By the time she was done, water was spattered over both of them, but her hands were free of whatever orange substance she’d been coated in.

“Sorry. We’re working on spoon use, but you know Faith. She’s very tactile.” Ellie used a towel to wipe her ponytail.

Mac grinned as the toddler turned to face him. She smacked his face between her pudgy hands and rubbed. Her tiny forehead wrinkled with a frown. “No wike.”

Ellie laughed. “I don’t think she approves of the shave, but I think you’re handsome.”

He leaned over and kissed Ellie on the cheek.

Grant crossed his arms over his wide chest. “The last time you were clean-shaven was for Lee’s funeral. What’s up?”

“Thought it was time for a change,” Mac said.

Grant nodded in approval. He still wore his blond hair in an army-buzz. “Hannah’s on her way.”

The back door flew open, and seven-year-old Carson ran into the house at full speed, directly into Mac’s legs. His golden retriever barked behind him as he flung both arms around Mac’s thighs. Mac shifted Faith to one hip to hug his nephew. The toddler kicked his gunshot wound, and he sucked wind. That local anesthetic could only do so much.

“Let me take her.” Grant held out his arms, and Faith tried to leap to him. “That’s my girl.” Mac was still amazed by Grant. Not that his tough, career-soldier brother had given up his military future with no regrets to raise his niece and nephew, but that he was so good at parenting and clearly happier than Mac had ever seen him.

Grant put Faith on his hip. “You all right?” he asked Mac. “She didn’t do any damage?”

“I’m fine, just thankful she hates shoes.” Mac put a hand on his side. He set the other on Carson’s shoulder. “What have you been doing?”

“Me and AnnaBelle are catching frogs in the creek.” Carson’s blond hair was too long, sun-streaked, and speckled with mud. More mud coated his bare feet and legs, and he’d left a grimy trail on the hardwood.

“Sounds like fun.” Mac meant it.

“It is.” The little boy pushed away, grabbed Mac’s hand, and tugged. “Wanna come?”

Mac would much rather play in the mud than talk about their father’s funeral. He glanced at Grant.

A smile spread across his brother’s face. “Go ahead. I’ll let you know when Hannah gets here.”

Carson sprinted for the back door, leaving more smears across the hardwood and a few flecks on the walls.

“Me.” Faith pushed away from Grant’s chest and reached for Mac.

“I don’t know.” Grant frowned. “She’s liable to eat the frogs.”

She turned sad baby blues on Mac, betrayal and hurt quivering her upper lip and misting her eyes. “Wanna go.”