“Alicia has decided she wants Toby. She says she’ll let him decide, however—if he comes to stay with her and her new husband first, for six months.”
Lily’s eyebrows shot back up. “Is she still living in Beirut?”
Louise shook her head. “She’s in D.C. again. It’s technically a demotion, because she’ll be at a lower salary grade, but James—James French is her new husband—was transferred there by the agency he works for, and she wanted to come back to the U.S. with him.”
Eight months ago Alicia had chosen her career over her son when she moved to Beirut. Apparently a lover rated more sacrifice. Lily did her best to keep her distaste from showing. “And getting married makes her want to be a full-time parent?”
“I’m surprised,” Louise admitted, her voice low. “She wants this chance, for both her sake and Toby’s, but she’ll abide by Toby’s wishes if he ends up choosing his father.”
Lily looked at Rule. “Get it in writing.”
Rule nodded, but his attention was clearly with whoever was on the other end of the line.
Louise sighed again. “He’s talking to his attorney now.”
“I’m not going to stay with her,” Toby repeated.
Lily went to sit next to him on the couch. “Why not?”
He frowned, obviously thinking she was being stupid. “Because I want to live with Dad and you.”
“And we want you to. Six months is a long time.”
“Yeah! And she could have talked about it with me. She could have told me she was getting married to this James guy and asked if I wanted to live with them, but she didn’t. She just up and says we’ve got to do things her way, or else.”
“ ‘Or else’ meaning she’ll fight Rule’s custody suit?”
“She said she won’t pull any punches, that it will all come out, and she made her face look like this”—his expression mimicked a fox, sly and knowing—“as if she knows secrets. But she doesn’t. I never tell her any Nokolai stuff.”
That didn’t mean Alicia couldn’t find out, figure out, or make up something. “It sounds like a choice between two things you really, really don’t like—either stay with your mom for six months, or have a knock-down, drag-out battle for custody.”
“Dad won’t.” Toby’s eyes glistened. “He says six months isn’t forever, and that I don’t understand how bad it would be if we had a big fight in court.”
“Well, he’s probably right about that. What doesn’t he understand?”
Toby blinked, then frowned slightly, thinking that over.
Louise stroked Toby’s hair, but spoke to Lily. “Rule has been very restrained, but he’s upset, of course. I’m upset. To-by’s upset . . . I suppose Alicia is, too, though I wish she’d talked to me about her plans. I wish . . . I don’t think she’s doing the wrong thing, necessarily. But she’s going about it the wrong way.”
Lily kept her voice mild. “You think it would be good for Toby to live with her?”
“Not permanently, no. If I could say . . .” She sighed. “Well, I can’t. But I think Toby should have a chance to mend things with her. She’ll continue to be his mother no matter who he lives with.”
Rule disconnected. His eyes went straight to Lily. “You didn’t stop here to see if we were having a crisis.”
“I thought you might be able to go see a forest ranger with me.” She spread her hands. “Obviously not a good idea right now. What did your lawyer say?”
“He advises me to take what she’s offering, but to go through the judge so it’s binding. We’ll suggest a shorter period than six months, too.” He gave Toby a nod. “There’s no saying we’ll get it, but we’ll try. He’s going to find out what he can about James French.”
Louise gave Rule a chiding look. “I’m sure that’s not necessary. They’re coming to dinner tonight. We’ll get to know him then.”
Tonight? Oh, the fun just kept on coming. Lily stood and said to Louise, “Look at it this way. If we have some of the facts about French’s background, we won’t be grilling him over the pot roast.” Lily gave Rule a glance. “I might be able to help with that.”
He gave her the ghost of a grin. “I hope you don’t mean the pot roast.”
“No.” Louise shook her head. “It will not be pot roast. We just had pot roast. And James,” she added grimly, “is vegan.”
Toby frowned. “What’s vegan? Is that where he’s from?”
“It means he doesn’t eat meat. No beef, chicken, or fish.”
Toby’s mouth fell. “Not at all?”
“No,” Lily answered when a glance at Louise showed her to be preoccupied. “Not if he’s a practicing vegan. He also won’t wear leather or eat eggs or dairy products. Nothing that comes from an animal.”
“Lasagna,” Louise muttered. “No, no, can’t make lasagna without cheese. I’d better check my cookbooks.” She started for the kitchen.
“There will be vegan recipes online,” Lily called after her.
“I can look them up for you,” Toby said, shoving to his feet. He glanced at his father and whispered quite audibly, “It’s not like I care about this stupid James guy, but Grammy hates it if she doesn’t have the right stuff for guests.”
Rule laid a hand on Toby’s head. “It’s all right if you like Mr. French, Toby. That takes nothing from me. At Clanhome you care about and are cared for by many people, not just me.”
“But Mr. French isn’t clan.”
“No, but as your mother’s husband, he’s family. We don’t always like everyone in our family, but it’s perfectly acceptable to do so.”
“Is it okay if I don’t like him?”
“As long as you’re polite, yes. But I hope you’ll give him a chance.”
Toby looked scornful. “He doesn’t eat meat.”
“He’s not lupus, so we shouldn’t require him to live as we do. Though we’ll have to make sure your mother understands that your dietary needs do include meat, if you end up staying with her for a time. Now, I could use a run. What about you?”
Toby brightened. “Yeah! Maybe we could run over to the park and practice corner kicks? And if Justin and Talia could come—”
The doorbell rang.
Lily glanced that way. “I’ll get it.”
Louise had pulled a thick cookbook out of a cabinet. She tucked it under one arm. “No, dear. I prefer to answer my own door.”
Lily followed. Not that she thought someone was going to jump Louise, but—okay, she did think that. “Use the spyhole, okay? I don’t want—”
Too late. Louise had already swung the door open. Her hand fluttered to her chest and her words came out in a whisper. “Oh, my sweet Jesus.”
TWENTY-THREE
THE man on the porch had eyes the unlikely blue of the Aegean Sea. His hair was cinnamon and spice, his features a marvel of symmetry, with the sensual mouth balanced by a jaw firm enough to keep all that beauty from leaning toward the feminine. As for his body . . . well, most women would agree it deserved an hour or two of study, like any work of art.
Of course, the perfect jaw was stubbled, the spicy hair hadn’t been combed, and the flawless body was clad in jeans worn to threads in spots and a T-shirt that supported people’s right to arm bears. His athletic shoes were almost new, however—and muddy. No socks.
He hadn’t worn socks on his wedding day, either. Or shoes. Or a shirt.
The ocean eyes were amused. “Hello, love. If you’re not going to shoot me today, would you mind putting your gun away?”
Lily slid her weapon back in place without apologizing and stepped aside. “Good to see you, too. Louise, this is Cullen Seabourne. Cullen, this is—”
“Cullen’s here!” Toby cried. “Hey, Dad, Cullen’s here!” The thud of running feet proved that not all lupi moved as quietly as drifting snow. Toby darted around Grammy and Lily to hurl himself at the scruffy demigod on the porch.