Bucking the Rules(5)

“You never say I work too hard,” he pointed out, crunching into the first bite of bliss. Seth—seeming to sense his father’s pleasure—reached for the strip of bacon. His little face contorted with concentration and one chubby arm waved frantically.

“Sorry, little man. You’re a way’s off from the good stuff. Stick to Cheerios. You’ll graduate to the goods in a bit.”

Bea, the youngest of the three siblings, breezed into the dining room with a swish of a silk robe. Though she probably intended to convey that just out of bed look, Trace would have bet his favorite boots she’d spent at least ten minutes fixing her hair and makeup to achieve the look. Waste of time.

“Speaking of not working too hard,” he muttered.

“Hmm?” Bea slid into the seat across from him. “Did you say something?”

“Morning, Bea-Bea.” He gave her a smile. Fighting in front of Emma at the table was a surefire way to get his breakfast yanked out of his hands. “You’re out of bed ridiculously early. Sleep well?”

His sister yawned and patted her mouth with one perfectly manicured hand. “It’s too quiet. I miss the sound of traffic. I swear, the dead silence woke me up faster than a garbage truck ever would have.”

“Music to sleep by.”

“You know it.” She stared for a moment at the platter of bacon in the middle of the table. Trace knew that look. It was the same look his old dog used to give a treat in his hand just before he got the command to take it. But Bea had more willpower. “Emma, do we have any grapefruit?”

Emma rolled her eyes and set a glass of juice in front of Bea. “Do I look like a woman who has grapefruit in her kitchen?”

Bea pouted prettily and leaned into Emma’s side. “But you know I love grapefruit.”

“And I love Hugh Jackman. I don’t see him on the table for breakfast.” With a wistful sigh, Emma waltzed back into the kitchen.

Bea stared once more at the bacon, then shook her head. “We might have very different views on cholesterol, but at least I can say our taste in men is a little closer to matching.”

“I did not hear that.” A thought occurred to him. “You know, it’s not going to be much fun walking here every morning for breakfast.”

“Hmm?” Bea looked up from her juice.

“From the apartment. The trainer’s apartment? Red said you asked for it, and you were moving in.”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled widely. “Rather genius, I thought. Of course, it needs paint badly. And hopefully I can find some covers for that ugly furniture. A new bedspread would liven things up. Maybe Emma would let me take some dishes.” Bea’s eyes started to glaze over.

Trace could practically see color wheels dancing in her head. He snapped his fingers once in front of her to get her attention. “Focus, please. I wanted the apartment for me and Seth.”

“Aw, that’s a cute idea. The two of you out there, baching it up.” Her lips twitched as she sipped her juice.

“So you’ll let me trade? You can take my bedroom here—it’s bigger than the one you’ve got.”

“No.”

No? “Bea, come on. A guy needs his space.”

“So does a girl, and I got there first. Plus, you have Seth. Isn’t it nice that Emma’s right here every morning? She watches him, after all.”

He took a moment to evaluate his baby sister and see if he could find any weakness in her. A softness to poke at, a loose thread to pull. But her mouth set in that straight, mulish line that was so much like Peyton’s—though she’d hate to hear it—and he knew without a doubt, there was no budging her. Not now, anyway.

“Damn,” he muttered into his plate. Trace shoveled the last bite of egg into his mouth and reached for Seth’s bib. “Ready for your day, little man? What’s on the agenda? A little crawling, maybe some scooting? Maybe Emma will take a blanket out and let you play in the grass. That’d be fun, yeah?” He lifted the wriggling boy from his seat and frowned at the waterfall of crumbs spilling to the scrubbed wood floor. “Shit.”

Seth giggled and clapped, as if realizing this was a word he normally shouldn’t be hearing.

Bea raised a brow. “Problem?”

“Yeah. Here, hold him a sec while I go get a dust pan and sweep this up. Otherwise, Emma will skin me alive.”

As he held out Seth under the armpits, she backed up into her chair, arching away from the offering. “Thanks, but no. I don’t do babies. We talked about this.”

“I’m not asking you to change a diaper. Just hold him for a minute. It won’t kill you.” He waited a beat. “Unless you want to do the crumb sweeping.”