped, pushing at him.
His head came up and he looked at me. “What? This?” His hands went under my top and moved up my sides, even lighter.