Page 43 of Out Of A Fix

“Please don’t raise your voice. It’s way too early, and I have not had my coffee yet.”

“I—”

“Don’t yell at Nash, Daddy,” Tatum scolded him, shaking her head for emphasis as I returned to my seat on the bench. “He’s been here taking care of us and saved me from burning down the house.”

“What?”

“Plus,” Darwin chimed in, “Griff got beat up by Chief Wilson—ex-Chief Wilson now—and Nash was the one who got Griff out of jail.”

“Out of police custody,” I reminded him. “He wasn’t in jail.”

“Nash got him out of police custody,” Darwin amended.

“What?” His voice was going up.

“Instead of being upset,” Tatum continued, smiling at him, “you should stop and take a minute and think, Wow, the house looks killer. Isn’t that amazing?”

Killer was one of my words. I noticed she’d picked up a few.

“I—”

“Right now you have to ask yourself, Is it me? Am I the only one freaking out? Because everyone else seems pretty okay.”

He glanced from one child to another and then back to me.

“I would suggest,” I began, unable to stifle my yawn, “that you maybe go take a warm shower, decompress, and then when you come back out, we’ll all have breakfast.”

Taking in the room a second time, he saw Tatum nodding enthusiastically over my suggestion and Darwin giving him a thumbs-up. Griff, though, was not happy. He groaned loudly and then bolted to the stove, having completely forgotten the bacon in the ensuing chaos.

“Oh, you moved it,” he said, smiling over at me. “Thank you.”

“It’s what a sous chef does. I’m the backup.”

“Can everyone⁠—”

“No,” Tatum wailed at her father, who had taken one step into the room off the very thick, very absorbent mat by the door. “I just mopped last night with the hardwood-floor stuff, and if you get water all over it, I swear I will murder you!”

After a moment, Darwin laughed. “Ohmygod, you sounded just like her.”

Tatum caught her breath. “I did?”

“You so did,” Griff said, chuckling.

Tatum was thrilled for a moment before she refocused on her father and glared. “Take off your boots and your socks, leave them there, and go to your room and change.”

His brows furrowed, I suspected more in confusion than anger, but he did as he was directed and squished away. A moment later he called out to us from his room that there was a kitten on his bed.

“His name is Wink, and he has to go to the vet in two hours,” Darwin yelled back. “Are you changing your clothes so you don’t get pneumonia?”

No answer.

“You told me you don’t get sick from being cold or wet, that it’s from germs,” Tatum whispered to her brother.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that,” he whispered back.

“Of course he does,” Griff said. “He’s not stupid.”

“Are you cooking bacon or talking?” I asked.