"We have no choice. I'll get out first. Stay here till I signal it's safe."
"Will you be okay?"
"I got this."
He turned off the lights and opened the car door quietly. With deliberate, slow movements meant not to threaten, he climbed out and put his hands in the suddenly charged air. "Hey, guys. It's me. No need to freak out, now. Right?"
They quivered. A low wail broke from their lips, like that of a coyote suddenly faced with a juicy steak.
"I mean it, no more of this behavior. I've had enough. Now I'm going to walk toward you, and you are going to stay-stay-STAY-ah, hell!"
They leapt through the air like Santa's flying reindeer and hit him full force, sending him staggering backward. As he flailed his hands in total indignity, they whipped him with a tongue bath, shoving their warm bodies against him with abandon in affection and canine joy.
Sydney's laugh echoed through the air, but most of the dogs' insane energy had lost its sharp edge. They only bumped into her with gentle affection, offering a few licks. "Are they ever going to outgrow this behavior?" she asked.
He lifted hands coated with saliva and looked down at his once-perfect pants, now covered in dog hair. "Ugh. Cal sent them to a third obedience school, but they were dismissed early for a refund."
"They never trample Becca, though," she commented.
"They must sense she's like a tiny mouse they want to protect rather than eat." They headed to the door, and the dogs accompanied them in, jumping in happiness to get more company. The sound of Dalton's voice drifted in the air, followed by a giggle.
They rounded the corner, and Becca let out a squeal, running into her mother's arms. "Mama! Uncle Dalton and I had so much fun, I had chicken for dinner with the potato fries I like, and we made friendship bracelets, and I made you one!"
"You did? Let me see. Oh, I love it."
He watched Sydney examine the bright pink-and-yellow-braided fabric, face alight with genuine pleasure. Watching their heads bent together, arms entwined, faces close, he felt a pain rip at his gut and a yearning that knocked him off his ass.
It was like seeing Sydney young again. He studied her daughter, with her bright red hair now contained in a ponytail. Already the curly strands broke free in rebellion and fell across her cheeks and nape. Fair skin with a generous smattering of freckles. Bright green eyes swirled with gold, full of curiosity and a zest for life that humbled him. She was all long, lanky legs like a young colt out of the gate. Her favorite color seemed to be pink, from her leggings, sneakers, and long-sleeved T-shirt with a cat in a tiara.
"Say hi," Sydney prodded.
"Oh, sorry, hi, Tristan!"
"Hi, Becca." She called his brothers Uncle. Not him. For some reason, she only used his first name. Not that he was great with kids. They puzzled him, and he'd always preferred the company of adults and cocktails to children's games and juice boxes.
Becca made him . . . uncomfortable. He never knew what to say to her or how to act. He tried to avoid her. Looking at her face hurt. She was a reminder of Sydney moving on and marrying another man, but he never wanted his raw emotions to leak out in the way he treated her daughter.
He looked over at Dalton, who sported a bright blue braided bracelet. It went perfectly with his man bun. "Nice look, dude."
His brother rolled his eyes. "I'm secure in my manhood."
"Uncle Dalton says real men wear jewelry," Becca recited with wide eyes.
"You're right," he said seriously. "I remember the day Uncle Dalton got his ear pierced and screamed like the Cowardly Lion. A scary sight."
"Mama said I did good when they pierced my ears, but I don't really remember. Where's your earring?" she asked Dalton.
His brother shot him a look. "Took it out. I'm into friendship bracelets now."
Becca giggled.
"Thanks for watching her, Dalton. Sorry we were so late."
His brother stood up from the stool and stretched. "No problem. I had a blast. How did your meeting go?"
"Good. Sydney killed it," Tristan offered.
Pride flashed in Dalton's blue eyes. "Not surprised, Ms. CFO."
"Thanks. Your brother wasn't too bad himself. But I'd better get the princess home. We have a big day tomorrow."
"Are you coming to my ballet recital?" Becca asked Dalton.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I have to work with Raven tomorrow at the restaurant."
"Oh." Disappointment reflected in Becca's eyes. "Morgan can't go, either." Suddenly that green-gold gaze swiveled to snare Tristan in its grip. A shiver raced down his spine at the contact. "Are you coming, Tristan?"