Cowboy Take Me Away(196)

            Not that it’d last.

            Six kids in the hospital for over two hours? The staff was happy to see the ass end of them.

            Too het up to worry about cooking, Carson had Cord stop at the grocery store and sent him in to buy frozen pizzas.

            Glancing down at Carter passed out on his lap, he realized the pain meds had kicked in. He smoothed the boy’s hair back, grateful the injury hadn’t been worse. He noticed Carter clutched the black marker in his fist so his brothers could sign his cast.

            Back at the ranch, Carter didn’t move when Carson carried him into the house and situated him on his bed.

            By the time he returned to the kitchen, the boys had opened all ten frozen pizzas. No doubt they’d devour them without tasting them.

            He went straight for the whiskey.

            Keely refused to eat pizza so he gave her applesauce and cottage cheese—most of which ended up in her hair, which required a bath. In the tub she leapt up and smacked her forehead into the soap dish, leaving a mini goose egg that would likely be a hideous shade of black and blue by the time Carolyn came home.

            He just had to survive the next two days. The worst of it had to be over.

            Didn’t it?

            Day four Carson ended up serving cookies for breakfast since they were out of breakfast food.

            “What happened to all the cereal? There were five boxes when your mother left.”

            “We ate ’em when we got hungry,” Colby said.

            Which seemed to be all the damn time. Feeding these boys was a fulltime job itself.

            Carson did a quick head count. Carter sleeping upstairs. Cord—in the bathroom again—Colby here, Keely here. “Where are your brothers?”

            Colby’s eyes were glued to the back of the empty cereal box. “Haven’t seen them.”

            “At all?”

            “I saw them when I was comin’ out of the bathroom this mornin’,” Cord offered as he strolled in.

            “When?”

            “Like seven.”

            That was an hour ago. “What were they doin’?”

            “Didn’t ask.”

            Two hours later, just as Carson was ready to call the sheriff, Colt and Cam ambled up the driveway like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, fishing poles slung over their shoulders and carrying buckets.

            “Where in the hell have you boys been?”

            “Fishin’!” Colt said with pride.

            “You didn’t think to tell anyone where you were goin’ at seven o’clock in the damn mornin’? You just took off?”

            “We wanted to surprise you and catch fish for breakfast since we don’t got no food.”

            Carson tried to remain calm and not thrash the crap out of them. Where the hell had they thought they’d catch fish around here? The stock dam?

            “But we didn’t catch nothin’,” Cam said, dejected.

            “That’s cause you don’t even know how to cast a line,” Colt scoffed.

            “Do too!”

            “Do not,” Colt mimicked.

            Cam stopped. Holding his pole with both hands, he yelled, “Do too! Watch this!” Then he started wildly waving his pole around and let the fishing line fly. “Hey. Where’d it go?” He spun the reel and jerked on the line hard.