ran from room to room. Nothing looked tall enough or sturdy enough to hold him. Then his eyes landed on the huge rolling tool chest, and he knew he’d found the solution.
Kicking shit out of the way, he wheeled the heavy cabinet through the house, out the backyard sliders, and across the patio. Shoving the weighty box into the corner between the house and the block wall, he counted on a vine-covered trellis and a large busy hedge to shield him from discovery.
His usual silent ninja grace was somewhat hindered by the bulky bodysuit, but he managed to climb onto the cabinet, crouch, and then slowly rise until the next-door backyard came into view.
The first thing he saw was the pool because it took up so much real estate. In the far corner were large planters and a table plus chairs beneath a modest pergola. Colorful outdoor chairs were scattered around the patio. He could also see most of the guest apartment’s large window.
If Summer was outside, she was against the wall separating them. From where he hid, she was directly under him.
The next song was another soft rock classic. This time, he knew the artist. Neil Young singing “Harvest Moon.”
His emotions surged, and he smiled. She had a playlist of moon songs.
Hiding in the bushy foliage, he leaned against the top of the wall and tried to see. She was dancing back and forth, moving in and out of his field of vision. Her soft, joyful laughter came as a relief. It helped his aching heart to know she was happy.
Proving how unbelievably dumb he could be, it took him several moments to realize she was whirling about with the baby in her arms. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t catch a glimpse of the child. She was wrapped in a big blanket.
Oh, my god. They were both so close. He leaned farther, desperate to get as near as possible. Her joy sucked him in. If he reached his arm out, he was sure he’d be able to touch her.
She was luminous in the moonlight even though all he saw was the top of her head.
He heard her voice, and his heart went nuts.
“Whee!”
He was almost over the wall when sense stopped him. Jerking back, he miscalculated his center of balance and wobbled.
Damn weighted bodysuit.
The next thing he knew, his feet were near his face as he tumbled backward off the tool chest. Landing with a hard thud, he caught the edge of the patio slab with his hip and rolled to the side as pain lanced through him.
Grimacing in silence, he couldn’t believe how close he came to blowing it.
He lay still for a few moments. Satisfied he wasn’t seriously hurt and aware he should be thanking his lucky stars, Arnie muzzled a grunt and carefully got on his feet. Stabbing pain where he took the brunt of impact brought him up short. Limping painfully, he made his way into the house and found Stan loading groceries into the old fridge.
“Did you get ice?” he snarled.
“Yep,” Stan replied with his face in the freezer. “Hang on a sec. Screwing in a new a light bulb.”
Hobbling like the old man he was pretending to be, Arnie commanded his feet to keep moving until he could sit on a window seat across the room.
“What the hell happened to you?” Stan barked.
A thousand sarcastic, snappy comebacks stalled on his tongue. Him being a doofus wasn’t his brother’s fault.
“I, uh, took a tumble.”
“You took a tumble?” The disbelief in Stan’s tone said it all. “You mean like walking into a door to explain a black eye?”
Ugh, Jesus. Whatever.
Exasperated with himself, he spit out an answer. “I fell, okay?”
“Uh-huh, got it.” Stan turned away, and Arnie heard rustling in the kitchen. “Here.” He returned with something in his hand. “Ice for whatever hurts.”
Accepting the cold compress cleverly concocted out of plastic bags, he pressed it against his side and grimaced. “Thanks.”
Two or three minutes ticked by while Stan studied him like a bug under a magnifying glass. Once or twice, he also glanced at the sliders leading to the backyard.
He had to give his brother credit. He put two and two together pretty damn quick.
“What did you do?” Sounding aggravated, Stan crossed his arms and scowled.
“Nothing,” he replied way too quickly. Though he mentally cringed like a guilty kid, pride made him stand his ground.
With a theatrical eyebrow arch and a very sarcastic tone, Stan sniped, “I thought you were supposed to