Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans Book 4) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,52
wholesome, quirky kind of way.
Huh. How about that?
And even though he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was happy Rick had somebody besides Maddy to flash his dastardly dimples at.
“So who’s hungry?” Alex turned to the three teenagers sitting on the bed.
Bran glanced at the girls. They’d been put through the wringer, and it showed in the circles under their eyes and the paleness of their cheeks. Poor kids. No one should hafta see what they’ve seen. Not at their age. And he should know. He’d been there, done that. And if there was a T-shirt involved, he wanted no part of it.
“Anyone?” Alex prodded when the teens just stared at her and blinked. “No? Really?” She looked perplexed. “Is it because of peanut allergies? Because they say that one point four percent of all Americans have peanut allergies. Or maybe…are you guys gluten free?”
God help them all if any of the girls were gluten free because Alex probably had some mind-numbing statistic to spout. Lucky for him—for all of them, really—the girls shook their heads and Alex was forced to turn her attention to Rick. “How about you? Can I make you a sandwich?”
The park ranger looked at the peanut butter Alex was slathering onto a slice of bread the way you looked at a dead bird your cat proudly presented you with. Thank you. Barf. He declined with a vigorous headshake.
Alex’s expression was the same one she would have worn if Ranger Rick had been growing extra pairs of hands from his ears. She eventually shrugged and turned to Bran and Maddy by the front door. “How about you guys? Surely, after all that running and swimming and shooting, you’re both starving.”
“She’s kiddin’, right?” Maddy asked from the side of her mouth.
“Not at all,” Bran assured her quietly. Louder he said, “I think you’re on your own, Alex.”
“So you’re all telling me I’m the only one who eats when she’s stressed out?” She shoved the peanut-butter-smeared slice of bread into her mouth.
“And when she’s happy or excited or bored or…” Bran let the sentence dangle.
Alex pinned him with a look. “What are you saying? That I’m always eating?”
“If the current squirrel cheeks and the Pop-Tart wrappers strewn around your bedroom back home are anything to go by,” he said.
“Hmph,” Alex grunted, loading up another slice of bread with peanut butter. This time she added jelly before folding it in half and taking a monster bite. “You’re just jealous,” she garbled around a mouthful. “Because I’ve got a metabolism that would make—”
“Does she ever stop talkin’?” Maddy whispered conspiratorially.
Bran raised a brow. “That’s a little like the crocodile telling the alligator he has too many teeth, doncha think, Mouthy McGee?”
Maddy grinned at him. Really grinned at him. And he was so happy to see something on her face besides fear or anguish or grief that he was tempted to scoop her up and press a kiss to that grin. While he was at it, he’d suck that plump top lip of hers straight into his mouth and lave it with his tongue until she met him stroke for stroke.
What the hell are you thinking, dickhead?
“My momma always said I could talk the hair off a dog. But I swear,” Maddy said below her breath, “I think Alex has me beat.”
“You get used to it after a while,” he assured her, absently squeezing his thigh, trying to rub away the dull, annoying ache of his wound. “Eventually it starts to sound like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoon.”
Maddy snorted.
“Are you guys whispering about me over there?” Alex demanded.
And because Bran was feeling more like himself, it was easy to fall back into his usual habits. “This just in, Alex.” He lifted a hand to an imaginary earpiece like he was a national newscaster. “Galileo reports you’re not actually the center of the universe.”
Alex pulled a face, still chewing. “Smart-ass.” At some point she’d rubbed the zinc oxide from her nose so the smattering of freckles across the bridge stood out in sharp relief.
The sound of the outboard engine on the catamaran’s little dinghy growled to a start, and Bran turned to the open door to watch Mason motor the rubber craft from the sailboat to the beach. Then Mason pulled the dinghy onto the sand and hustled to the ranger’s station, taking the steps two at a time and shouldering his way past Bran only to blink against the dull brightness inside.