Page 14 of Holding On To Good

Most days Urban didn’t have a problem going a couple of rounds with one—or more—of his brothers, but even though it was Saturday, he had work to do. He was meeting Jack and Mandy Morrow about an addition at ten, had kitchen cabinets that needed glued and clamped, supplies for a roofing job that needed delivered, three estimates to write, and he was meeting Willow tonight at seven at a house she wanted them to buy and flip.

It was already creeping up on seven forty-five. If Toby was fighting him or anyone else, he wasn’t cooking. Which meant none of them were eating any time soon.

Finishing his bacon, he nodded toward the stove. “The hash is burning.”

It wasn’t, but it had the desired effect of Toby whirling around and grabbing a clean spatula to stir it anyway.

Miles kept right on coming.

Stubbornness. Another shared Jennings trait.

Urban set his cup down, pushed off from the counter and balanced his weight on the balls of his feet. Then, because pounding on Miles was no hardship and might help ease the strange, undefined sense of irritation that’d been lodged between his shoulders the past few months—like an itch he couldn’t reach—he smiled.

And met him halfway.

Chapter Two

They were at it again.

In the hallway, Verity pressed back against the wall, the cup of coffee Urban had left her in one hand. She pushed the hair out of her eyes with the other hand and peered around the corner into the kitchen. They weren’t fighting. Yet. But from Urban’s bring it grin to Miles’s cocky I’m bringing it walk, it was only a matter of time.

And if they started in on each other, they’d drag Toby into it, too.

Well, if they were going to act like cavemen, she was going back to bed. They didn’t need an audience to wrestle and smack one another. Half the time they didn’t even need a reason.

But before she could turn toward the stairs, the French door opened and Bella came running in followed by Ian in a pair of Star Wars pajamas and bare feet, blinking owlishly behind his glasses, his dark hair sticking up.

Verity had told Urban making Ian wake up this early was mean. Poor kid still had a sleep mark on his cheek.

“Hey, bud,” Urban said, crossing over to give Ian’s messy hair a rub. “Where’s your mom?”

Ian shrugged. Only seven and he already had Silas’s man-of-few-words thing down pat.

Luckily, that was about the only way he took after his dad.

Carrying a tin-foil-covered casserole dish, hands protected by oven mitts, Katarina Caputo stepped up to the door in snug black jeans ripped at the knees and a white V-neck T-shirt. Up to the door but not over the threshold.

Seven years after giving birth to a Jennings male, she was still super wary around them. Like if she let her guard down for even a second, they’d snatch Ian away from her.

Or manage to brainwash her into liking them.

Other than Ian, Verity was the only Jennings Kat didn’t seem to want to behead and then hang that aforementioned head from a pike.

As much as Verity would love to believe that was all due to her sharp wit and sparkling personality, it probably had more to do with her brothers’ lack of those things.

“Sorry Ian’s late,” she said, her apology given in more of a grudging tone than a sincere one. “I was waiting for this to finish and lost track of time.”

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” Urban told her.

Kat jerked a shoulder. “Verity likes it.”

“It smells great,” Urban said, proving her brothers could be sweet and semi-charming when the need arose. “Come on in. I’ll clear off some space on the table.”

Mouth tight, she followed him, her steps slow and measured and drrraagggging.

Urban moved the salt and pepper on the table aside so Kat could set the dish down. “You’ll join us, I hope?”

She straightened, looking panicked and irritated and amused. An interesting mix for sure.

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