Luna gave a lovely doggie sneer of contempt, backed up and took a running leap. She landed on the bench, skidded along the wood, took out a pile of tools and stopped when she slammed against the window frame. The thump and clatter brought all movement in the garage to a halt, and everyone stared at Luna, who with elaborate casualness stretched out beside Kellen and smiled at her audience.

“Luna was our rescue dog,” Max said. “But I’ve often wondered what her job was before she came to us.”

“Burglar?” Kellen suggested.

Rae chided, “Mommy, Luna’s not a thief. She simply likes to be comfortable with us.”

“Right.” Luna bumped Kellen’s hand with her nose and on demand, Kellen scratched her neck.

“Luna would like fireworks,” Rae said.

With awesome patience, Max said, “We don’t have any fireworks.”

“Could we shoot off guns?” Rae asked.

Kellen put down the stress ball. “Guns?”

“Isn’t that why we shoot off fireworks? Because it’s like the Revolutionary War, all shooting and stuff?” Rae was pretty glib for a kid who’d never fired a weapon.

Kellen was glad she was honestly able to say, “There were no firearms in Morgade Hall when we arrived. Right, Max?”

Max straightened up. “No. No firearms here when we arrived. Which is weird, because a big tough guy like Morgade should have firearms all over his house. And animal heads mounted on his walls.”

“Daddy, that’s gross!”

“Yeah, it is. Anyway, no firearms when we got here.” He gestured to Kellen. “Would you try to start the truck?”

“Sure.” Kellen jumped down—Luna remained comfortably relaxed on the bench—climbed into the driver’s side, turned the key in the ignition, then pushed the starter button.

The starter moaned, but the engine didn’t turn over.

“Are you sure you’re doing it right?” Max asked.

Kellen got out, walked around to the front of the truck and looked at Max. Just looked at him.

“Yeah. I guess that was stupid.” Max wiped his greasy hands on a rag. “I feel like I’m not getting anywhere with this thing. The damned truck should start!”

Kellen affectionately watched him scratch his head and smear grease on his forehead. The first time they’d come out to work on the truck, Max had aired up the low tire.

Since then, like his optimism, it had slowly been deflating.

Rae frowned darkly into the depths of the engine compartment. “Daddy, the spark plugs are groaty. What would happen if you took them out and cleaned them?”

Kellen gave Rae a nod of approval.

Max viewed his little girl with suspicion. “It’s worth a try.” He glared at Kellen.

She shrugged. She hadn’t told her. Rae had thought of that on her own.

“Okay. Smart kid.” He beamed, and asked Kellen, “Will it work?”

“Good chance.”

“Rae, hand me a spark plug socket wrench.” He started removing the spark plugs.