“I was supposed to look around, but I forgot,” Josh says. “You can bet your ass that I won’t forget now. She’s losing her damn mind.”
“Jillian would burn the place to the ground,” Dad says, referring to the woman who raised me.
“Cara threatened it.”
We climb the back steps and walk into the newly renovated house, stopping short at the scene before us.
My aunt Cara, a woman who is always calm and collected, is sitting on the dining room table, holding a shotgun.
Her blue eyes look a little crazy.
“Uh, babe?” Josh steps forward and gingerly takes the firearm from her. “You can’t shoot a mouse with a shotgun.”
“Says who?” she demands. “You didn’t see the size of the son of a bitch. It was bigger than a tomcat.”
Given that we have several toms out in the barn, she would know.
Of course, there are no mice in the barn—because we have the cats.
“Where did it go?” I ask.
“Under the couch,” she says and shudders. “It laughed at me.”
I smirk but school my features immediately when she narrows her eyes at me.
Pissing off the other woman who raised me is not something I ever want to do.
“We’ll find it,” I promise her. “Get a bowl from the kitchen.”
“You’re not putting that monster in one of my bowls,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s disgusting. We eat out of those bowls.”
“Don’t you have an old one that we can throw away after we relocate the mouse?”
“Relocate?” She tilts her head and stares at me like I’m crazy. “That sucker doesn’t get to relocate. I want it dead. I want its whole family dead.”
“She’s really homicidal,” I mutter to my uncle.
“Babe, why don’t you go over to the big house and hang out with Jillian while we take care of this?”
“I’m not getting off this table.”
Josh just smiles gently at his wife and lifts her into his arms, grabbing her purse as he carries her out the front door.
“They’re still really mushy, even after all this time.”
“Are you saying I’m not mushy with your mom?” Dad asks.
“No, you are. It’s gross.”
Dad laughs, and then we see the offending rodent run across the living room.
“Shit, that is a big sucker,” I say in surprise. “I need something to pick it up with.”
Josh hurries back inside and turns to my dad. “Okay, she’s headed over to your place. Holy shit, is that it?”
“Yeah. It’s a monster. She’s right. I need something to hold it in. What about Tupperware?”
“We have something,” Josh says and rummages through the kitchen, returning with an old to-go container that clearly held spaghetti sauce at some point given the red stain.
“Perfect. Okay, we have to corner it.”
The three of us work as a team, laughing as the mouse darts around the room. Finally, I jump onto my belly and stretch to cover it with the container.
“Success!” I grin as I slide the lid under it and secure it in place. “I need to go let it go before it suffocates.”
“Don’t tell Cara that we let it live,” Dad suggests.
“Oh, I won’t. Trust me. Now, let’s figure out how they’re making their way inside.”
I walk out to the field behind the house, close to the woods that lead to the river, and let it go.
“Now, don’t come back. Be smart. Stay out here.”
When I return to the house, Josh is pulling a piece of duct tape off the roll.
“Find it?” I ask.
“Yep. Looks like there’s a hole under the sink that didn’t get repaired correctly during the remodel. We’ll keep them out with this for now, and I’ll call the contractor to come back and do this correctly.”
“I’m sure Aunt Cara will be relieved that you solved the case.” I check the time. “I’m going to go get some work done before dinner.”
My little house is new and sits on two acres, less than half a mile from the house I grew up in. Josh and Dad gave me the land as a gift for my twenty-fifth birthday a couple of years ago, and I got to work building my place.
It’s a farmhouse-style ranch house with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. It has plenty of room, especially given I don’t plan on it being more than just me living here.
I’m not going to have kids. After the early childhood I had, I shudder to think what kind of parent I’d make.
Hell, I don’t even plan to get married.
This house is perfect for a life-long bachelor.
I kick off my fishing boots, strip out of my sweaty T-shirt, and make a beeline for the shower.
“Out of practice,” Gage says with a laugh when I miss the pocket.
“I don’t exactly have time to work on my pool game,” I remind him as I reach for my beer and watch him circle the table. “How’s it going with your client? Is Tate starting to feel better?”