Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,31

walked in silence for a moment. “That you do, Arliss Cutter. That you do.”

“You look deep in thought,” Cutter said, consciously slowing his breathing.

She smiled. “I was thinking about how much you look like Grumpy.”

“Old and grizzled?”

She snorted. “Not quite yet. I found a photo the other day while I was going through some of Ethan’s books. It’s a good one of Grumpy and you on the beach, but your first wife is in it too so I’ve never put it out.”

“Yeah.” Cutter groaned. “Grumpy warned me about her.”

Mim looked sideways, smirking. “To say the least. Grumpy told Ethan she asked him to pay for a boob job.”

“Rita had no filter,” Cutter said. “Or good sense. I’d just headed out on my second tour to Afghanistan, making buck-sergeant wages, and she decided she needed . . . well, you know.”

“Grumpy didn’t pay, did he?”

“Not a chance,” Cutter said. “But that didn’t stop Rita. She put it on a credit card and then went begging to my aunt Linda for the money when the bill came due.” He shook his head. “Aunt Linda has never let me forget that she paid for a boob job that neither of us ever saw any benefit from. She also never lets me forget that I have a certain type.”

“Like you said, you have a big heart. I think your type is a damsel in distress.” Luckily, Mim decided to move the subject away from his former wives. “I don’t want to give you a big head or anything, but the twins are grouchy that you have to go away tomorrow.”

“I’m not too happy about that myself,” Cutter said. He had to concentrate to keep from swaying too close as they walked.

Mim changed the subject again. “I feel like I should run too. It would help offset all the cowboy chili pie I plan to eat when we get home. You know, Ethan used to make that at least once a month. He’d always let the kids eat it off metal pie pans like they were on a trail drive or something.”

Cutter chuckled, remembering. “Grumpy used to let Ethan and me do that. I was always more excited about the pie pans than I was about the pie.”

Mim stared down at the rubberized surface of the track as she walked. “Thank you.”

“I like cowboy chili pie too,” Cutter said. “You don’t have to—”

“I mean for coming to Alaska,” Mim said, quieter now. “After Ethan died. You have your own life to deal with—”

Cutter chuckled. “Yeah, and I’ve done a great job of screwing that up. You guys help me more than I help you.”

“Nope,” Mim said. “If you hadn’t come to help, the kids would be eating hot dogs five nights a week. With you, they get to use knives.”

They walked together in silence for a time, Cutter enjoying the closeness. Green Shorts shot by again, brushing Mim’s shoulder and nearly knocking her down.

“Hey!” Cutter yelled. “Watch it!”

“You watch it, gramps,” the kid yelled over his shoulder. “The track’s for running, not camping out.”

Mim held out her hand, palm down. “I’m fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Cutter watched as Green Shorts moved up behind Constance, jockeying for position as if he were trying to set a record for most annoying idiot in the Dome. Constance was the smallest in the knot of people rounding the curve ahead of him, making her the spot he chose to go through instead of around. She tripped as he hip-checked her, skidding face-first into the rubberized track. Green Shorts half turned, yelled something over his shoulder to Constance that Cutter couldn’t quite make out, then kept running. Whatever he said, it didn’t look like an apology.

Cutter and Mim both broke into a run. Cutter reached Constance about the time she got back on her feet, with Mim just a few steps behind. Embarrassed and flustered, Constance promised she was okay, waving them off to continue her lap with her head down, limping a little as she picked up speed.

Cutter found himself running again before he knew it. Mim called out to him, but he chose not to hear. He caught up with his quarry at the far side of the next curve.

Green Shorts glanced over his shoulder, surely expecting something like this. He scoffed when he saw Cutter, twice his age, sweating through his T-shirt, surely exhausted from his run. Cutter lengthened his stride, picturing his fallen niece as he poured on speed. The kid looked up again,