Page 46 of Clara Knows Best

“Yep.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” she said rather proudly.

“But you don’t drink. You said it’s a waste of calories.”

“It is, but I did it. Go take a shower or something.”

“You’re lying,” he said with certainty.

He started wearily up the stairs just as Nash appeared on the landing, looking fresh and wide awake.

“’Morning,” Nash said brightly. He was clean cut, neatly dressed in clothes his mother still bought for him, and close to six and a half feet tall.

Beck grunted in response.

“Clara!” Nash greeted her, grinning widely.

She opened her arms for a bear hug from her baby brother.

True to form, he lifted her briefly off the floor in his exuberance, but he put her back down almost immediately, saying, “I brought you some UH sweatpants so you can represent. You can wear them to the gym. They’re small. Is that okay?”

“Small is good! I’ll definitely wear them.”

Then the back sliding door opened, and the three siblings turned and froze as Jesse came in from his run, removing his earbuds as he shut the door once more.

“No way,” Nash murmured.

“Hart,” Jesse warned sharply, but Hart was making a beeline for him.

Clara’s hand flew to her mouth as Hart threw a punch at his foster brother, and was momentarily relieved when Jesse dodged his fist. Then she grimaced as Jesse tackled Hart to the floor, hard.

Jesse had been a good wrestler, and it showed, but Hart was resourceful and motivated, and they’d both learned the Colonel’s “combatives” as teens. Clara winced as her brother landed a punch to the doctor’s unshaven jaw. A few seconds later, Jesse’s fist smashed into Hart’s nose, and her brother growled an expletive.

Her parents appeared in the kitchen doorway and Nash put his spare arm around his mother, hugging her and Clara to his sides as he watched the fight with his signature good humor.

“How long do we let this go on?” Dr. Wilder asked her husband.

The Colonel observed the situation for a moment, and then uttered one word: “Enough.”

It was like magic, Clara thought. Jesse and Hart stood up, breathing heavy and glaring at one another, but the fight was over.

“You want to fight, do it outside,” the Colonel said acidly.

“Queensbury rules,” Nash added with mock severity. “This is a free-for-all.”

The Colonel looked at his towering youngest son with a smoldering eye. Nash smiled impishly at him, and offered a frank hand, which his father shook.

“Welcome back,” the Colonel said.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Hart’s nose was bleeding, and Jesse had a swollen red scrape along his jaw. Neither one of them looked ready to move on, but they didn’t launch at each other.

“Where have you been?” Hart demanded.

“Don’t play dumb,” Jesse snapped. “You know where I’ve been. We live three miles apart.”

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