Page 112 of Rescuer
He got out of the car and walked up the path to the front door, kicking leaves out of his way. The lawn had been raked recently, but the trees still had a brilliant display of red, yellow, and orange leaves. The air was lightly scented with woodsmoke.
Clary Fuller, Dylan’s foster mom, met him at the door.
“Jackson!” Clary smiled at him. “You guys have a good time. I baked some cookies. They’re in Dylan’s bag.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” He sent her a quick text. “I just sent you our camp location if you need us.”
“I appreciate it.”
Jackson grabbed the bag waiting on the ground. Dylan had a backpack as well. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Dylan waved at Clary and darted out the door, his backpack banging against his back. Jackson smiled at his brother. He gave Clary a final nod and followed Dylan.
When he got into the truck, Dylan had his nose in his backpack, searching for something. The cookies sat at his feet, untouched. Jackson turned on the ignition and pulled away from the curb. “What are we going to do with the cookies?”
Dylan groaned. “I don’t know, man. I told her not to worry about it, but she felt she had to send something.”
Jackson made a face. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw Clary was still watching them. At the corner, he looked back again in time to see her door shut. Out of the corner of his eye, He saw Dylan sneak a peek at the foster house too. When Dylan whipped around to face him, Jackson couldn’t hold in his laughter any longer. Dylan snorted, then hooted until tears rolled down his face.
“Poor Clary,” Jackson choked out. “She tries so hard.”
Dylan wiped his eyes, still laughing. “Jack, have pity on me, not her. I’m the one who has to eat whatever she bakes.”
There was always something wrong with whatever she made. But she was so sweet and kind that no one would dare hurt her feelings and say anything. Not her husband or her two sons. Definitely not the foster kids she took in and inflicted her baking on. Fortunately, she was an adequate, although uninventive, cook, so no one starved.
Jackson parked, then the brothers hiked to the spot they’d picked out and set up their tent. They gathered sticks and created a campfire.
Dylan got out the double-mountain pie maker, which looked like two small rectangular cast-iron pans facing each other on a long stick. Once he put the ingredients in, they could set them on the fire and cook them.
“What kind are you making?” Jackson pointed at the contraption.
“Apple pie. Or do you want cherry?” Dylan lined both halves with a slice of bread. He had cans of cherry and apple pie filling ready to go.
“You choose.” Jackson got out the meat they’d cook over the flames.
“Apple.” Dylan spooned some of the apple filling in and added some brown sugar. He snapped the device closed, locked it, and set it on the fire.
Once they were eating, Jackson cleared his throat. “I got a call today.”
Dylan chewed a bite of his corn on the cob. “Yeah? Who from?”
“The court. We have a new court date. I already asked off for it.”
Dylan froze. “Do you think?—”
“I hope. If all goes according to plan, I’ll get custody in three weeks.”
Dylan blinked, his eyes shiny. “Awesome! I can’t wait to finally be able to live in the same house.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “Same here.” He took a deep breath. “I also wanted to talk with you about Mia.”
“You’re not breaking up with her…” Dylan’s voice was strangled.
“What? No! Of course not! I plan on marrying her someday. We’re not engaged or anything. But I will propose eventually. Are you okay with that? I mean, you will be able to live with me forever, as far as I’m concerned. But just know she’ll be there too.”
If she accepted.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip.
