Brown-Eyed Girl (Travis Family #4)(39)

“I don’t mind going out to get you the chicken nuggets,” Hardy told her. “The hard part is watching you eat them with grape jelly.”

Joe laughed and grimaced.

While Ella engaged the parents-to-be in a conversation about the doctor’s visit, Joe came to me and bent to kiss my forehead. The touch of his mouth, the soft rush of his breath, sent a ripple of excitement down my spine. After the long talks we’d had, I should have felt comfortable with him. Instead I was nervous and oddly shy.

“You been busy today?” he asked.

I nodded. “Since six.”

His fingers tangled gently with mine. “Can I help with something?”

Before I could reply, more of the family arrived. Gage, the oldest Travis sibling, was tall and athletic like his brothers, but his manner was quieter, composed, in comparison with their rough-and-tumble charm. His eyes were a striking pale gray, the light irises contained in darker rims.

Gage’s wife, Liberty, was an attractive brunette with a warm, open smile. She introduced me to her son, Matthew, a boy of about five or six, and his big sister, Carrington, a pretty blond girl in her early teens. Everyone was laughing and talking at once, at least a half-dozen conversations happening simultaneously.

Even without prior knowledge of the Travises, I would have perceived instantly that they were a close-knit bunch. You could see and feel it in the way they interacted, with the familiarity of people who knew one another’s schedules and habits. The genuine liking between them was unmistakable. These were not relationships that would be set aside lightly or taken for granted. Having never been part of such a group, or anything remotely similar, I was fascinated but leery. I wondered how you could become part of a family like that and not be subsumed.

I stood on my toes to murmur near Joe’s ear, “I have to carry some things out to the mini golf course.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Although I began to tug my hand free, Joe’s grip tightened. Amusement sparkled in his eyes as he murmured, “It’s okay.”

But I pulled away, reluctant to make any kind of demonstration in front of his family.

“Uncle Joe,” I heard Luke ask, “is that your girlfriend?”

I turned crimson, while someone choked back a laugh.

“Not yet,” Joe said easily, holding one of the French doors for me. “You have to work a little harder to get one of the good ones.” He accompanied me out to the patio and reached down for a bag of miniature golf clubs and a bucket of balls. “I’ll carry these,” he said. “You lead the way.”

As we walked across the patio and past the row of poolside cabanas, I debated inwardly about saying something to him, about giving his family the wrong impression. I didn’t want them to think there was anything going on between us other than friendship. However, this didn’t seem to be the right time or place to discuss it.

“Everything looks great,” Joe said, taking in the arcade dessert buffet, the band setting up near the house.

“Considering how little time we had, it’s not bad.”

“Everyone appreciates the effort you put into it.”

“I’m glad to help.” I paused. “Your family seems really close. Even a bit clannish.”

Joe considered that and shook his head. “I wouldn’t say we’re clannish. We all have outside friends and interests.” As we walked over a section of mowed green lawn, he said, “I’ll admit, we’ve seen a lot of each other since Dad died. We decided to start a charity foundation, with the four of us as the board of trustees. It’s taken some time to get it up and running.”

“When you were growing up,” I asked, “did you have the usual fights and sibling rivalries?”

Joe’s mouth twitched as if he were amused by a distant memory. “You could say that. Jack and I nearly killed each other a couple of times. But whenever we got too rough, Gage would come and beat on us until we settled down. The way to earn a surefire killing was to do something mean to Haven – kidnap one of her dolls or scare her with a spider – Gage would come after us like the wrath of God.”

“Where were your parents when all of that was happening?”

Joe shrugged. “We were left on our own a lot. Mom was always cochair of one charity or another, or busy with her friends. Dad was usually gone doing TV appearances or flying overseas.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“The problem wasn’t Dad being gone. The problem was when he tried to make up for lost time. He was afraid we were being raised soft.” Joe gestured with the bag of clubs. “See that retaining wall over there? One summer Dad had a truck unload three tons of stone in the backyard, and he told us to build a wall. He wanted us to learn the value of hard work.”

I blinked at the sight of the dry-stacked wall, three feet high, extending approximately twenty feet before tapering to the ground. “Just the three of you?”

Joe nodded. “We cut rock with chisels and hand sledges, and stacked it, all in hundred-degree heat.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

“I can’t believe your mother allowed that.”

“She wasn’t happy about it. But once Dad put his foot down, there was no changing his mind. I think when he’d had a chance to think about it, he was sorry about having made the job that big. But he couldn’t back down. To him, changing his mind was a weakness.”