“I know.” Carson nodded. “Hunters put the poison on darts and shoot them through a blowgun.” He mimicked the act by blowing through his closed fist. “But we don’t have that kind of frog here.” He gave the wet grass a disappointed kick.

“What a shame.” Grant jostled Faith until she exploded into another fit of giggles.

Carson raised three fingers. “But we do have three kinds of venomous snakes,” he said with enthusiasm, as if that made up for the lack of toxic frogs. “We found a snake skin. Do you think it might be from a venomous one, Uncle Mac?”

“Sorry, buddy. Looked like the skin from a milk snake to me.” Mac was impressed. The boy had memorized Mac’s answers to his rapid-fire questions. “I’ll show you a picture of one inside so you can keep an eye out for it.”

Grant chuckled. “They really do miss you, Mac. You’re the only adult who actually enjoys playing in the mud.”

“I miss them, too. More than I realized.” Longing filled Mac. He was sick of solitude, something he never thought would happen to him.

“Do you have to leave again?” Grant asked.

“I don’t know. I have some decisions to make.”

“You know I’m around if you need to talk. I’ve been where you are.” Grant opened the door and ushered them into the kitchen.

Ellie plucked a limp weed from Faith’s head. “I’m impressed. You got her filthier than she’s ever been, and that’s saying a lot.”

“It was my pleasure.” Mac grinned, carrying his boots into the house.

“Dinner’s in a half hour. Hannah called. She’ll be here in a few minutes,” Ellie said. She and her teenage daughter took charge of bath time, while her grandmother set the table.

Ellie walk away, smiling at Grant over the baby’s shoulder. Though in her midthirties, she looked younger, with her freckles and makeup-free face.

Grant’s eyes brightened. “I never thought I’d have this kind of life.”

“You are one lucky SOB,” Mac said. His brother had found a beautiful woman, inside and out. She’d taken on a soldier with post-traumatic stress and two grieving children, and she still had time to worry about Mac’s sorry ass.

Grant led the way to his office. Mac stepped over the threshold and froze. The Colonel’s dress uniform hung on the back of the closet door. Pressed and stiff, it looked as if it could stand up on its own.

Mac shuffled closer, stopping a few feet away. He wanted to reach out and touch the shiny medals and ribbons pinned to the chest. But just like when he was a boy, he didn’t want to mar it with his touch. “I’d forgotten how big the Colonel was when he was younger. I don’t remember ever seeing him stand up.”