Page 24 of Patio Lanterns

“I absolutely can and I will,” Lark sniffed. “It will be put into a trust that you won’t be able to touch for four more years. That’ll give you time to come to your senses. With maturity comes responsibility, and maybe by then, you’ll have curbed your tendencies to blow your cash on candy.”

“B-but I have matured,” Robin stammered. “I can be as responsible as anyone.”

Lark folded her arms. “Then prove it.”

“Fine.” Robin propelled herself up and out of her chair. “If you need me, I’ll be out back, responsibly shampooing my dog.”

She stomped around, mad as hell and muttering to herself as Mutt watched her throw together a makeshift grooming station.

Who the hell did Lark think she was anyway? How dare she threaten to withhold the inheritance that rightfully belonged to her? Robin could sue. Maybe. But only if she could find a lawyer willing to take her case pro bono. Even then, they’d have to be a real shark. With the biting wit of Harvey Specter. Or be as smoking hot as Julianna Margulies in The Good Wife. Now there was a smart and sexy combo—and who wouldn’t want to be the jelly spread in the middle of that smexy legal sandwich?

She laughed at how preposterous the situation had become. Of course, there was no way she’d actually lawyer up to sue her own flesh and blood. The ghosts of Marc and Micki Pelletier would surely haunt her for the rest of her life if she dared to take legal action against one of their own. Still, there had to be another way to get her money. If Lark wanted Robin to prove that she was responsible, then goddamn it, she would.

With a sigh, Robin dropped her proverbial sword and let her shoulders relax. “Come here, boy,” she called to Mutt, lying nearby in the shade.

After letting him have a long, cool drink from the garden hose, she took the time to brush out his tangled, matted fur as best she could before wetting his underbelly and legs. Slowly, she massaged the shampoo into his fur, working up a lather near his hind quarters and moving towards his head. The foamy suds had a pleasantly sweet scent, the shampoo living up to its claim as formulated with nutrient-rich banana extract. This shit really is bananas, she laughed to herself. B-A-N-A…

A sudden banging from inside the cottage stole Robin’s attention. “Bubbles! Bubbles!” Nova howled, her tiny toddler fists hammering against the sliding patio door. “Doggy! Bubbles!”

With an irritated glare, Lark scooped up the baby in her arms and pushed the door open. “I am trying to start dinner in here,” she railed. “Did you really have to wash your smelly dog right where Nova could see you?”

“Where else was I supposed to do it? The hose has to reach the tap,” Robin snapped back.

“Bubbles!” Nova demanded, kicking her feet as she tried to wiggle free and make a break for it. “Bubbles pweeze!”

Robin laughed. “Come on, what’s the big deal? Can’t she come out to play for a while?”

“No, she’ll get wet!” Lark snapped.

“Oh nooo! She’ll get wet!” Robin picked up the hose, took aim, and squeezed the nozzle trigger, spraying in Lark’s direction.

She jumped back with an exasperated squeal. “Robin!”

Nova threw her head back laughing. “Bobbin!”

“Fine, you win!” Lark stormed across the patio and plopped Nova’s feet on the grass. “You want to be fun auntie? Be my guest. But keep an eye on her.”

Lark walked away, and panic gripped Robin. “Wait a minute, don’t freaking leave her out here with me. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Doggy!” Nova cooed, her lips slowly mouthing “bubble” as she scooped up a handful of suds and rubbed it into Mutt’s hind quarters.

Then she fell—plop—into a cold puddle. Nova looked up into Robin’s eyes. Her tiny chin quivered. And then came the blood-curdling wail.

“Now look at what you’ve done! She’s soaked!” Lark boiled, rushing over to pick up red-faced Nova, now soggy-bottomed and sobbing. “I told you this would happen.”

“Jesus, take a pill already, fuck,” Robin muttered under her breath.

“Mark my word, wait until you have a kid someday. Then you’ll see how impossibly hard it is,” Lark snarled. Then she stamped back inside, doing her darndest to get an angry slam out of a smoothly sliding door.

God. Motherhood had really cranked Lark’s bitchy knob up to eleven. If that’s what having a kid is like, no thank you, Robin thought. Not that she was even considering it. In fact, she’d be perfectly happy being the fun auntie the rest of her life and never having to deal with tantrums and diapers and, well, whatever bug had crawled up Lark’s ass now. No siree Bob.

She hosed Mutt off and leaned in to give him a sniff test. There was some improvement, although he now smelled like stanky wet hound dipped in banana milkshake. Picking up the shampoo bottle, she searched the directions she’d been too distracted to read through before.

For best result, leave on for ten to fifteen minutes before rinsing.

Aw, shit.

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