Heath laughed. “They eloped.”

“They eloped,” she repeated. “And Belle didn’t want Portia in the book club, but Aunt Phoebe en-sisted because she said Portia needed…” She couldn’t remember, and she looked over at Heath.

“Noncompetitive female friendships,” he said with a smile. “And, as usual, Aunt Phoebe was right. Which is why I, in my brilliance, convinced Aunt Phoebe to become Portia’s mentor.”

Pippi nodded and kept chatting. “Prince likes Portia. Portia used to be a matchmaker, but now she works for him, and Prince say she’s the best dam’ sports agent he’s ever seed, and, because of her, their new ladies’ sports dibision is getting bigger all the time.”

“She’s the third best sports agent,” he said. “After Bodie and me. And don’t say damn.”

She sank deeper into the big recliner, crossing her ankles just like him. “Prince paid a lot of money to Portia for Belle’s wedding present. Mommy said it was a dumb present, but Belle said Prince couldn’t have gived her anything she liked more, and now Portia gives Belle advice on how to be a matchmaker.” She scrunched her forehead. “What was that thing you gived Belle for her wedding present?”

“Portia’s database from her old business.”

“You should have gave her a puppy.”

Heath laughed, then scowled at the television. “Don’t swing at everything, you idiot!”

“I don’t love the Sox,” Pippi said emphatically. “But I love Dr. Adam and Delaney because they let me be a flower girl in their wedding, and Belle’s mommy cried and said Belle is the best matchmaker in the world. And I love Rosemary ’cause she tells me stories and does makeup. Rosemary’s in the book club now. Belle told Aunt Phoebe that if Portia got to be in the book club then Rosemary did, too, ’cause Rosemary needed friends just as much as Portia, and then Belle said she was too happy to hold on to old biddiness.”

“Bitterness.”

“Here’s what I don’t love.” She shot another dark look at Heath. “I don’t love Trevor Granger Champion. Who is a big poopy diaper.”

“Here we go again.” Heath shifted the bundle in his arms to his shoulder.

She set down the tape recorder, crawled out of the recliner, and climbed on the couch next to him, where she peered with displeasure at the sleeping baby. “Trevor told me he hates it when you carry him around all the time. He says he wants you to put…him…down!”

Since Trevor was only six months old, Heath doubted his language skills were that advanced, but he muted the volume and turned his attention to the jealous five-year-old. “I thought we talked about this.”

She leaned against him. “Talk to me again.”

He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. Pip wasn’t content unless she had every male in the free world at her beck and call, which she pretty much did. “Trev is just a baby. He’s boring. He can’t play with me like you do.”

“And he’s a big crybaby.”