Grace opened her mouth in a silent wail, tears quickly spilling over.
“Well, I would have bet money that would happen,” Mr. Mionetti said unhelpfully.
Quicker than Slade could get to her, Faith dumped her pellets to the ground, flung an arm over Grace’s shoulder, and rocked her from side to side with unintelligible soothing noises.
“Grace, let me see it, baby,” Slade said, kneeling and trying to pry the injured palm open.
The girls stilled.
“Faith, tell her it’s all right.” Slade didn’t want to force his daughter to open her hand. “I need to be sure she’s okay. Come on, Grace, open your hand.”
Grace slowly unfurled her fingers. The pads on her palm were an angry red, but the lamb’s teeth hadn’t broken through skin.
Slade gently massaged her fingers and palm on either side of the bite. “You’ll be fine.” He took the opportunity to curl his arm around her waist. He hadn’t hugged his daughters in years. It had just seemed too awkward for both them and him. But in that moment, he was pulled back in time to their smiling, gummy faces when he came home from work, chubby arms reaching for him. “Do you want some ice? It might help take away the sting.”
Grace shook her head and sniffed, leaning into him. Progress!
He wanted to snatch Grace up and spin her around, followed by a similar spinning celebration with Faith. Instead, he gave his daughter an affectionate squeeze, before releasing her. “Time to move on to Christine’s bedroom...er, Christine’s house.” Slade had to remain detached where his employee was concerned.
And he thought herding chickens was tough.
* * *
WHEN THEY ARRIVED at Christine’s, Agnes was getting into her faded green Buick to drive a few members of her garden club to brunch and a flower exhibit in Santa Rosa. With a smile and a wave, the diminutive grandma directed them inside. “Christine’s room is in front. She spent the morning working from home.”
Agnes’s house was compact, like the woman herself. Her living room still held the big manly sofa and recliner her husband had been fond of. No amount of doilies, frilly pillows, or colorful quilts could banish the feeling that this had been a man’s domain.
Slade strolled past the pink kitchen with barely a glance, since he’d seen it before. Faith and Grace stopped to marvel at its pinkness. He continued into the narrow hall, just as Christine came out of her door.
The scent of vanilla immediately tantalized him.
“What are you doing here?” Christine’s surprised tone held just a hint of Back off. Her legs looked incredibly long in gray jean shorts. Her T-shirt was teal-blue with fluffy cartoon rabbits and what looked like a dog bite on the hem. Her long hair was down and still a bit damp, making it seem more light brown with blond highlights than blond.
“We’re here...” He cleared his throat. “We’re here on the fix-it patrol per your grandmother’s request.” He gave her a jaunty salute that said, Your boss isn’t stalking you. To further prove his innocence, he gestured to the girls he sensed coming up behind him.
Christine peeked around his shoulder. “I like the country look you’re rocking, ladies.” She tilted her head to look up at him. She was a half-head shorter than he was. The perfect height for kissing.
Not that he had kissing top of mind. Oh, no. No, sirree.