The Pagan Stone Page 0,92

maps covered the table. The dry-erase board stood wedged in a corner, and Cal crouched on the floor hooking up a printer.

"Fox says he grabbed dinner at the farm, and we should probably start without him-Gage and Cybil should start without him, that is. He might be a couple hours yet. I didn't tell him the news." She beamed at Quinn. "I had to saw my tongue off a couple times, but I thought you and Cal would want to tell him in person about the baby."

"I think I still need somebody to tell me again, a few times."

"How about if I just call you Daddy?" Quinn suggested.

He let out the breathless laugh of a man caught between the thrill and the terror. "Wow." Then shifted to where Quinn sorted the files. "Wow." When he took Quinn's hand, and the two of them just stared at each other, Layla eased out of the room.

"They're basking," she told Gage and Cybil in the kitchen.

"They're entitled." Cybil closed a cupboard door, put her hands on her hips, and did a survey of the room. "I think this'll have to do. All the perishables from our place are stowed, and we'll have to live with the spill-over in dry goods."

"I'll get what makes sense out of Fox's apartment tomorrow," Layla said. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Flip for the guest room." Gage took a quarter out of his pocket. "Loser takes the pullout in the office."

"Oh." Layla frowned at the coin. "I want to be gracious and say you're already in there, but I've slept on that pullout. Heads. No... tails."

"Pick one, sweetheart."

She fisted her hands on either side of her head, wiggled her hips, squeezed her eyes tight. Gage had seen people invent stranger rituals for luck.

"Tails."

Gage flipped it, snagged it, slapped it on the back of his hand. "Should've gone with your first instinct."

She sighed over the eagle. "Oh well. Fox is going to be a while, so..."

"We'll try the link as soon as the dining room's set up." Cybil glanced out the window. "I guess we stick inside. It's starting to rain."

"Plus, snakes. Well, enough basking for them." Layla walked back in the dining room to help organize.

"YOU'RE TAKING A LOT ON." FOX STOOD BY HIS FATHER on the back porch of the farmhouse, staring out through the steady, soaking rain.

"I was at Woodstock, kid of mine. We'll be fine."

In the distant field a handful of tents stood already pitched. He and his father, along with his brother, Ridge, and Bill Turner, had put together a wooden platform, hung a canopy over it on poles to serve as a kind of cook tent.

That wasn't so weird, Fox thought, but the line of bright blue Porta Potties along the back edge of the field? That was a strange sight.

His parents would take it in stride, Fox knew. That's what they did.

"Bill's going to hook up a few shower areas," Brian went on, adjusting the bill of his ball cap as he stood in his old work boots and ancient Levi's. "He's a handy guy."

"Yeah."

"They'll be pretty rude and crude, but it'll serve for a week or two, and supplement the schedule your mom and Sparrow are going to make up for people to use the house."

"Don't just let people have the run of the place." Fox looked into his father's calm eyes. "Come on, Dad, I know you guys. Not everybody's honest and trustworthy."

"You mean there are dishonest people in the world who aren't in politics?" Brian lifted his eyebrows high. "Next thing you're going to tell me there's no Easter Bunny."

"Just lock up at night for a change. Just for now."

Brian made a noncommittal sound. "Jim expects some people to start heading over within the next couple of days."

Fox surrendered. His parents would do what they would do. "Could he give you any idea how many?"

"A couple hundred. People listen to Jim. More if he can manage it."

"I'll help as much as I can."

"You don't worry about that. We'll take care of this. You do what you have to do, and goddamn it, you take care of yourself. You're the only oldest son I've got."

"That's true." He turned, gave Brian a hug. "I'll see you later."

He jogged out to his truck, through the soft summer rain. Hot shower, dry clothes, beer, he thought. In that order. Better, maybe he could talk Layla into the shower with him. He started the truck, backed around his brother's pickup to head out