“I know this beautiful girl,” Justice relaxes.
I open my arms, and Mia leaps as I pick her up.
“Wee wean!” Leith, who’s a year younger than me, calls to her while descending the stairs.
“Yer da.” I squeeze Mia’s stomach. Justice and I exchange glances as the lassie ignores her father.
Mia sucks her thumb, resting in my arms. Her wee voice pitches in excitement. “Justice! Are you my new auntie?”
Justice is still looking at me as if confused by the entire dynamic when she says, “Hey, Mia, long time no see.”
“So, are you my new auntie?” Mia asks.
“Sweetheart, ye have nae aunties yet.” Leith grips her under one arm, lifting her away from me and spinning her around. He nods a greeting toward Justice.
“I do, Daddy,” she tells Leith. “Uncle Brody always gives me a new auntie. Then they give me gifts too.” She climbs up Leith like she did with me and returns her attention to my guest. “Justice, where’s my gift?”
Justice smiles softly. “Sorry, Mia. I wish I had a gift for you. But I’m not one of your uncle’s,” she clears her throat, “I’m not your new auntie.”
Mam appears at the top of the steps, and speaking of the devil, the twig Justice calls a good friend, looks down at us too.
“Is everything okay with Leith and Chevelle?” Justice whispers, corking a brow.
“They’re married.” I snort.
“Marriage is the culprit?” Justice shakes her head. This time, though, her smile is just for me.
Mam and Chevelle come down the steps, and I say, “Mam, Justice Flowers can stay in my old room, or I can take her home.” The lass stiffens at my side. “If she goes home, I’m not sure when I’ll return here. Given the circumstances, it’s best she stays under our protection.” Either way, I will get her alone, and her body will compensate my act of kindness.
Warmth creeps up Justice’s throat. “I don’t want to put you out?”
“Och, sweetheart.” Mam hugs her. “My son has apparently spoken for the both of us. Ye’re under our protection, Justice.”
Mam gestures toward the wide stairs. “I’ll show ye to a guest room.”
“Nae,” I cut in. Gotta keep my prize close. “I’ve got it. Chevelle’s scrawny legs can’t lift these bags anyways.”
Chevelle finally speaks. “I’m sorry I left you both.”
Aye, sure. I grunt. The lassies are hugging each other. Justice thanks the wrong person. Aye, she can thank Chevelle all she’d like with words. Justice is the sentimental type. Words mean nothing. She’s one of those action people. When she’s ready, she’ll drop to her knees and thank me good and proper.